Remmington's School for Troubled Teens

Chapter 4

I could feel his hot breath on my skin and rope burn forming around my wrists and feet. Restricted, scared, dirty, violated. Inching ever so close to my face, I could see the hate in his stormy grey eyes. Just as he was about to insert me, I shot up screaming. I could still feel his hands on my body. I started kicking and hitting and tried to get him away from me.

I started screaming for Faye to call the police, screaming for anyone to help me.

Then I heard a familiar, ever so angelic voice, singing Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. Their strong arms hugged me and rocked back and forth. I had been saved. Someone came to my rescue. After years of enduring torture, I was escaping.

He got to the chorus and I snuggled in closer to their warm body. I felt safe for the first time in my life. 

"Thank you." I smiled then heard a deep and raspy voice laugh and say "your welcome."

I drifted into a sleep that was much needed. And not one nightmare had occurred. 

***

That morning I woke up to the sound of a guitar. My guitar, to be exact and an two voices talking. 

Without even opening my eyes I spoke, "Whoever you are, get your god damned hands off of my guitar now...That's your warning." 

 When I opened my eyes, my unfamiliar surroundings relaxed me. I knew I wasn't with my dad or any of my abusive foster parents if my surroundings were unfamiliar.

But what didn't relax me was an Asian looking kid strumming my black acoustic guitar.

"Sorry..." the Asian looking kid said as he gently propped my guitar back up.

"I couldn't resist. Luke over there started singing and it was just sitting there, begging for me to play the chords of the song. I actually mastered the song when I wa-"

"Whatever." That was when I had to back track. The familiar voice, and the name that wrong a bell. Luke, 1980's lady had called him out for swearing when I punched him in the nose. Shit then that would mean he was the one holding me this morning and that would also explain the tattooed dude in my doorway that I hadn't noticed since I woke up.

He saw me weak. He saw me vulnerable. He had something against me that he could use. In the land of me, I lived by rules. And one of them was not letting anyone have something against you because that makes you the weak one and the one on the bottom of the social food chain. And also blackmail is never fun. I'm always the blackmailer and it is never fun for the other person.  

"Get the hell out of my room!! Both of you!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs and lunged at the Asian kid and I slapped him, causing him to yelp and run out of my room. 

That left the Pretty Boy. Still standing in my doorway. 

"Good Morning, Love." He smirked and bit his lip, dragging his fingers through his hair. 

"Bad Fucking Morning, Pretty Boy. Exit stage left, kid, or get whats coming for you." I was seething. And him being there was not helping. 

"If it involves you landing on top of me, I will gladly enter stage right." He chuckled and took a step too close. 

"You know acting like a dick won't make yours any bigger. But this might make it swell." Another step.

I kicked him in the balls and he doubled over and I took that as a chance to punch him in the jaw. I shoved him out of my room, then I took the liberty of slamming his foot in the door since it was still in my doorway. 

"BITCH!" He yelled loudly and I locked my door and began to play The 1975 on my stereo.

***

I stayed in my room all day. I watched movies and cut myself. After every nightmare, I painted. I painted in red. Small streaks over my canvas. 

What can I say, PTSD is a bitch. 

I didn't bother to get food either. I was never hungry and I hated food anyways. 

Anorexia. That was my diagnosis. Delusional was also part of that diagnosis. No matter what anyone said, I knew that I was fat. My dad always complained about my weight. And I know, what reason would I have to believe anything that he said. Well the answer to that is I don't fucking know. But when you hear the same phrases everyday, you start to believe it. 

So staying in my room wasn't a problem for me. I had a bathroom in here, my movies, guitars, my books, my music and my songbook.

After I finished watching The Craft, I sat at my guitar and strummed a few chords. I had been working on playing Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana. So I listened to the song a few times and wrote down the chords on a sheet of paper. 

Then I began.

My fingers playing the chords perfectly, my voice singing all the right notes and the passion flowing out of me like river. 

 I felt the vibrations of the strings and reality escaped me.   

Every time I played and every time I sang, I played it to the best of my ability. It was my escape. Music was my escape. I was the artist and I traveled the roads they traveled, every time I heard a song. 

As the song came to an end, I heard clapping behind me.

I had locked my door. How the hell did someone come in if the door was locked?

"Have you come to whine to me about your jaw, Pretty Boy? Because I could've broken it but I was going to save that for a later time. Your welcome, though." I smirked, then turned around and saw something I did not expect. 

Rather, someone, I did not expect.

That someone was a short girl, with a nicely structured jaw and mermaid hair, which I immediately appreciated.

She was wearing a grey body suit, a faded flannel that was much too big for her and a pink snap back. 

She was giggling and then held up a bobby pin. 

"I'm assuming you thought I was someone else. Although, Pretty Boy is such a fitting name for him. I love it."

I scoffed. This girl. She thought that she could just barge in here with her bobby pin and listen to me sing. This was my sanctuary and she ruined my meditation.  

"Okay, Miss Mermaid, how did you wander on to land and into my room? Where you are clearly not wanted."

She rolled her eyes and went to sit on my bed.

"I'm Ashley Illusione and I like sex and being sad. And apparently when your parents tell you to get a job, they don't mean selling coke on the streets of New York." I laughed. I could roll with her.

"Listen, you're new here and I just wanted to come and see what you're all about. So, whats your damage? Are you a drug addict whose drugs almost got your parents arrested or do you prefer alcohol which makes you the insensitive party girl?" She was smirking and moved her mermaid hair from her face.

I laughed again. She really thought that she had me all figured out. But the book of my life was unpredictable, your never knew what was on the next page.

"Hi, I'm Scarlett Trixie and I lash out at the world because my father killed my mother and then decided that I was his next target."

Her face fell and her smile did a flip. She gulped and looked me up and down. 

"And apparently when you're attempting to steal a $20,000 necklace in a black jumpsuit hanging from the ceiling, police can still find you."

Ashley's grin flashed again and she applauded.

"Damn! I like your style. I can roll with you."

Exactly what I was thinking.