Forget You

A Memory?

***Warnings for rape and suicide***

SCOUT'S POINT OF VIEW

I can't do this. This is going to kill me. I've lost so much weight already and I am in such a desperate need for a bath that I probably don't even look like myself. Las Vegas is harsh. No one will help anyone. If you don't have money, everyone assumes you lost it in a stupid gambling game or something like that. I literally have no money. All I have are the things in my bag that I refuse to get rid of, still including the weapons. I don't know why, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. I kept telling myself that I needed them. I knew that with my luck, as soon as I were to get rid of them, then I would end up wanting them.

I did my best to avoid people. I know that people would help, but people here were mean and creepy. But there was one time when I accidentally ran into a celebrity. I had been just wandering when I bumped into him. He didn't do much about it but kept walking so no fans would recognize him. I couldn't put a name to his face, but I knew that he was familiar, a singer of some sort.

That was the highlight of all my time in Vegas. I hated it here and wanted to leave desperately, but there was no where I could go. I didn't have money to get myself a ride and no one would pick up a hitchhiker. Most of my time was spent figuring out where I would go and what I would do if I could get out of here.

I eventually decided that I was going to go back to Chicago. I was the only person who knew the password to the computer. If I got the laptop, I would be able to control the gang. I had nothing else that I could do, so I set out to do that. But I had no idea how I was going to get there.

I couldn't save up money, because I had no money to save. I spent my days searching, and even stealing money, just so I could eat. Getting two meals a day was rare. I was homeless. I was starving. I was dying.

Each day the bullets looked nicer and nicer to look at.

I hated myself for even thinking about killing myself, but I was in pain and didn't want to handle it. I punished myself for being such a wimp. I've handled worse pain before. Much worst pain. But this wasn't just physical. This was mental and emotional as well, and that's why it was so difficult for me to handle. I never really had to deal with pain like those before. Most of what I have done was just getting shot or something like that, not having my mind scream for someone.

I don't even know who I was calling for. Just anyone I guess. Someone to help me. I didn't want to give in and accept defeat. But I might have to. I was taught that defeat wasn't allowed. Marcus drilled me to never give in or give up. Retreating wasn't an option. That philosophy cost us many lives, but it is also why we were so great and feared. We were fierce and never gave in so we managed to take over and win most times.

I was battling myself. I wanted to get help, I needed to get help. But I didn't want to give in, I couldn't give in.

I sat and shivered in the cold night air, hiding in an alley where it was mostly quiet where I could get a little bit of sleep.

I was wandering alone in the streets at night. But I wasn't in Las Vegas. The city looked somewhat familiar.

"Well, hey pretty lady," A drunken man caught my arm, pushing me up against a building.

"Get off of me," I tried to push him away.

"Not a chance, baby. In fact, I think that I will get on top of you, if you don't mind."

Before I could try calling for help, he clamped his hand over my mouth, dragging me along and into a busy club. Then he removed his hand from my mouth. I tried to ask the people around me to help, but they paid me no attention.