Trust me.

Prolouge- Trust Me.

This is a new story, and I want to see if people like it. I really wanted to write this because somebody close to me was raped, and it's helping me get through everything. Please, I know I don't have all the facts, but don't correct me.

Please, read on!<3

Also, I dont want comments about how abortion is wrong Im against it, because you dont know whats gonna happen. Okay? Deal? Good(:

-----------------------------------------------Trust Me.------------------------------------------------------

"When your a victim of rape, you should know, it's not your fault."

Wow. I close the phamplet and look around my room until I find it. The slinky black dress I wore the night I was raped. I could have easily worn my favorite jeans and a hoodie to the bondfire. But I wanted attention, and I got it. The wrong kind.

My name is Izzy Dykson, and four weeks ago, I was raped. The first thing I heard when I got up was, "Oh, Izzy, it's not your fault!" From my mom, my Dad, and my sister, Abby.

But it was my fault. All my stupid fault. I looked and acted like a whore, and now I'm pregnant with some sick bastards baby.

Of course I can't kill it. Her/Him, they didn't say, "I want my mommy to be raped and have me at 17!" No. I did it with my little black dress. But I need to. I need this out of my body because I can't feed it. My body refuses to send food to it.

"Izzy.... we should go now....The baby.... is starving. Abortion is the only right thing to do." Mom says to me in that complacent voice that Doctors use if they need to calm a patient. Mom has that voice down, she's the head Dr. at Carbondale Hospital. I look at her and see me, and what the baby might look like. If it were to ever be a baby. It will be a 'Deceased Fetus'. Mom's mousey brown hair, her prominent lips, her dark gray/green/blue eyes. So much if her is me. I have all those things of hers and my own special red tint to my lips. Dad's features on me are my height, a slight 5'6, and my body shape. It's not an hourglass, maybe it's a pinchpot. What did my babies daddy look like? Did he really have just a black blank face with dark green eyes? Who was he? Who stole away my happiness?

"Izzy..." Mom snaps me back to reality. She gives me that sad stare, the one I hate. I square my shoulders before I answer.

"Let's go do it, then."