Page 13 of Savage Hope

His hand slipped under my skirt, teasing the hem of my panties, and I just…I couldn’t. I’m sure I’m the only one missing out at this stage, but the idea of it, right there, on the asphalt, only solidified that it wasn’t for me.

Not when there’s always a teacher supervising. I don’t need an audience to embarrass myself any further.

T wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t about him.

I don’t think he’s ever going to speak to me again, and I think I can live with that. What’s one more person to leave in the pile that keeps on growing?

Disappointment threads through my veins tonight, mostly at myself, but no matter what, I know I made a decision for myself, one that was right in the moment, and there’s strength in that. Strength that won’t matter when I’m dead, but at least it mattered today.

P x

Dear Diary,

I hate it here.

No I don’t.

I just hate him.

No I don’t.

I loathe him.

That’s a lie.

I actually hate that I don’t feel any anger, maybe just more disappointment?

It seems since I haven’t been putting out, T has been looking elsewhere. Multiple elsewheres, if we’re being honest, but that’s beside the point.

Anyone in our age group has been a target, except me and S, since she’s still got a boyfriend.

I’m not sad, or mad, I’m almost…relieved. But lonely. Definitely lonely.

I didn’t want to kiss him anymore, and I definitely didn’t want his hands on me, but he could have at least said goodbye or something? Maybe, I don’t know.

Despite how much I don’t miss it, I miss the feeling of being connected to someone.

The reality is, I didn’t give him what he wanted and he left.

I wonder if there’s something I don’t remember from my childhood that played a significant part on my behalf that brought me here. Maybe it wasn’t just because my blood kin’s family had more money, maybe my family couldn’t deal with me. Maybe I deserve this.

I’m still talking with S, but I see the look in her eyes, the one that confirms I’m slipping back to my old ways, but solitude has only ever been my savior.

Besides, the clock is ticking. In six months, everything is going to change again.

I may as well distance myself now because people will only slip between my grasp whether I like it or not.

The truth of where the eighteen year olds go will soon be information I’m privy to, but for the first time in the seven and a half years I’ve been here, I don’t want to find out.

P x

5

P

NOW

Ialmost don't recognize the person looking back at me in the mirror. Time seems to be moving in a distorted way and all I can do is watch it pass me by. My all-black uniform suits my mood and the hollowness in my eyes makes my silver hair feel out of place as it frames my gaunt face.

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