Remmington's School for Troubled Teens

Prologue

The first time I had alcohol, I was 13 years old.

It was a Friday night right after my hellish middle school let out. My best friend Faye wanted me to come over to her house for a sleepover. She had heard her older brother, Will, talking about a party where the pot and alcohol never ran out.

She asked if I wanted to go and I said yes because I was used to smell of alcohol coming from my dad's breath.

So we put on some "cool" clothes her sister had and Will drove us there. When we got there the music was loud, the presence of pot evident and the bitter taste in my mouth telling me that here was not where I should be.

We went to the dance floor and moved our hips to the beat. We knew what we were doing and so did the high schoolers that were checking us out.

Will walked over to us carrying two red solo cups. In a way, I though it odd that her big brother was advocating behavior as risque as this.

Will handed me the cup and I looked into it, seeing my reflection. Smeared black eyeliner, black, curly hair and the aged face of a girl who had gone through too much.

I remember the first thing that came into my mind was "Daddy does this too." So, I chugged it. All of it. Then a second, and a third.

I was hobbling around when suddenly I was grappled by a boy much older than me. The thought quickened my heart beat and made my palms sweat.

He backed me up against a wall and crashed his lips on mine. The feeling was foreign. A feeling of someone else's saliva mixing with mine. It almost frightened me that I was allowing myself any sexual interaction considering my fathers actions.

I couldn't move. I was petrified, but the alcohol in my system hindered my fight or flight system. So I just stood there, moving my lips with his.

Then, there was nothing else I remember.