Becoming

That Night

The smells.

My instincts being put into survival mood...but being a rabbit herded by hungry foxes and wolves.

The hot heat of the pressure of being kicked harshly in my thigh.

Screaming so loudly I thought my throat went raw.

Screaming desperately.

Anyone?! Please?!

Being dragged into pitch darkness.

Darkness.

Their faces.

Lust in their eyes. And a hunger for wanting to feel powerful.

I kicked, I thrashed. I was pinned against the concrete.

I was punched in the ribcage.

A knife drawn to my throat as I laid helplessly on the ground.

I questioned him. I knew him.

He wickedly laughed as he lightly sliced my throat just below my left ear. That cold, unforgiving blade now warmed with my blood.

If he wanted to hurt me worse, he would have cut deeper, but he just wanted to physically scar me as a reminder of what he did. As if his next act wouldn't.

His friend sneered as he watched. Seemingly humored by my desperation and never ending pleading and crying. He bent down and pulled my hair saying it was beautiful as he balled it into a harsh fist.

I felt his possessive lips against my neck as he mockingly kissed it.

"You cowardly bastard."

Death would have been kinder and sweeter.

His eyes.

His breath.

That blade.

My scar.

He let me live.

When the darkness engulfed him and made him forever disappear, I sat with my back against the brick wall wishing Death would just harvest my soul.

I screamed as I cried.

That bastard killed me that night.

Not physically.

He took my confidence, love for life, and my trust. He killed me.

I hate you.