I kissed him back reluctantly, he was aggressive. I opened my eyes and found his open too, staring at my face. It made no sense, the way he looked at me. I started to pull away. He pushed me against the railing, grabbing my hands and holding them up high over my head. He kissed me harder, his mouth molding into mine. Eventually somewhere along the way, his tongue gained access to my mouth. “Chris, please. Stop, stop!” my hands against his shoulders and chest. He completely ignored me, my cries only seeming to egg him on. “Chris! Stop it! Let…me…no!” His hands crept and stroked up my skin, pulling and tugging at my clothes. His skin was hot, burning to the touch. It engulfed every inch of my skin that he touched. His right hand slipped to my lower back, unzipping my dress. Without a word, I’m back into the room, pushed onto the bed. I try fighting him off, hitting his arms with my fist, but he was too strong. My struggling is meaningless to him. I try screaming, but his lips work against mine, hard and hungry, his hands roam freely over my body, traveling to places they shouldn't visit. “Stop!” I cry, but it’s no surprise that he ignores my verbal protest. I put my hands against his face, pushing him backwards as best as I can. But his tattoo covered arms were longer than mine. His hands ran up and down, everywhere, as he moved his mouth off my mouth, and to my throat. “Don’t” I cried. His mouth pressed into mine to silence my words and his hands hiked up my skirt. "I can't resist you" he said roughly. He bit down hard on my exposed shoulder. I cried out in pain. Did my skin burst into flames? I had to look down to check. Nothing was burning, at least not visibly. The violent pulse beating behind my ears made everything a little blurry. I felt a degree of agony I had never known before, my heart thudded audibly against my ribs, and my breath seemed to get stuck in my throat. I felt his eyes on my face, but I refused to meet his gaze. Anguish was what I would name it, when I felt the pain around my hips. My whole body was shaking. I couldon'tr anything. I couldon'tr the fireworks. I couldn’t hear the music downstairs. I couldon'tr my pleading. Everything after that was a blur, the next thing I remember I was in my bed, at home. My own eyes flew open, I lay shivering and gasping in my bed for several minutes, trying to break free of what I remembered. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. I was in intense pain, I couldn't tell where it was coming from, only that it seemed to radiate throughout my entire body. And then I felt the heaviness pushing down on me, crushing me. I tried to move but whatever it was, was so heavy and my body seemed to just not work. I tried to speak, but I couldn't get my mouth to move. At first, I couldn't believe I'd lived through that. Surely, it was a nightmare? I screwed my eyes shut, and waited to wake up. I realized I was still shaking, when I looked at my sweaty palms. For a long time, I just sat and stared, and did not think. And then like rain, I softly began to cry. It was first just tears, but then I sobbed into my arms. The pain of it was so terrible. My breathing started to accelerate again and my hands trembled. I started to feel a little dizzy. The sky outside my window turned gray, then pale pink while I waited for my heart to slow. My body was motionless with sudden stress. I let my mind wander idly for a moment, expecting somebody to come and tell me this was all a bad dream. But after a few minutes, I found myself more alert, anxiety creeping back into my stomach, twisting it into uncomfortable positions. A haze of violent reminiscences clouded my mind, throbbing in pain with memories of cuts, bruises, and bite marks on my once untouched innocent skin.
I heard the door creak, and saw Chloe come in, and the only thing she asked me is if I remembered anything? I nodded silently, my face wet with tears. I asked her if mom and dad knew, she said they did, and they were dealing the police at the moment. I could feel her probing, green eyes on me. I slowly leaned forward until I could reach out and touch her. For some reason, I felt the need to make sure everything was real. She didn’t ask any questions, and for that, I was grateful. I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to cry and let all the pain wash away. I was comforted by her being next to me, like old times. When we sat licking ice cream off our chocolate covered cones and give people superpowers according to how they dressed in the park. She sat by me, quietly, taking my hand, rubbing her thumb over it. I wish I could tell her just how much being here means to me. She pulled me into a hug and I cried even more. When I'm strong enough to look at Chris in the eye, I'll be sure to thank him for teaching me how to never trust someone. When I'm strong enough to smile again, I'll be sure to slap him in the face. When I'm strong enough to talk again, I'll be sure to tell him that he didn't crush me like he probably wanted to. When I'm strong enough to feel confident around boys again, I'll be sure to kick him where it hurts most, and make sure he never does it again. But right then, I was fine with being embraced by somebody who I'm sure wouldn't hurt me. And at the moment, that was all that mattered.