Two years later;
I know what you're thinking: what the hell has Nita gotten herself into now? I suppose I'll have to start at the beginning, from when I first entered college until I was sent to a behavioural boarding school for students aged 17 to 22.
I was significantly inspired by everyone's presence when I moved to college. Everyone fit the stereotype since this college was for performing and creativity. Everyone had brightly dyed hair, predominantly self-designed tattoos, practically everyone skipped school to smoke, and everyone had piercings; nose piercings, multiple ear piercings, lip piercings, tongue piercings, and plenty of other piercings I didn't recognise.
I was a victim of bullying. I didn't give my clothing any thought because I didn't think I needed to. College was supposed to be enjoyable, right? Taking papers while still hungover and a touch tipsy, according to what I heard.
My brother contacted me once, and my best friend had stopped caring about me. Sorin softly smiled and waved at me during the one and only FaceTime I had with Koji. But I didn't hear anything from him either, so I was on my own.
Nobody noticed anything was different even when I didn't have a packet of sweets in my hand practically every lecture and kept my hand down in every class.
Only one individual did, and I was so gullible that I fell for his deception. He let me cry in his arms while twirling his fingers through my hair. I recall him kissing my jawline, and I remember the sensation of his hands on my body, as well as his lips touching every inch of my body.
He shielded me from everyone and robbed me of my virginity. He deprived me of everything I had. People thought I was crazy, but what would you do if your partner was handcuffed right in front of you? Do you think you'd cry? Wouldn't you scream if the only person who understood what you were going through got arrested for being with you?
He was my professor.
I grew up in boarding schools, so the prospect of returning does not bother me. My parents, as much as I loved them, couldn't 'manage' me. When they told me, it hurt like hell.
I take my phone from my denim pocket and check the email I got from the headmaster.
227 is the number of the room.
I raise my eyes from my Home Screen, scanning the block of dorm rooms in front of me. The building appears to be older than myself, as evidenced by the visible chips in the bricks, the moss hiding in the gaps, the yellowing and decaying staircases, and the flickering of the street lamps in front of the building.
I clutch my black suitcase, which is adorned with hot pink flowers evenly distributed throughout. It's a good thing it's dark outside and I'm not being ridiculed for it. This was my only suitcase, and it was the same grubby suitcase I'd had since I was seven years old.
I enter the building, enabling the luggage to follow behind me, and I exhale a sigh of frustration as I look over at the elevator sign.
Not In Service
What a wonderful way to begin my stay here;I roll my eyes when I realize how I'll have to haul my bags up a million flights of stairs.
Ascending these steps takes me roughly twenty-five minutes. I'm almost panting and bending over from exhaustion. Since I'm a ballerina and a figure skater, I like to think of myself as in good shape. I allow my trembling hands to grasp the golden key I was given some weeks ago.
I was in the courtroom on the same day. But I don't want to think about that day right now, because it's the reason my anxiousness is eating away at me as I stuff the keys into the keyhole. I cautiously open the door, peeping around the corner. I narrow my eyes at the black outline on their bed and they jump to their feet, shocked by my presence.
