BTS: I Think I Love You

Chapter 1

His fast breathing fills my ears, my eyes glossed over and unseeing. My knees are on the cold floor of the bathroom, probably leaving another set of bruises. I can barely register the pain coming from my knees as well as from in between my legs. I am pretty much used to this now.

Ever since I came to this school, to this town, I have been treated as every guys personal sex toy. I want to say that it's all because of my mom, but I can't turn on her like that. She's doing the best that she can.

My dad left us about three years ago. He left us with no food, no money, and no house. My mom had to take on three jobs just to support us. After a while, not even that was gonna be enough. She had to become a stripper, displaying her body on stage for hundreds of horny perverts to oggle and fantasize about.

The children at school would tease me about her being a stripper. I was never ashamed of my mom because there was nothing else she could do. They didn't look at it from our perspective though. They saw it as my mom being an attention seeking slut, and they assumed I was the same way. The sexual abuse started about a year ago.

I remember it so vividly. I can distinctly recall how fast my heart had been beating. How my palms had sweat so much that I hadn't been able to hold onto the door tight enough as to not get locked in. My terrified screams and cries for help were ignored. They thought I wanted it. They thought I deserved it. After that, every guy at the school had had their way with me.

I fought back at first. I would punch, bite, kick, and scratch any part of their body I could. When I got too difficult to handle on their own they brought their friends to help them. They would hold me down as one of them would mount me. If that didn't work they would beat me until I was too soar and hurt to move. They broke me like a wild stallion. They were ruthless. Heartless. No one would help me. After a while, I stopped fighting back.

I look around the bathroom in an attempt to distract myself from what was happening to me at the moment. I focus on the clean white tiles, the wet sinks, the way the room echoed with every sound we made. The one window that was at the far end of the bathroom was open, letting a warm breeze fill the room.

"Thanks for that Z" he says while pulling his pants back on. I remain silent as he slaps my ass harshly, most likely leaving a red handprint. He leaves me there, lying on the dirty floor of the men's restroom. I wait until the door closes behind me before I get up, limping slightly, and flip the lock.

I pull up the black and red plaid skirt that all of the girls are required to wear as part of their uniform, tucking my white button up into the waistband. My black tie is pretty much ruined so I have to redo the whole thing. I fix my short black hair in the mirror so that it lays flat on my head once more, out of my face.

Why do they pick on me of all people? I'm not even that pretty. My face is too small. My eyes are too big. My mouth is too pouty. My nose looks like a fucking button. My hair is so short that it barely rests onto my shoulders. My chest is still developing. My legs are too long. My thighs are too thick. Over all, I am nothing special. Why do they harass me?

"You're so fucking stupid Z. You pathetic piece of shit. No one loves you, no one will ever love you. Why are you still alive? Why are you not committing suicide like every one probably wants you to? You disgust me!"

Everything I say is whispered to myself, except for the last sentence. I yell at my ugly reflection in the cracked mirror. The memories. This was the mirror that Tom and his friends threw me against the first time he tried to have sex with me. I had refused and he got angry, using my face to break the mirror. He now makes it his mission to make my school days my own personal hell. The mirror reminds me of myself in a way. The broken glass is just like my heart. Able to be fixed, yet no one wants to actually take the time and effort to repair it.

I walk out of the bathroom with my head down and my eyes facing towards the floor. I never look anyone in the eyes anymore. They take that as an open invitation for them to ride me like the tame horse I am. Even the teachers don't care. Even if they witness someone hurting or sexually harassing me, they do nothing to stop them. Some even stop teaching to watch in amusement.

This school is fucking sick, yet I can't do anything about it. The police officers in this town don't believe me. They laugh and tell me to go back to my pole, where I belong. I haven't told my mom yet either. She thinks that I get all these bruises from playing Lacrosse, even though I would never be on a sports team, even if I wanted to.

What would she be able to do about my problem anyway? She has enough worries as it is. We don't have enough money to pay for me to be able to transfer schools or move to a different town. We barely have enough money as it is. No. I won't tell her what I'm going through. She'll only blame herself. I love my mom too much for me to put her through that heartache.

Maybe the best thing to do would be to just give up. It would save my mom money, and I would be getting out of everyone's way. I would finally be getting out of this hell. I am a disgusting and pathetic excuse for a human being. Maybe this is God's way of punishing me. I deserve whatever comes my way. I will let them use me until I stop breathing. They are already halfway there.

I'm already broken.