Summary: "Your soul is part of who you are. It's your make-up, your personality, your sense of truly living... your emotions, your mind. But mine was broken." No one understood what I'd gone through. Not the phyciatrist, not my parents, not the teachers, and most of all, not Emmett McCarthy. He didn't know anything about me, what had happened to me or what I'd been through. All he knew was that he wanted me, and somehow, that was enough for him to treat me like the worthless female I was.
Inspiration: Rosalie's past.
The colour of life, envy, peace, and hope.
There wasn't much in life that I was certain about. But the one thing I could be so sure about, was myself. I knew who I was, and the person I used to be. I knew how damaged I was and I saw the way my parents looked at me, with regret pooling in the depths of their eyes.
I was their mistake... their failure.
At school, I managed to float by without any of the usual staring. In the corridors, faces blurred into one, and I could ignore how people moved away from me as I passed. I could ignore the silence that descended on a room as I entered. Eventually, even the rumours stopped.
But, all too soon, the complacency I'd become accustomed to was shattered once more as I started again at a new school, with new walls, new teachers, new classrooms and new faces that didn't understand. Just because my parents wanted to mould me into someone I could never be. The girl I used to be.
They wanted someone they could show off to their friends at their fancy, bullshit charity events. They wanted someone they could hold around the waist and say with pride that I was theirs. They wanted to give my hand to another for a dance, and watch, with a tissue clasped between their champagne flute, as we twirled together under the gold chandelier. But that could never be me. Even if his hand hadn't touched mine yet, even if he hadn't even dared to raise his eyes to my gaze out of politeness, I would be out of the doors and onto the cold, bitter street before they could finish their sentence.
They say life is short and that we should learn to live it to the full, never wasting a second.
But I had to drag myself through each and every one of those seconds, because where I was standing, my future didn't seem so bright.
Leave Me Alone
June 12th - 11.05am
She was staring back at me from across the desk, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her hair pinned up into a tight that made her forehead look huge. I wouldn't be surprised that if half way through the afternoon, she ended up with a splitting headache. Her eyes were pleading.
"Now, we understand what you're going through, and-"
"You don't understand shit about how I feel." My voice was bored. Cold, as always. But very, very bored. It was just a question of repeating what I told her each and every session when she attempted to convince me that for some strange, unconceivable reason, God had spoken to her from the heavens and told her exactly what I'd gone through that night. I moved my gaze away from her greased over hairstyle to her nose. It was hooked at the bottom, like she'd pressed it against a glass window far too often and it had caved backwards towards her nostrils. To the right, was a large mole, pinking against the harsh light of her office.
"We only want to help."
If her mole didn't make me want to hurl, then her words certainly did.
Help was the last thing I wanted. There was only one thing that the woman in front of me was interested in, and that was stealing my mother's money in an attempt to unsuccessfully alter my entire life. Her opening line was that she "knew what I was going through"... and she wondered why we didn't get along.
"I don't want your help."
"Miss Hale." I corrected her as I flashed her a sickly sweet grin. She had no right to call me by my first name.
She cleared her throat as her gaze turned sour and she turned to me, her eyes appraising me with a cold amusement. "Miss Hale, if you are to get better or even progress at all, you have to work with us. Believe me, we do understand what you're going through. Every single therapist here is trained to work with people from all situations, and-"
I tuned out after that bit.
It was all bullshit anyway.
She didn't have a fucking clue what was going through my mind, and neither was she ever going to know. When someone tells you to fuck off, it's a pretty clear indication that they don't want to talk, they're bored shitless, they don't like you, and they want nothing more than to be left alone.
Being trained, no matter how good that training may have been, could never have given her the experience to know how I felt. Training didn't help you to understand what it felt like to be so dirty, that even your skin felt like it shouldn't belong on you. Training didn't help you to understand how scared one person could be from just three faces, pressed into your own, taking away your air to breathe, their sweat dripping onto your cheeks. So scared that you can't even sleep without fear of waking up screaming.
But that wasn't the worst part about what happened.
Apart from losing my dignity, pride, sense of worth, even virginity to them... that was nothing compared to losing my soul. Your soul is part of who you are. It's your make-up, your personality, your sense of truly living... your emotions, your mind. But mine was broken. Broken far beyond repair because of the careless actions of just three men.
It was incredible how much destruction someone could cause in the space of just five minutes. How little it takes to press that red destruction button, or that lever which sets of those nuclear missiles, just waiting for a third world war to erupt.
No, I thought bitterly as I raised my gaze towards hers, watching as she flinched away from my harsh, cold expression. You don't understand shit about how I feel.
AN - I know it's short, but I can promise that the next chapter will be double, if not quadruple the length. It was just a beginning chapter so that you can get an idea for the story but hopefully you like where it's heading so far.
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