Wrong

Chapter 1

****WARNING: FOR MATURE READERS ONLY*********

Staring at my hands, I realize I'm sweating.

I don't want to remember. But I know that I'll never be able to forget.

My thoughts go back to that night-again.

I had just graduated high school, and my friends had dragged me out to a bar.

They all got drunk, and since they were my ride home, I decided that i would rather walk home instead of getting drunk with them.

What happened that night is a memory that no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to forget.

The details are so clear. I remember the sound of my heels clicking on the sidewalk, the sounds of late night traffic, the city lights, and the crisp evening air. It was around 1 am in London, but it was busy regardless. So how could this have happened to me? There were people, there were cars, taxis, buildings...

I remember trying to hurry my way home, because my feet were aching and the beads on my dress were starting to cut my arms. I didn't make it far before a hand reached out of nowhere it seems, and yanked me into the darkness. I'm not sure if I couldn't see anything because I was pulled into an ally where the city lights no longer reached, or because I was blindfolded. I could hear ripping cloth and heavy breaths before I felt warm air on my bare skin. The man raped me, and left me in the dark ally. I shudder as I remember desperately trying to find my dress and pull it on in the darkness. It all happened so fast, I'm positive I was struggling and fighting back, but I don't remember screaming.

Why didn't I scream?

I haven't told anyone, including my parents. They're alcoholics, always getting drunk and fighting. They never cared what I did, where I went, who I hung out with. I was always smart enough for myself. I never touched drugs, alcohol, never had sex. I was a good kid, I didn't let my parents influence anything I did.

So telling them wasn't the first thing I did, although I will have to tell them sooner or later. I don't have many real friends, my old ones haven't talked to me since that night, because I left, I'm guessing.

I glance around my stuffy bedroom. It's painted a sick orange color my mother had fallen in love with. The color makes me nauseous. I hate everything about this room, it's small and makes me feel like I'm locked away in some sort of prison cell. The carpet is dirty, and it reeks of an old basement.

Sighing, I climb off my bed and pad into my personal bathroom for some air.

I happen to spend alot of time in my bathroom. It's my safe haven. No one can bother me in there, and it's really the only place I feel safe after what happened.

It's painted white and pink, the only room I was able to decorate myself. It smells of my shampoo and my favorite air freshener.

I make sure to lock the door behind me before walking to the window. My bathroom is quite large, so I have enough space to have a window that isn't close to the shower or toilet.

Opening the window, I inhale the humid, hot summer air. I close my eyes, listening to the screaming match in the next room. My parents fight often, and I'm used to it by now.

I turn on my ipod sitting on the counter and tune them out. Moments by One Direction plays. I'm not a fangirl for the band, this song is just relaxing and makes me feel safe.

"You know I'll be, your life, your voice, your reason to be..."

My eyes instantly start to feel heavy. Yawning, I turn the music off and walk back into my room. Trying to ignore my parents yelling drunk, slurred words at each other, I climb into bed and pull the covers up. Sleep didn't take long.

*

Hands. Why are there hands on me?

I want to shake them off, but I'm too exhausted to move.

I grunt instead.

"You are not going to sleep all day," My mum says loudly.

All day? I sit up and glance at the clock.

12:41pm.

How on Earth did I sleep past noon? I jump out of bed quickly and start to see circles before everything goes black for a moment. My mum jumps from my sudden movement before leaving the room.

I throw my blankets off of my legs and trudge over to the bathroom. Something in my stomach starts to feel uneasy, and I bolt to the toilet. The minute I reach it, I'm vomiting anything I've consumed in the last twelve hours.

Something about me doesn't feel right, through I can't place what it is.
My parents are gone, but I'm not sure where they went. I never really do.

Since the fridge is practically empty, I decide to skip breakfast.

I plop myself on the couch, and watch re-runs of Friends all day.

Around 4:00, I climb off the couch for what may have been the first time all day when someone knocks on the front door.

I make my way to the door, running my hands through my frizzy hair.

I stand on my tiptoes to see through the peephole, though there doesn't seem to be anybody there. I open the door anyways, just to make sure there isn't anyone hiding in the bushes or something. I find a small, folded up piece of paper at my feet.