Not So Cliche Kidnapping (Uncompleted)

*Chapter 15 - Stay With Us, For Us

Chapter 15 - Stay With Us, For Us

Surprisingly, I didn't do anything else that day. Yes, I said it. No more events happened.

Sure, I'd rather not spend my break on crying and Advil, but it's a break none the less.

The only thing special that occurred after Ray's shitty attitude, was him apologizing through the door.

I wasn't able to talk because I was still busy crying, so I kind of just whimpered a response.

By the sigh of frustration he let out, I could tell he felt guilty, which made me feel guilty.

Which made me cry more.

Needless to say, if it weren't for that Advil, my head would've been pounding so much, people would've thought that I was hungover.

Of course, I don't know what being hungover feels like because I've never gone to a party. I don't plan to either. That's what happens when you're the quiet girl.

From all of the Teen Fiction books I've read, I have concluded that parties are never fun. Something bad always happens.

Plus, it just sounds like a bad idea overall.

I don't want to be in a stranger's house, filled with people I don't know, who constantly try and rape me.

Wait. Oh shit. I am in that situation.

Well, now I'm never going to a party because now I know that parties are even worse than being kidnapped. They involve alcohol, drugs, and perverts.

I already have to deal with one of those options, and it's bad enough. I'm constantly kissed, teased, and complimented.

And I don't know how to deal with any of those actions, because I'm the quiet girl. I never get complimented or teased, especially never kissed.

The only option I get close to is teasing, but it's not flattery. It's bullying.

I sighed and got up from my bed. I unattractively raised my arm to smell my armpit and wheezed.

I need to shower.

I walked over to the closet and pulled out my uniform that was hung up. I don't remember hanging it up, so I smelled it. They must've cleaned it when I was asleep.

Sighing again, I looked over to the cabinets. The lonely pair of lime green kindergarten safety scissors sat on top of the cabinet.

I grabbed the scissors and headed towards the bathroom.

I forgot to add those words to the list. Let's see, there was: Selfish brat.
Whore.
Fragile.
Weak.

Did I miss any? That's four now, so it'd be a shame if I had to add more.

For any of those people out there who are confused, I shall explain what I'm about to do.

It's not pleasant, but I've done it ever since ninth grade. The year Shae died.

For every name I'm called, I add a cut to somewhere on my body. They can be big or small, depending on how hurtful it was or in what mood I was in.

Before I got kidnapped, I became numb to the pain, but I haven't done it in about two weeks, so it'll probably hurt more now.

I never thought I would ever get to this point honestly. Cutting myself in a stranger's house with a kindergartner's lime green scissors. It's a very odd sight to see.