Bad Boy With Scars

Chapter One: Assumptions

(A/N) I know this sucks but it's my first story so cut me some slack maybe? Comment and let me know what you think. I really do appreciate it, so thank you!
This story involves some type of self harm and suicide so if you are not comfortable with reading stuff like that then please do not. Thank you...again.
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Chelsea's P.O.V.

I came across my locker. Opening it, he came strutting past, acting the way he does everyday - an asshole.

I could practically hear him smirking as he slammed his hand next to my face. The leather of his jacket was reeking with the smell of alcohol and smoke. It made me gag.

He pushed some of my dark brown hair, similar to his, behind my ear and stared into my blue eyes. He came close to my ear and whispered, "Same time tomorrow babe."

Connor Franta. The asshole. Why was it me he always picked on. Everyday I had to deal with this jackass, making me feel so, vulnerable. I wish I could tell someone, but I remember the first, and last time, I tried to.

*FLASHBACK*

I was pushed up against the locker by Connor. His breath smelled like alcohol, not that it was new to me, but it was stronger today.

"I thought I told you not to say anything." His voice sent chills down my spine.

"I-I didn't say anything. I promise." I whispered.

He laughed in my face before grabbing my hair and pulled me into the janitors closet.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

What happened in there will stay between him and myself. Every time I think about want happened in there, makes me want to gauge my own eyeballs out.

"So I was thinking," I felt his cold state running up and down my body. "you should come over and help me with my homework. Then maybe afterwords, we could do what we always do."

Same thing everyday. Connor forces me to come to his house to 'help' with his homework. I truly end up doing all the work. And then he does what he always does. He touches me. Every god damn day.

Sometimes it leaves me wondering what I did to deserve it. Other times, I believe I deserve it. Considering he's not the only one that has ever done it, I probably deserve it.

When I was a child, around the age of 7, my mom and dad fought a lot. He would abuse my mother, and when he got me alone, he molested me. But thankfully one night the neighbors heard my mother run out of the house screaming for help, and they called the cops. He's been in jail since. I'm 18 now and I can still feel his touch.

"I'll think about it." I murmured. He just laughed in my face.

"There's no 'think' about it. You will and you will like it." He said firmly, and walked away.

I looked at the single clock in the hallway. I was already late for math, and there was only one more period left, so I left. I walked out of that building and ran home. Maybe this way, Connor couldn't get me.