Confessions of a Queen Bee

27

*Disclaimer: This chapter has references to self harm and suicidal idealisation.*

After watching the sunset with Jackson and him showing me some constellations of stars that I tried my best to see, he had taken me home. He had come in for a little bit, happy to see my parents and chat for a while. But eventually excused himself saying that he should probably head home so his parents wouldn't worry.

Things um, got bad in the night... 

I woke up screaming, utterly hysterical over a stupid nightmare. I remember screaming in my dream trying to get away from him but I didn't realise I was  literally screaming in real life too.

I haven't had dreams like that before. Not really. 

The screaming had woken my parents up and apparently utterly terrified them. I hadn't slept since then, that was about 3AM and my mum had decided to sleep next to me for the remainder of the night.

I decided to work on the thing Dr Halpin asked me to do, the whole write it all down thing.

Which probably was a really bad idea. But my brain was already running over everything again, trying to torture me. So I thought I might as well just try and get it all down. 

So it's now 8Am and I'm sat in my kitchen writing all the horrible shit that happened down in an old notebook just waiting for my parents to wake up and come down stairs.

The memories come alive in my brain as I conduct them on the paper. And every ounce of my soul wants to stop writing, to stop telling this horrible, graphic story. I hate that I am so alone in this that nobody truly understands what happened, that not even Layton is here to admit what he did.

And as I write it all, as I tell the fucked up story. I sort of realise I dont think he knew what he was doing. 

I mean he did. 

He pinned me down. Attacked me. 

He knew I didn't want to. 

But I keep remembering the look in his eyes and I am not sure he was fully there. I am not convinced it was the same Layton that I spent time with in a group of our friends. 

But what does that fucking mean?

What does that mean?

What does it mean?

Does it mean anything?

Not really. 

I am physically exhausted by the time that my mum comes down to make breakfast. Her eyes are concerned when she asks me what I am doing.

"Writing in a journal. You think I can be that bitch? Dear Diary, my life is fucked up?"

Her concern increases. "How are you doing babe?" She asks as she squeezes my shoulders as she walks past me to the other side of the kitchen. Obviously I fucking flinch away from her touch. Clearly indicating how I was feeling.

I feel as if his hands are still all over my body, the way I tried to fight them off but to no avail. Why on earth wasn't I stronger?

My body hurts like the bruises are still there. 

And they're not. 

They're gone. 

But I can still feel them. 

Honestly I might be sick. 

"Ivy." My mum says gently, getting my attention and I snap out of my thoughts. Still feeling so uncomfortable in my own skin.