Predator

Chapter Two

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My hands are balled up into fists, hovering in front of my body as I step out of the bathroom. I feel myself trembling with paranoia, afraid of who might be there if I turn around. I can't help it, what he followed me home? What if he's hiding in the shadows, waiting to finish me off? I'm in this house all alone, as my dads are out of town until tomorrow, and I would be completely defenseless if he attacked me again! The damp towel wrapped around me does nothing to make me feel less naked, less vulnerable. As I open my dresser to get underwear and pajamas, I face the room dead-on so nothing can sneak up on me. I will not take any chances. 

I grit my teeth as I pull a clean pair of panties over my sensitive thighs  and against my crotch, which stings horribly with even the faintest brush. I slip an airy nightgown over my head to eliminate any unnecessary pressure against my skin. It seems like no matter where I touch, it hurts.

When I got home, the first thing I did was strip naked, right in my backyard for the whole honest world to see. I didn't care at that point, and I don't think anyone saw me anyway. Then I threw every single article of clothing, even my socks, into the fire pit and burned them. My beloved purple pullover dress with the flowered print- oh, how I hated to burn that. But I know that I wouldn't ever wear any of those things ever again. I had to burn them, I had to get rid of them like they'd never even existed.

The clock on my bedside table reads 5:15. That means if I passed out at around 3:45 and I got home about an hour ago, I was out cold for like fifteen minutes. The thought of my naked body lying unconscious in an empty building for that long makes me shiver. Like how I shivered when he-

No, my head shakes vigorously. I'm not going to think about it.

I feel so small, curled up on this bed like a little child. Something drips on the pillow below me and oh, I didn't realize that I'm still crying. Am I always going to be like this? So distracted by what happened that I'll never be able to tell how long I've been screaming or crying, or even whether I am?

God, why did this happen to me? I know that I'm selfish and conceited but I don't deserve this! Nobody does! I never knew how I was supposed to cope with his unrequited love in the first place, but now he's...taken advantage of me, and how am I supposed to live with myself? How am I supposed to continue on like nothing happened? How am I supposed to face him again?

And to think, I have to go back to that horrible room and dance around the very spot where I lost my virginity! I have to be around the very criminal who-

...wait a minute. It hadn't even crossed my mind to call the police! Isn't that what girls do when they get...raped? Raped. I was raped. Earlier, I had refused to acknowledge that word. Now it's starting to sink in. I am a victim of rape. He raped me. I was raped. But is it rape if he didn't mean to do it? Did he mean to do it? Did I put him under the impression that I wanted that? Ugh, this is so confusing.

What would happen if he got arrested? Would I even want to turn him in, given my feelings for him? Well, if I still have those feelings. At the moment, everything associated with him is terrifying. And I can't even remember what he looked like before tonight, what with those bloodshot eyes and that vacant expression and those...rough hands.

Oh, how I hate those hands.

But even after this cloud lifts, even despite whatever my feelings turn out to be for him, what would happen if he went to jail? What good would it do, besides keeping him from doing it again? I know he wouldn't. And it wouldn't do any justice to me, people would look at me and know I was the girl who got raped by her teacher! I already know the awful things they would call me! And, aside from my own self, a child would be without a father, a wife without her husband, and Glee Club without their director. Glee Club would be doomed!

And I know I can't turn him in.

I couldn't bear to cause that much hurt.

Aimlessly, I swipe a hand over my sticky eyes and roll over uncomfortably. I glance at my clock again and oh my god, it's already 9:24! Have I really been laying here for four hours?! What the hell is happening to me?!

I catch a glimpse of my ragged appearance in the vanity in front of my bed. I look like the grudge, or something along those lines, with my ratty unbrushed hair covering my face and my small battered body curled up in a strange position. Through my hair, I can still see one of my swollen eyes -the one that was struck- and it will undoubtedly be black in the morning. Morning! Ugh, I have to fall asleep sooner or later. Or not.

There is no way in hell I'm going to sleep tonight. I've read the articles about girls like me. They hate sleeping because their attacker haunts their dreams like a ghost and terrorizes them even in subconsciousness. And I have no desire to find out how my brain will twist the already-nightmarish event into something even more horrific.

So I'm leaving all the lights on.

And I'm not closing my eyes for a single second.

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I wake up in a cold sweat; my pulse racing, my head pounding. Something in the back of my head is telling me that I'm screaming but I can't hear it, not over the echo of his voice still lingering in my ears. Damnit, I was supposed to stay awake! After all I've been through, is that so much to ask?

I feel myself still shaking but I ignore it and roll out of bed. The sun is coming up outside my window. On a usual day, I would head downstairs and enjoy the sunrise with a warm mug of tea. This is not a usual day. I don't think I'll ever have a usual day ever again.

I'm startled when I look in the mirror. I had forgotten about how I look, and the very sight of me brings tears to my eyes. Then it occurs to me that I'm actually supposed to get ready for school.

Screw that! How am I supposed to just pick up the pieces and carry on like nothing happened?! How am I supposed to act like I'm not a completely different person?!

A harder voice surfaces in my head. You have never been cliché a day in your life, Rachel Berry, and you are not starting now.

I remember last year, a junior named Jessica had evidently lost her virginity the weekend prior, and she showed up to school wearing sweats and a messy bun. Now Jessica was a preppy girl who always opted to wear sundresses with jean jackets, so a good part of her grade caught on and would pass her in the halls shouting, "Somebody lost their V-Card!"

And as much as I crave a loose pair of sweatpants against my sore legs, I know that I have to pay the price of secrecy.

I open my closet and pull out a turtleneck sweater, which should help to cover up the hickeys on my neck and my bruised arms. It's a good thing I own a lot of turtlenecks and scarves, because I'm guessing these aren't going away any time soon. Rarely I wear jeans, but these will have to do.

The sweater goes on pretty painlessly, but the second I start sliding the jeans around my legs and scraped knees, I know that it's going to hurt. I gasp when the tight fabric settles against my inner thighs and crotch. It's going to be an effort to walk, I'm sure.

I take a few stinging strides until I'm somewhat used to it, and then I head back into my bathroom. I leave my hair down to help curtain my pathetic-looking face. Not only was I right about the black eye, but I also have a fat lip, and my nose and cheeks are bruised from his hand holding my mouth shut. And foundation can only go so far.

After I heavily apply makeup, I look a little better and my mouth isn't as noticeable, but there's nothing I can do about the black eye. I'll make up an excuse for that later. I wince grabbing my backpack from the ground, and as I waddle down the stairs to the front door, I feel a twinge of fear. I stop. Going back there is easier said than done.

I shake away my nerves like I do when performing. And although I force myself to get in the car and drive, I still wonder how in the world I'm going to survive after today.

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