WTF with looking him up on Facebook?!
Because now, that girl, my dear sweet girl, is screaming back to consciousness, clawing her way out from under the pillow.
And out of the corner of her eye - seeing the girls she was babysitting silhouetted in the doorway.
Those girls. Oh my god, those girls. I can't see their faces; the hall light was behind them. And just maybe I am really glad about that. For Pete's fucking sake, that was THE WORST THING about it. Worse than being torn apart, worse than passing out for the only time in my life, worse than being suffocated. Worse than the entire school knowing. Worse than my parents knowing.
No, this isn't a new memory, it's always been there. It's such a horrible little detail, I preferred to leave it out.
What did that do to them? What could they possibly have thought? That he was murdering me? Did they worry it would be like that for them?
Dear Jesus. Those girls.
I'm glad there is no alcohol in the house. Because I feel like drinking myself into a stupor.
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