You Belong With Me

Chapter 5

Wednesday:12:45
Location: Sydney School For Girls
___

I always feel like somebody's watching me

It's getting worse, almost everyday. Like somebody can't wait for the perfect time to-

Let's not think about that today, I walk along the fields, Avery and her new friends catching my eye.

Good for her, after everybody turned against her I felt awful, that could've been me. I could've been outed to the whole school and beaten up so badly I lost my memory, my stomach churns at the thought of that possibility, I've always been to scared to speak to her. I blended in with others and that's what makes me feel guilty the most.

just as the bell rings I try to focus on studies for the rest of the day.
___
Location: home
Time: after school
___

Maybe I should just tell somebody.

Sharing your feelings always helps the healing process, right?

When I enter my room it looks the same but, different.

Everythings in the right place, accurate to how I left it in the morning but I can't fathom a faint familiar smell on my bedsheets, in my drawers even on my pencils.

Their presence follows me.
I look towards my window, staring at it cautiously before peering out of it.

Nobodys there, but theirs eyes on me, I know it.

Sitting on my plain white bedsheets, I keep my eyes trained on every possible entry that could used to enter my room. The other day, on the news, Brandon's funeral that ididnt attend. Sure, I'm upset he died he was a good football player I hear, his sports field quite near to mine.

He would pull up in his expensive car, I'm not sure which car but it was big, almost bigger than his ego when he would blast loud music and ask me to go "somewhere" with him and his already drunk friends.

He knew I did ballet, something only a small group of close ones know, he asked if I was flexible. I scoffed and walked faster to my destination, his friends laughed made jokes all the way to my house, he knew where I lived. no matter how many rights I took when it was supposed to be a left, he knew where I lived.

Deep down J thought he was nice, maybe just putting up a front to seem cool beside his friends. So one day when he pulled up, without his friends or the weed and loud music. He asked to take me to a diner, with the look on his face I couldn't say no. It seemed like he had made an effort to make me comfortable.

And for a while, I was. He made jokes about his "stuck up" fake friends, he seemed real. And maybe he was.

But if you don't like somebody at first, why should you feel obligated to when they do? I need a good enough reason to dislike that person and I had one.

In that moment, I forgot about my own sexual orientation, I forgot about all his ex girlfriends that had cried for days in the schools bathroom, How could I have forgotten that?

He paid, we sat in his luxury car.

Brandon told me how much he liked me, how different I was to other girls, which were probably half of my schools population.
Then he touch my thigh and said I would be so much fun.

Before he- before he pounced on me. 'You like it' 'you're asking for it' 'you want it'.

I could only scream and plead in his luxury car. His big, black and soundproof luxury car. He isn't sweet, Brandon is sick. He has a shady car that he rapes all his girlfriends he picks from Sydney School For Girls.

For once, I've been humbled and scared and vunerable, the savage girl I used to be, the 'hard to get' virgin, I was.

Maybe one day I'll be fun but not for him.

I fought him, in his big black car I kicked his groin and screamed in the parking lot of Lola's diner.

I was the one that got away.
In the back of my mind, I thought about all the possibilities, once I even stabbed him and the other I couldn't.

A week passed then a month. I can't believe he's dead.
I can't believe I'm glad he's dead,

He may be somewhere six feet under but he still shows up in my dreams. When I scroll upon all the flowers perched by his locker, the heart felt letters to him. It brings a smile to my lips he's dead and I'm alive.

If anyone else knew I was smiling at somebody's death, they'd call me crazy.
Maybe I am, It's the first time I've wanted to kill somebody, and if theres a chance somebody did before me, makes me slightly jealous.

Every now and then I wonder if he was really dead, if he was so beside himself he fake his death and moved some where nobody would think to find him.

Or if one of his victims murdered him, tracked him down and took his life like how he took their innocence, with no mercy.

I'm going too deep into this,
I stand up, staring out my window, breathe in the polluted air. This world is so dirty, I hope one day I can clean it from all it's misery, us humans are so selfish. From rapists to litterers. I want them all gone.

Deep down, I'm not all sweet and innocent, the attempted rape did a number on me. I've been having dark thoughts for a while and to be honest, I'm unhappy.

Unfilled dreams, drama, even going to school is depressing, soon enough I'll snap.

All this thinking makes my head hurt. I'm tired

I flop on my matress staring at the ceiling light as the fan spins, letting myself dose off. oblivious to the sound of lens zooming and whirring above me.