No More Ms. Nice Girl

No More Ms Nice Girl Chapter 6

No More Ms. Nice Girl Chapter 6

My mom was asleep when I got there. We never really talk at all as if there’s anything to talk about. She knew what he did to me and she continued to let him. She knew he beat me and I was pretty sure she knew about the sexual abuse as well. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to hate her so much but she is my mother. I still remember her crying for me that night, when had she stopped? Why did she stop caring about me or about what happened to me? Did I do something wrong?

These thoughts have been in my mind for years but I couldn’t ask her these questions. I was afraid of the response I would get back. I was afraid that she’d tell me that she knew and that she didn’t care. I had to hold on to some kind of faith that somewhere deep inside was my mother, the same mother from eleven years ago.

I wanted her to hold me and tell me that everything would be okay. I wanted her to tell me that I did not have to go through this anymore. And more importantly when she told me this, I wanted to believe her.

I stared at my bandaged arm. I can’t believe I did this to myself. I was not one of those people. I could not be one of those people who hurt themselves. But at the time it felt right. It felt like I could feel some other pain even just for a while. I did not want to feel the pain that he put upon me; if I was going to hurt I wanted it to be under my control.

I couldn’t think about this anymore. I refused to. I needed to think about something different. Ryder. How could I have been so stupid to let him see me that way? I prayed he wouldn’t tell anyone. My birthday was coming up in a few weeks and then I would only have a year to endure. One year and I could be free of this whole thing.

Why was he even that far into town anyway? And why did he care, why did he even give me a ride? It was nice of him, and I did appreciate it but I barley even know him. For all I know he could have just brought me somewhere to have me killed. I was so stupid.

The real question that popped into my mind was how did he know where I lived? I had just met him a couple of hours ago and I don’t remember telling him anything. We barley even had a conversation.  I sighed I would think about this later. Right now I needed to get some work done, and I was definitely not going to school, not looking the way I looked.

I sat on my bed to check the time, it was really late. It was almost three o’clock in the morning. I sighed another deep sigh. First I would go in the shower and then I would figure a way to answer these text messages.

I made sure the shower was extra hot, the steam clouding my vision from the shower. I closed my eyes as the water cleansed me from the outside; inside I knew I would forever remain dirty. I scrubbed my body almost using the whole bar of soap hoping that I would somehow feel more cleansed, but I never did.

I turned off the shower and wrapped the towel around my body. I walked into my room and changed into my pajamas and some socks. It was really hard to lift my arms and legs with the bruises on my body. I went down into the kitchen and got some ice in sandwich bags and went back upstairs to rest it on my sore body.

I texted Taylor letting him know that I was just with my dad, and I told Rachel that I just had cramps. I did not want Rachel worrying about me. She knows about this, the abusive part but not the sexual part. I did not want anyone to know about that, I knew what they would think of me. Sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to about all of this, to let it all out. But I know that no one would understand, no one could understand unless they had experienced it hands on themselves.

You can never say you truly understand unless you’ve experienced it. I would not wish this pain on my worst enemy therefore I guess I really couldn’t want anyone to talk to about this.