The Color of Music

Kill Me

        More tears threatened to spill. Soon blinking them back seemed impossible. My breathing was jagged and I couldn't seem to get air threw the lump that lodged itself in my throat. Stared down at my desk, why do I have panic attacks at the worst times? Again and again I chant in my head. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

No matter what I did I couldn't get the hand out of my head. It wasn't real. But it felt like it, I had felt hands likes that many times before. Skin that feel like knives against your flesh, roaming endlessly in all the places you didn't want it to go. I shot my hand into the air. The teacher saw this and gave me permission to go to the bathroom after I asked.

I bolted down the hall rushing to get the the bathroom. I could hear my heart beat ring in my ears. It wasn't real. I chanted again. Beads of precipitation dripped down my forehead as I enter the bathroom. All the stalls were empty because class was in session, but it ended in roughly ten minutes so I didn't have long to get back to normal.

I stumbled to the sink and turned on the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face which was scorching. I looked up into the mirror, I saw a girl I didn't recognise. She mimicked my moves perfectly and even had a face wet of water. Was she really me? I shook my head. I'm so ugly. My face was sickly pale and my eyes looked dull, everything about me was repulsive. Filth. I ripped my eyes away from my reflection. Back myself into a wall I closed my eyes trying to calm down.

But then I felt it again. Someone's hand was under my shirt, it inched higher and higher until if reached my bra. Another hand was on my thigh, rubbing it's thumb on me in circles. Tears danced freely on my cheeks, I was to afraid to keep them in. I hugged myself and curled into a ball on the floor, at this moment I couldn't breath. The hands were still there, roaming my body, violating everything. I gasped again and again but nothing changed. No oxygen entered my lungs.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

Though I was still in a ball. The hands never stopped touching me, my eyes were squeezed shut so tightly I thought I might burst. Then, suddenly, I heard a sickening voice whisper in my ear. The voice was familiar, the voice, belonged to him.

"Your my favorite student Sonata. I love you."

At the sound of his voice my eyes flew open. I was in the bathroom on the cold tiles, alone. No one was there, no David, no anyone. The hands were gone. But I still felt so sick and dirty. My breathing was about to steady itself. I was about to be fine, about to enjoy the rest of my day in peace.

But no.

It wasn't over.

Like and 1000 ton truck, a flashback was forcefully plagued upon my mind. I staggered back covering my mouth. My stomach lurched and I clutched it with my other arm. Something was rising I rushed to a stall and vomited. Coughing up chunks and heaving. It still wasn't done, the memory replayed.

                                                     (Flashback)
"Come on Sonata. Just do it like I taught you." He cooed, rubbing his palm on the small of my back. I wanted to vomit, I hated his touching, his love. I tried to scurry off his lap but he held me there tightly, squeezing hard making me whimper. I shook my head and my red locks bounced. My bottom lip was quivering and I wanted to cry, I wouldn't though, he always got mad when I cried. He frowned we were sitting in the living room on the maroon couch, I hate that couch. I tried to get up again but he wouldn't let me. His right started rubbing my shoulders, it sent a shiver down my spine. Soon his had got lower until it reached my flat chest. I wore a tank top today, bad idea.