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Her life was a complete mess.

Her parents argued endlessly.

Her stepdad would molest her and beat her.

She had no real friends.

But she never gave up.

She never slit her wrists.

She never turned to drugs.

She never ran away.

She just blocked everything out with music.

When she felt sad, scared, or alone, she listened to her iPod.

The headphones kept away the pain.

No matter how destroyed the world around her became, her little oasis was perfect.

One night, her stepdad came home drunk.

She was lying in bed listening to her iPod.

He busted through her door.

She curled herself into a little ball, trying to be as miniscule as possible.

Not that it helped.

She knew what was coming.

She turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

He raped her that night; he took her virginity.

She cried silently, but she never said anything.

That made her stepdad angry.

He wanted a reaction out of her.

So he beat her worse than he had ever beaten her before.

He left her bleeding and crying on her bedroom floor.

She died that night.

She had been wrong.

Every day, she had taken the abuse from everyone.

Every day, she kept her mouth shut.

Music didn't solve her problems.

Not all of them.

She should have told someone.

She was only twelve years old.

She was me.