Page 89 of Beautifully Wounded

Dammit. Why am I like this?

It’s confusing as hell, especially given what I admitted to Ringo last night.

The ache between my legs vanishes, replaced with an ache in my chest, and the threat of tears.

I’ll never be the same.

For weeks now, I’ve daydreamed about hurting them. The six guys that took advantage of my drugged state. Sometimes the thoughts scare me, because never in my life have I ever imagined hurting anyone the way I want to hurt them.

I want to make them quiver in fear and beg for mercy. I want them to feel what it was like to endure the things they did to me, and while their gender prevents them from truly knowing, the fact that there’s still a way to do…thatto them, has fuelled my appetite for revenge.

But, let’s be honest. I’m me. I could never…

I slowly sit up on the bed and stare down at Ringo.

He could. I know it in my bones that if I asked him to do that, he’d make sure they know what it’s like to have their body used, their limbs stretched every which way, to have their hair pulled so hard, that clumps get torn from their scalp. He’d make sure they couldn’t breathe and know what it feels like to choke as someone shoves something so forcefully down your throat that you can’t help but vomit. He’d make sure their skin is left with bruises in the shapes of gripping fingers, and that their most intimate places are abused in such a way that sharp pain and bleeding will linger for weeks.

It may be wrong of me to want Ringo to do that, but as I ease from the bed, careful not to wake him, I don’t even hesitate when I pick up the pen and notepad off his bedside table, and write down the names of the monsters that took everything from me.

Daniel Stone – 11 Mackery Lane, Fox Pines.

Craig McRoe – 261 Commercial Road, Fox Pines.

Michael Berry – 22 Landrey Place, Fox Pines.

Tim Beck – address unknown.

Donny Allen – address unknown.

Darnel Rivers – address unknown.

I shed a single tear as I place the notepad and pen back on Ringo’s bedside table, but it’s not for them. No. They will never get my pity.

The tear is for me. The old me. The person I was before all of this happened.

She was nice. Sweet. Smart. But ultimately, naïve.

I can’t say I’m none of those things anymore, but what I am now, that I wasn’t back then, is damaged. Wounded. Ruined. So broken that I know this simmering hate I feel brewing will never leave me. It will always be a part of who I am now.

And I don’t even know who that is.

After I have a quick wash, I rummage through Ringo’s wardrobe and find another hoodie, swapping it out before I gather up my dirty clothes, and his, and slip from the room to do our laundry.

It must be pretty early. There’s not a sign of anyone awake.

There are a few men passed out in various locations around the courtyard. One of which is sleeping soundly in the small garden bed outside the laundry room.

I smile.

He kind of looks comfy. It’s like he fell there and just decided it was as good a place as any to sleep.

These people… well, they are so far off even being remotely like the people in Fox Pines or at the church that I find it refreshing.

They are rough. Inappropriate. And probably the happiest bunch of blokes I’ve ever met.

In the laundry room, it doesn’t take me long to figure things out. After all, this is what my mum has been training me for. Or perhaps grooming me is a better term for what she’s been doing.

Now that I’ve been away from her for a few days, I feel like a blanket of manipulation has lifted and I can see everything clearer. I don’t know why my mum is the way she is, or why my dad just lets her control everything, but what I do know is that they are both monsters for standing back and allowing their daughter to be treated the way I have.

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