He had been introduced to the my mother and I a few months after my parents got divorced. I wished I had never met him. If I knew what he would have done to me only a few weeks later, I would have run away. I would have run as fast as I possibly could without even thinking of looking back. I wouldn't have cared about whether my chest would be burning from the inability to breathe properly or whether or not my lungs seemed to be choked off from lack of oxygen. I hated how his smile deceived me into thinking he was the gentleman he portrayed to be the moment he reached his hand out in greeting. His hair was a light brown and wavy, his eyes a little darker with his shoulders broader than most people his age. He had good facial structure and his body was made of mostly muscles, but he wasn't fat.
We were sitting on the couch, my legs spread and crossed in front of and me with my eyes on the television. It was hot. A light layer of sweat covered my arms and my forehead as I breathed harder with the humidity surrounding me. I glanced over at him, studying how well he had kept himself in shape. I look down at my shirt, my stomach hanging over my waistband just a little. I had always called myself fat, sometimes jokingly but having convinced myself that I was. Hanging around or being with people who were skinnier than me or seemed to weigh less than me because of their shape or the way they carried themselves made me jealous and only caused me to hate my body even more. Though, my nightmares always making sure to remind me, that nothing and no one could have ever made me hate myself more than him by what he had done.
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Please Don't Touch Me...
Short StoryA short story about a teenaged girl who was sexually assaulted by her older step brother and what happened to her when the pain and suffering became overwhelming and she couldn't take it any longer.
