I woke up in the morning to the feeling of being watched. I sat up and looked around. Conner was asleep still. I sighed and plopped back onto the bed. The feeling of being watched was gone. But the feeling of not knowing will happen next is surrounding me.
I reach up and spread my blonde hair around the pillow so my neck could feel the icy cold pillow. It's soothing but I would rather escape back home. Where no one bugged me. Where no one was trying to get me marry them. Where I don't feel guilt for those I've just met. But for those on the screen where I felt no connection. This, is different.
Bethany and I got along well in the few minutes of being in the same room. Everything seemed normal, I thought she was the most sane thing I've seen so far. But then I found out her secret, I couldn't believe a beautiful flower like her,so fragile and frail, could be bent in conditions she was forced. That's the vibe she gave off. Someone desperate for someone there for her, like a wilted flower. In the tiny moment we hugged. I felt her appreciate it. Not from words but the beating of her then steady rhythmed heart. I could understand she needed protection as in guidance. I concluded probably because of her being taken into custody of a stranger in the middle of the night. Being tortured, raped, it must've been horrible. Seeing her explain what happened to her made me think of her as a little kid. As she explained things she probably didn't understand. Like why her. But I couldn't stand seeing the beautiful innocent girls petals being picked off for amusement. Her stem being stripped of it's defense mechanism, thorns. Now being exposed to the person who plucks it from the roots keeping it alive and abuses it. She seemed like a sweet person, it hurts thinking of what she could've gone through.
As for Conner, well, I was there when he was killed. It makes a lump in my throat thinking of the memories of crying due to his death. The nights laying in bed, replaying him being crushed. I couldn't stop thinking of it.I felt sorry for him. I witnessed it. I remembered his strangle and urgent voice calling out "watch out!" Before letting his fate that was destined for me be his final decision .
Sucking me into the flashback.
*January 22nd,2013*
I kicked a couple rocks on my way home from school. Not specifically rocks, more broken cement. But it still bumped it's way across like one.
I hugged my fleece sweater to my body. Begging for warmth of the thin fabric. I knew I should've brought a wind breaker. Or at least bought one. But of course it was too expensive and I didn't have the money. So I kept walking. School was hell, as usual. I didn't have friends. Girls talk to me, but then leave. It hurts but I taught myself to be independent. Needing no one. That's how I liked to live. Ever since I got out of the orphanage, I was on my own. I got to leave at eighteen and start my life by myself. It was easier and more enjoyable. Not having to cook or clean for the little orphans. Or being woken at night to the cries of desperate need of a mothers hug and kiss by a child. Only to realize that they'll get the wind, and that's all they'll ever get. Sure, I cried when my parents were killed but I got over it. I never let anyone see me cry. It shows I'm weak and I don't enjoy that. Another bad thing of the orphanage was the boys. Not that they have a weird disease like kooties but that they are desperate for any female contact when they hit that age. Nothing is more horrid then hearing the next rooms bed squeak. I block the images of what's going on and try to fall asleep. When I turned around thirteen, I grew into my teen body. Big chest with hips to go with it. I was curvy, skinny, but curvy. The boys would drool over the sight of me in my pjs. It was disgusting. One even tried to sneak a perk into my room when I was changing but he got cought thankfully. So getting out was an up for not having a feeling of being watched when I change for school.
I shook my head at the memory of feeling abandoned by any physical human with a beating heart. The only people I had who wanted me were taken from me. And I refuse to let people see how much it hurts knowing I can never hug my mom and dad after a nightmare or have them come to a play when I get the lead. Stuff normal kids get that I don't. The close to a mom I ever got was Mrs.McNeal down the street. I think she was friends with my mom before she was killed. But she would come visit the orphanage sometimes with her son to have lunch with me. But mostly, she just paid to have my lunch not be sloppy shit that everyone else gets. I don't know her that well, or really any at all. She's always just been a person with a good heart and sympathy to a girl with no parents. I remember seeing her son Conner come. He always had his dark hair combed, nice shirt, nice pants, nice everything. I guessed that the McNeals were rich and that how they could afford Conner to look as good as he did. But another indication was that he would talk to me. Just stare. His mom insisted he wanted to come but I think she said that so I wouldn't feel bad. Maybe it was that I was different then him that made him not like me. But I'll never know. I go to school with him now, but we still don't talk. But he still stares. And I notice when he does because you feel this dark energy of oddness form. I guess it's having to go to school with a girl your mom felt sorry for. The pity party he was forced to attend.
