Vulnerable

Chapter 1

                   

He was my first. The van smelt of regret and intoxication, while smoke lingered throughout the air like a puppy with no home. ACDC played on full-ball through the speakers that he stole from the old man that lived down the street from me. I lay there emotionless and still, completely terrified and utterly vulnerable. When girls say they want it to be special, or that they want it to be with a guy they are completely in love with are full of shit. It didn't feel anymore special than it felt wrong.

There wasn't a single star in the sky on this sorrow filled night, just the moon which was obviously faced upside down to add to the effect. Drugs ran throughout my bloodstream like a heard of stallions running through a green field, of course enhancing the night's utter misfortunes.

His hair was dusty blonde, greasy and got tangled beneath the touch of my fingertips. He was a complete slave to the sea while sand stuck beneath each of his fingernails. His skin was harsh and his lips tasted like vodka that burnt my throat with every kiss. It felt wrong. Completely wrong. He kicked me out soon after, as I walked lonesome throughout the streets trying to find how I could possibly get home without losing another inch of dignity. That night I scrubbed my skin until it blead, with the effort of removing his unpleasant touch. This is not a love story.

Morning soon arose with the brightness of a fresh day, hoping to forget every event that had occurred the night before. Speakers soon started booming with the soothing sound of Stevie Nicks voice, Rhiannon. Throwing on a red lace dress touching the floor, I joined my family for a breakfast filled with silence and flashbacks that scarred the very thing I called thoughts.

My name is Freya by the way, I'm seventeen years old and have never had a boyfriend. I party most nights and read or write most days. My obsession with Fleetwood Mac has become unhealthy, same with my addiction to affection.

The timber dining table was bare and the smell of burnt bacon filled the air. A purple blanket was reserving underneath my eyes and my skin smelt of anything but normal. It was ten o'clock in the morning and it was already turning out to be a horrible day.

The shower was the worst, flashbacks conquering ever inch of my brain that it could. Tears were lost amongst the water that was hitting my back like bullets on a target. His skin, his touch, its all I could think about before my head was down a toilet gagging up the last of the alcohol from last nights' adventures. This is not a love story.

That day was spent in bed beneath hot blankets that I hoped would protect me from the outside world. The phone laying next to me buzzed with a text that sent shivers down my spine. 'Come over again.' Why I went back will forever confuse me, it started something that should never have been started. I'm not sure if its because he was my first, or the way I fell in love with his dark brown eyes. I'll never understand.

This went on for months that soon felt like years. He was manipulating and used me to get the one thing he wanted, sexual desire. Feelings for him came as I was vulnerable in his grasp, with no way out. He bragged to me about other girls he was sleeping with, and his crimes against humanity. His eyes were dark like the night sky, but didn't hold a single spark of stars, or emotion. He destroyed me without realising, although I think that was his purpose from the very start.

I was vulnerable then. He chose me because of this very reason, messing with my heart and head in every single way he believed possible. I was beyond damaged after this, thinking I would never be the same.

Everything went downhill from there, from my many desires to lying on the bathroom floor with nothing but a bottle of vodka to sooth my fear of abandonment. This is not a love story.