The Girl with Cat's Eyes

C H A P T E R 24

How much words mean

How often dreams

Turn true

Life is hard

But you can help me through

Song

Drawing

Means calm

And love

C H A P T E R 25

**

I stared at the paper in my hand in disgust. His messy scrawl danced in my face and the letters didn’t seem to form words at first. It was from him. How he’d managed to contact me, I had no idea. But I knew that it was most definitely from him.

Dear Rosie

They say it's rape, but you wanted it, didn't you, my love?

So come to the station, and tell them because this cell really smells, like piss, and microwave food. I don't like it here love. In fact, I hate it. So come, bail me out. Tell them it's all lies. I'll only punish you a little, for letting me stay in here this long, but then, you know, I'll forgive you.

Don't try and pretend that you don't love me Rose, because you do. I know it.

So when I get out, we can be together.

My brother will be out of the picture, he’s a stupid little boy, and he's not half as good looking, as me. Levi is just my stupid, annoying, younger brother, can't you see that? I love you, not him. I'll kill him, and we can be together, at last. He must have brain washed you, or something, but don't worry, I won't let that stop us. I'll get rid of it somehow, and you'll see how much you really love me.

When I get out, I'll find you, Rosie, and we can be together. Because it wasn't rape and assault, it was love and punishment. It's all for the best really.

I hope you like the rose, it's a perfect colour, isn't it. Red, like you're blood, when it fills your pretty cheeks when you blush. Pity it's always Him you blush about.

I love you, Rose.

Yours forever,

Liam

I dropped the paper like it was on fire. Like to touch it made my skin burn. He wasn't meant to be able to contact me. How could he be able to contact me? He was in a cell. He'd raped me, as if that wasn't traumatic enough, without him sending me creepy letters, and supposed 'gifts''. I looked down at the rose on the mat. The colour of my blood, apparently.

How could this have happened. How could I have let him get me? Levi had found me, in the alley way, Liam on top of me, my clothes ripped and bloody. He'd called the police, and shoved Liam off me, punching him until he was out cold, and then he picked me up, and put me in his lap.

I hadn't wanted anyone to touch me, at first, I remember. I'd felt so dirty, so used. But after a while, though the tears never stopped, I relaxed a little in his arms.

The police arrived, Liam was taken away, and Levi took me back to his parent house. He told them what had happened, and shocked as they were; my stalker and rapist was also their son, they let us in, and his mother bathed me and cleaned all my cuts. She ignored all the old bruises, though, I guess thinking I'd tell them eventually.

But I never did, and I decided I probably never would. No one could know except Levi.

I knelt on the floor, by the front door, and discarded letter, and rose, sobbing, until there were no tears left to cry.

At some point I dialed Levi's number, on the phone he had got me, so I could contact him if I was ever in trouble like that again. It wasn't a very good one, kind of cheap, because he didn't have much, but it worked for what I needed it for. I'm pretty sure I couldn't say anything, I just cried for a few minutes, until he gave up trying to determine what was wrong, and hung up, to come over to the house.

A few minutes later, the door opened slowly. I wasn't sure whether it was my so-called Dad, or Lev, so I stood up quickly and brushed myself off, but when I saw it was Lev, I relaxed and ran to him, his comforting, strong arms protecting me from everything the world had to throw at me.

Some hours of crying later, and Levi had determined what was wrong, ripped up the letter, and thrown the rose away, and we were sitting on the couch, watching a comedy show on our small TV, to take my mind off the note and I had thought Dad would be out to night, because usually he was either back by eight, or not back till the next night.

But I was wrong. Dad came crashing in at about one in the morning, saw Lev and I, screamed at me, called me a whore in front of him, and then shouted at Lev, and then kicked him out. Levi didn't want to leave, knowing full well what was to come, but I made him, I begged him, until he gave in, because I didn't want him seeing me like that, and I was embarrassed enough as I was. He refused at first, but I begged, and Dad came and threatened him. He knew, as well as I did, that him being beaten up, as well as me, was no good to either of us. He may have been strong, but my Dad was stronger. Levi was just a fifteen year old boy, and my Dad was a thirty seven year old, who went to the gym every day.

So Levi left.

And my very own father beat me up.

As usual.

**