Endless

Chapter 7; No Easy Way Out

     Once again, I couldn't sleep. Not because of old memories or thoughts of the one boy I couldn't have. It was the exact same nightmare I'd been having for weeks. To replay it over and over was tiring. I was always in the same lonely place, old, collecting with dust. I'd been stuck in the same four walls of vacancy since that night. Because of him, my laughter was now forced and my smiled faked. Any shred of security I had left, vanished when I saw his face. He would linger around the corner with that crooked smile. At one point, I'd thought it was adorable; to look at it now was excruciating. He would whisper my name, almost too quiet to hear, as if we were in secrecy. I would stare at my feet, pretending he wasn't there. I would notice from the corner of my eye, from across the room, his silhouette making it's way to me. In the short time it would take me to blink, he would make his way behind me. His shadow would dance hauntingly along the walls. I would feel his hands run over my shoulders. I would try casually to pry them off but he would only get closer. I would feel his lips, whispering my name. I would shudder. I'll admit I was scared, whether this was a dream or not. He would slip in front of me, pushing me back against the wall. The lights would go out, leaving the room pitch dark. He disappeared for a brief second.

      "Riley?" I would ask.  

    "Hey, babe." Although I couldn't see him, I knew he was close. "Mmm, that dress makes me crazy."

      The familiar line spoken that horrific night would dug it's way painfully under my skin.

      "Stop!" I would scream.

      "C'mon, we had fun at the party didn't we?" he would snicker.

       I would try to hold my tears back. "You...raped me."

      He would get closer, until I awoke screaming.

      I shot up faster than a bullet, my lungs heaving. Blaze didn't seem to be phased by it; he was used to it. In the dark, he automatically, by force of habit, wrapped both arms around me. And by force of habit, I tried to squirm away. I stayed still. I'd been raped weeks ago, but the emotional wounds weren't healing. The more I tried to forget, the more I couldn't. I begged for someone to understand. No one did. Correction: No one would. I couldn't tell anyone willingly. Every time I tried, I couldn't force the words out.

      About an hour later, Blaze's fingers barely grazed my elbow, but it was still enough to make me jerk back. His mouth curved into a frown. Balling my fists into my sweater, I shied away. I hadn't let anyone touch me since the incident. And, I think, in a way, it hurt him more than it did me. He sat, at the edge of the bed, face in hands. I guess it was hard for him to see me like this. To be scared of him, was the worst. Although he had his back to me, I could tell he was crying. He'd finally broke. He couldn't keep them hidden, not from me. In the dim morning light, I outstretched my hand to him but hastily pulled away. Instead, I took a deep breath, and curled my arms around his torso, laying my head on the square of his shoulders. It took a lot for me to do that. For a split second, I thought everything was going to be fine. But I still remembered every detail of what had happened. It was permanently engraved in my mind. It would always be there. It had changed me. People looked at me differently, like I was scum. The coldness in their eyes made me feel guilty and cheap. Like a slut who'd had it coming. It was my fault. I was ashamed. Riley had robbed me of my innocence. I no longer felt young. It was like I'd all of sudden gotten old.

       I don't know why I felt the way I did. I was alone. Dead. I felt dead. I don't know what came over me. Almost every bone in my body was visible. The thin layer of skin that covered them was hardly enough. It was unhealthy in every way, but I didn't stop. The worst part was that people could tell something was wrong with me. I was sick. Everyone knew it. I could tell in the way strangers stared, in the way they tried to hide their hushed whispers of judgement. A poor self image, a low self esteem, a tragedy to spark it all and a loss of control. That was me. I couldn't stand to look at myself. Not only for the fear of seeing the many pounds I'd managed to shed, but for the realization of what I was doing to myself. I enjoyed starving myself. In a way it felt like a victory. Maybe if I was skinny and repulsive looking enough, I would never be raped again. I hated using that word; it left a sour taste in my mouth. So did the words "eating disorder." I'd given into everything I'd been trying so hard to resist. But I'd been so used to the feeling of it before, I was weak. I ruined everything. The eyes in the mirror filled with tears. I looked away. With every second I seemed to fall deeper into the rabbit hole, losing myself yet again. I tried to examine myself in the mirror once again. The girl I saw was not me. She had red and puffy eyes, nose running, face hallow and conscience empty. Her smile was twisted with pleasure and disgust. Although she was not the girl I longed to be anymore, I couldn't shake her. I'd been her for too long. I wanted to rid myself of my illness, but every time the voice in my head made me unsuccessful. It had great pleasure in telling me how worthless and gross I was. It always took a great deal of strength to silence it, but never quite enough.