The Oak Tree And The Shotgun.

Chapter 10

Jackie's POV

*Later that day*

My eyes buzzed as I sat in my seat staring at the one spot on the ground like a frozen corpse.

For some reason I couldn't shake yesterday's torturous experience. I could still feel the revolver at my entering. It felt like the cuts there reopened at the thought of it happening.

I felt my heart chipping away to the speed of every breath I gave. I closed my eyes and clutched the table.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

My breathing picked up speed.

"This is what boyfriend's do. First, they take you to their room then they take off your clothing, then.." he rubbed something against me as he held my head down. It didn't feel like a penis. I begged.

He thrusted it into me. Hard. I screamed. Cried. Begged again. He just kept going and going and going and going and...

"Jackie are you ok?" The sir asked me.

All of a sudden my face felt wet. It was stained with cold salty tears and my fingernails dug holes into the table. There was a lot of moist at my entering, it was burning and liquid was dripping from my leg. Everyone was looking at me.

The temperature was rising and I started sweating and seeing black spots in my vision. My body trembled but couldn't breathe as i tried to say something. My tears we're the only thing speaking so I took my things and ran out to the bathroom.

I dropped everything in a cubicle and went to the mirror everything was happening so fast yet so slow.

I opened up my jacket and wet toilet paper, dabbing my face and neck so I didn't mess up the concealer whilst holding my entering in traumendous pain. I croaked out a cry then sufforcated it so no one could hear me.

When I lifted my hand I saw a red substance. I saw blood.

I panicked and ran into the cubicle, locking the door behind me and leaning against the wall. I breathed in. I still had the wet toilet paper in my hand.

I untied my sweat pants and pulled it down slowly, opening my legs. Every movement hurt like hell.

There was a massive stain on the inside of my pants and my underwear was soaked in blood.

I pulled it down slowly to check if it was my menstrual cycle or the cuts.

And no. It wasn't my period. Everything in side of me broke as I slid down the wall, crying softly. Now I didn't care. I couldn't care now. Not anymore.

So I opened my pencil case and took out the blade I found earlier today.

I held it to my thigh and I cut it. Repeatedly. From the top of my knee to my hip bone. Crying more but caring less with every cut. Cutting harder as each cut was carved into my leg.