Boys Like You

Chapter One

(Remember that this book will contain themes of sexual assault. Please take care and stay safe when reading.)

CHAPTER ONE:
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"I've gotta remember,
That I'm just a toy."- dodie

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Nobody. I'm nobody to you. And you, you're just the man who sexually assaulted me.

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Have you felt like you're the prey, and your mind is the predator? Have you ever felt like you're drowning in your thoughts? Have you ever been tormented by a demon who clung to you and slowly drained the life out of you?

Carrie has been there. She was violated- made to feel worthless. She was sexually assaulted.

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Relaxing in the back of a taxi, Carrie, aged 25, peered out of the window, observing people, cars, life, pass by her in a blur. As the light turned red, the taxi slowed to a stop, Carrie continued to stare out of the window, becoming distracted by the sounds and sights in front of her. In the distance, just close enough to see, was the house.

His house.

The house that he had lived in for many years. Smoke puffed out of the chimney that was barely tall enough to peek through the trees and over the top of the row of shops that lay on the main road, allowing Carrie to see the rough outline of the building; enough for her to know it was there. To anyone else, the building would have meant nothing. To Carrie, it was everything. Her best friend had lived there for many years. The building was the enclosed space in which so many memories, memories that she tried so hard to lock away in the back of her mind, had been made.

The car began inching forward as the light turned from red, to amber, to green, carrying on its journey through the bustling city of Manchester. Carrie had been left there at the traffic lights, eyeing the barely-there chimney; at least, her mind remained there. How innocent their friendship had been- how toxic it became.

Coming to a halt once more, the car allowed a family to cross in front of it. Finally, Carrie shook herself out of the memory of that house. She noticed two children, a boy, and a girl, no older than nine or ten, clearly squabbling about something or another, the boy poking the girl with a giggle as she tried her absolute hardest to look annoyed. She cast her mind back to the period in her life when she was that young girl. The nine-year-old who pretended to be irritated by her friend, but secretly was desperately fighting back a smile that only he could ever bring out. Their first meeting was one of her most treasured while simultaneously one of her most dreaded memories.