Amelia

Dirty

I wake up to the revolting smell of smoke. It strikes a familiar cord in my head, but I ignore it, sitting up limply. I feel hollow, empty, broken, disgusting, revolting, evil, and dirty.

I want to cry.

The doctor is gone, but the scent of smoke is still strong. (escape) The door raps and I simply turn my head to it, not moving. The door raps harder and it opens. My heart lurches. It’s the creepy boy. I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel them and his intense stare.

I know I’m showing parts of me that should wait until marriage, but I don’t care. I want him to kill me. Wrap his hands around my neck and squeeze until my lungs stop screaming. He seems unbothered yet troubled, furious yet calm, forceful yet gentle. He kneels down, fixing my shirt.

“You’re strange,” I murmur, and he stops.

His over-grown bangs shift, and the same blood shot eye is staring at me. I feel fear course through me, but I don’t move; only my lip curls slightly and his does too. He lifts me into his arms, and I go limp, sobbing, wailing, bawling, and he clutches me tighter to him.

I’m so dirty.

Help me.