Beyond The Eyes

Permanent Scars

I'm still trying to understand why Kyle begged me to come back if we barely talk. He has his friends. I have none. I remember the first day coming back. It was filled with snotty ignorant comments and sympathy; lots of both. Especially from his friends which surprised me. Today was Friday finally. I made my way to my locker, playing with my lock. I ignored any mumbles or yells that came my way. "Hey, Y/N," someone asked. I turned around; making eye contact with a dark eyed, light haired beauty. "Wow, Kyle is actually speaking to me today? I'm flattered, actually honored," I sarcastically commented before rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry," he lied. I moved my eyes away from his, facing my locker. "Come over my house tonight. I'll make up for it. I'm sorry about the guys. I told them straight up to back off," he begged. I always wondered if he liked me, but after what he's been doing, I can't find a reason to like him back. "No, thanks," I answered, slamming my locker shut. I walked down the hallway, ignoring all the stares. I felt someone hand touch my hand lightly. I snapped it away instantly, recognizing the touch. "Come on. I'm sorry. I really like you, Y/N," Kyle admitted. There it is. "Fine, but I'm not hooking up with you," I made clear. He nodded, smiling. Kyle pressed his lips on my cheek. It was as if fire was pressed along my skin, making a hole through my flesh. A sting of pain was left on my cheek. I tried to wipe it away, but it was permanent. An invisible permanent scar.

My hands were crossed, waiting for the door to open. There were no cars in the driveway, which shocked me. Were we home alone? Probably. I felt nervous when I remembered the feeling I got when he kissed my cheek. I tried my hardest to wash the thoughts away, but it was on my mind the whole time. The door swung open and standing in front of me was Kyle. His dark eyes, dimples, flawless jaw made it hard not to smile. He guided me inside his empty house. It made me feel unwelcome and uncomfortable. "Where are your parents?" I asked, breaking the tense silence. "Still at work. They will be home soon," he said. His back was toward me, walking up the stairs. I followed him, looking around. The house looked like every other home, but it felt different. I felt like screaming for my life. I'm not sure why. We made our way to his bedroom. I walked in first. He followed, closing the door behind him. I continued walking until I reached the bed. I heard a low noise. It sounded like the sound of a lock. I turned around instantly, watching his lock the door behind him. My stomach was in a knot; tears were about to run down my face. He moved closer to me. I moved back until I fell onto the bed. No. No. No. "I lied," he mumbled, stepping closer to me. I moved further down on his bed. He crawled on top of the bed. "I was driving you "home" from the party, but we weren't going home. We were going to come here. Do you remember now?" I shook my head. "Sadly, I got distracted by your eyes and crashed, but I've been dreaming of this for a long time," he stepped closer. I moved back. "The thought of touching these legs... separating them..." I closed my eyes, tears running down my face. "The thought of my lips buried in your neck... on your other lips..." I wanted to die. I moved back until I hit the headboard. "The thought of my fingers running down your skin... rubbing against your wetness..." he moaned. He was on top of me now, pinning my hands down. Bruises and scars were forming underneath his palm. The pressure was making my veins pop out, blood rushing through them. I tried to push him off of me, but he only went harder. I started to scream for help, but his hand struck me across my face. "You shut up or this will be much more painful than it already is," he yelled. In his eyes was a picture. The scene was of a big house on a cold dark night. It looked like every other night, but the picture turned into a movie. The front door slammed open and blood was drenching along the walls. There were gory bodies lying on the floor. I closed my eyes, but he made me look into them again. The scene was still there, but a different room. The bathroom. It was a mirror and within the mirror was a tall man. He wore black clothing and held a sharp knife in his hand. There was blood on the tip of the knife. I closed my eyes, turning my head. I was shaking, screaming in my mind. His thrusts were harmful and aggressive. I have forgotten most of my life, but this. I wish I had forgotten this.