Monday, December 19--
They won't let me see Adrian. They won't even let me call him without supervision; they're still convinced that I want to run off with him somewhere... As much as I'd like to, I don't think Adrian is as reckless as I am. On top of all that, mom, they say you're out of rehab and you don't even want me back... Is it true? I know you're trying to get your life together, but I could help... Couldn't I? I won't be a burden like before... Please, tell me it isn't true--
Wednesday, December 21--
I got a call from my mother today, and she's out of rehab... Sad thing is it's true that she doesn't want me back... At least "not right now," as she so eloquently put it... And, it isn't up for discussion.
Sunday, December 25--
All things considered, today was sort of nice... I wasn't looking for anything, but Aunt Kathy invited Jessica and her family again. I got to see and feel Adrian again for the first time in six days... When he arrived, I gave him the tightest, longest, most heartfelt hug that I could give. And guess what? After dinner, he kissed me... His lips--I can't describe the kiss without sounding too poetic or cliche', but... the feel of his lips upon my own was the damndest thing... I trembled when he touched me. He pulled me into his body, and I just... I dunno. I'm not very good with words; the feeling I got when he touched me was indescribable.
I have no idea when i'll get to see him again, but today was better than expected.
Wednesday, December 26--
Wednesday, December 28--
I'm dying inside...
Friday, December 30--
Christmas night... I opened my eyes--I could feel him... He crawled in bed behind me, but I didn't move--I thought that maybe if I played possum, he would leave me alone. But, I was wrong...
I kept thinking, "Ignore him, and he'll go away... Ignore him, Annaleigh--Don't even breathe..."
I closed my eyes tightly and lay as stiff as a board.
His breath was sweet--dizzying. Whenever he spoke, my stomach churned wildly. He had been drinking, and the smell of him was making me nauseous.
I can still feel his hot breath snaking across my bare shoulder and his unnaturally cold hand reaching around to my quivering stomach as he asked over and over again, "Are you awake?"
I panicked and faced him, begging him to go away and promising not to tell if he would just leave.
But, he--he didn't leave.
I screamed, but no one heard me. I fought, and he fought back.
Bloodied nose, light-headed, and dizzy, I raised a weak hand to block his advances, only to have it slapped aside. His cold hands slithered underneath my night shirt--
Every inch of my body was covered in something tell-tale... My face was speckled with his saliva, moist with his sweat--and slick with my own blood.
--Whenever I close my eyes, I can see his long shadow stretched across my bedsheets. My mantra is, "It could have been worse... He only touched me and bruised me up a little," but... it doesn't make me feel any better. I'm broken in pieces... and what if he comes back...?
Monday, January 2--
I... I can't stop thinking about it. I laid there for hours, it seemed, bleeding out and dazed--hoping to wake up. Hoping that it was all just a vivid nightmare. But, no. The bleeding slowed to a trickle and then dried. And as I became increasingly aware of what happened, I went into a stupor. I couldn't move... I couldn't think. All I could do was stare into the ceiling and grieve for my safety.
And after the dizziness began to subside, I slowly sat up in my bed. By then, the pool of blood had dried into my night-shirt. I staggered, pitifully, into my aunt's bedroom to let "her" see what he had done to me... But, she wasn't there and neither was he... They left a note saying that they would be back "soon."
I didn't get angry... I didn't feel much of anything at the time. I went back to my room, and I took a shower... I stood under the steady stream of hot water and let it singe every piece of me that he touched--in the hopes that it would wash away the frigidity of his coarse hands or overpower the overwhelming heat of his body...
Some how admitting it--saying that something happened--makes me feel worse.
Wednesday, January 11--
School starts again tomorrow, and I look forward to it. Adrian started college last week... I wonder if he'd let me stay with him since he's getting an apartment. I'll be in college soon, also. Only seven more months until August. I don't think I can wait that long... Something's gonna have to give. I refuse to let this go any further.
Sunday, January 15
I started sleeping with scissors underneath my pillow. Next time, I hope there isn't a "next time." But if there is, I'm ready.
© Copyright 2017 Jennifer Brighton. All rights reserved.
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