The Golden Boy ⚣

02-aftermath

Chapter 2

Aftermath

XOXOXOXOXOX

He left a while ago. 

I didn't seen his face, nor do I wish to, as I was certain it would haunt both my dreams and my nightmares.

I didn't know what to do for a long time, just lying there in my filth (I peed myself) and staring at the wall emptily.

I know what a girl should do in this kind of situation. Wear her clothes, don't wash up because the evidence can be used against the rapist, and head down to the police station. Should I do that too? 

No way.

Would anyone even believe me? Me, Arryn Donatello, golden boy of Mary Jane International High school, has just been raped by some old fat man in his best friend's house party which he went to almost every single week? Even more, he couldn't remember his face.

I didn't see his face.

But I know I can't stay here any longer, so I force myself to push off the bed and slowly walk to the pile on the floor where he threw my clothes. I wince as I pick up my t-shirt. He'd almost ripped it in two.

Sighing, I slip it over me and grab my jacket to hold it in one piece. Next came my boxers, jeans and finally my belt to click it all into place.

Dusting off my thighs, I painfully look around for my phone, and sigh in relief when I see it lying on the bedside table. It doesn't look cracked or broken, but it isn't switching on. My battery is probably dead.

I avoid all the mirrors in the room the best I can, knowing that I do not want to see myself in this manner. I want to take a bath, so so badly, but my need to get out of this house is greater so I bolt out of the room and walk down the hallway. 

I know this house like the back of my hand - I have been coming here to hangout for years now with my best friend, Hale Mirella.

The house seems empty from what I can see. Hale probably crashed at Jason's or Donna's house. His parents are never home, so I don't need to worry about them either.

Making my way through the hall, I walk to the front door and grab the handle, grimacing at the wetness that greets my palm. Pushing the door open, I step out, wiping my palm on my jeans and walking down the steps of the porch. The porch looks how it looks after ever party - cups and booze strewn everywhere, missing pieces of clothing, cigarettes and the occasional drunk idiot. I ignore the guy strewn across the grass and walk to the gate, pushing it open and heading out. 

The cool, sharp air of dawn blows across my face, and I make my way over to the house of the only person I know I can trust to see me like this.

It isn't very far, we all live within walking distance of each other at Upper East sector. It's probably how I met my circle, and became friends with them. We were all rich, terribly good looking and absolutely horrible. Aka, popular.

Walking up to the modern suburban house, I go to the side of the house and look up at the window. Grabbing a stone from the ground, I toss it up and smile in satisfaction when it hits the glass pane with a dull thud.

The window opens almost instantly and a blonde head pokes out.

"Rin?!" Her shriek floats down to me, and I manage a half-hearted grin in return. Evette Wilson looks both furious and relieved, and I somehow manage to pull myself up the tree that grew right in front of her window. I don't know what her parents were thinking; it was basically an invite for any boy to climb into her room.