Page 25 of Unspoken Truths

I’m almost ninety percent sure the words are trapped inside of my mind, my lips pressed tightly together to keep any noise from escaping. This is bad. Really fucking bad.

I can’t escape this, I’ll never have a normal school experience here. Not ever.

I was a fool to think that it was possible, and so was Emil.

My eyes trail down the article, freezing when I see my stepfather's name.

“If I was Rachelle’s mother, I’d be nervous to have her living in the same house as her hot new husband, Emil Reyes,”the article says. “Maybe one night the new girl will creep into his office or bedroom to play into a whole different fantasy with her new daddy.”

My fingers go numb as I drop the newspaper, shaking with rage. I would still be a fucking virgin if it hadn’t been for Colton. Sex isn’t something I think about much, because then I start to think about how heavy he was, the way he held me down…

Fuck, I can’t do this.

“Slut!” Marci yells from down the hall. “Are you going to be a Daddy fucker too?”

“Let me go!” Liliana screams, and all the sound feels too much as it all rushes over me.

It’s as if my head was under water, and now I’ve crested over the surface. I can hear every word yelled, the slamming of lockers, and the way the paper crinkles and snaps as people read the twisted words of my past.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ignacio smirking next to Theo, who is holding back a very pissed off Liliana. Whatever it is that they’re doing, whatever game, I want no part in it. She’s on her own.

Turning away, I push my way through the hallways of people, struggling to get through. It’s as if they all decided to get in my way today. Hands grab for me, pinching my ass as I squeal in surprise, and tears begin to slide down my cheeks unbidden. I need to get the fuck out of here.

Finally slipping into a side hallway, I run until I can yank the doorway open to one of the more hidden passageways, moving until I can find an alcove where I can collapse and cry. Students will be heading to their homerooms, maybe I can simply stay here until I can get it together.

I doubt the school will do anything about this. If it was published, a little underage rape must not mean much here. I want to crawl into a dark hole, disappear completely.

My fingers clench with the need to cut, whispers of everything people called me sliding through my mind over and over. Maybe I do deserve this, I don’t belong here.

So why am I bothering to try.

“Have you seen Rachelle Thomas?” a voice booms through the passageway, heels clipping across the stone floors. I’ve been disassociating in this little corner, and didn’t realize there were people here.

Apparently more than one.

“No, I haven’t,” a deep male voice says. “We’re all looking for her. How did this get so out of control? Who the hell published that article?”

“I have no idea,” the woman says, passing by my little hole of sorrow. It’s the assistant principal of the school, Mrs. Hartwell. “I’m going to find out, though. Her stepfather is going to lose his mind. This isn’t going to be pretty. I need to find out what I can, starting with her.”

“Students are halfway through their homerooms, which means they’ll all be in the hallways soon. Doesn’t leave much time to look in this size of a school,” the man mutters.

“No,” Mrs. Hartwell says. “I really don’t want to call her mom and stepfather to explain that we somehow lost her. Keep looking, please.”

My heart pounds as I listen to them leave, my head dropping back as I struggle to regulate my breathing. Except I can’t, and I’m gasping for oxygen that won’t pass through to my lungs. My fingers grasp at the knife at my thigh.

I can’t move until I cut. This is a terrible place for it, but fuck it. I need to get control. Remind myself I’m a good fucking person, I’m not a whore, I didn’t do anything to catch Colton’s eye.

My chest heaves with exertion as I pull the knife from its holster. It would be so easy to cut too deeply, bleed out onto the stone floor of a place that breeds cruel and powerful people to take their positions in society. Only the strong rise, but I don’t feel very strong right now.

Maybe I can become better if I cut, though. It could happen…

My hand slides up to my scarred hip, but it’ll be too difficult to get to the skin there. Biting my lip, I pull my skirt up to where the suspender tights show off the still tanned skin of my thighs. Soon, I’ll be losing the warm tone due to the overcast days in Portland, my Florida tan leaving me like everything else.

My thumb runs over my soft skin, and I take the blade and press gently over it, hissing as the blood beads to the surface. It’s so vibrant and pretty, hurting just enough to begin to clean my mind.

Cut after cut, I sigh as I close my eyes, finally achieving silence.

The blade lays flat against my skin so it can’t cut me, a familiar cool feeling of what it’s capable of. My heart is still beating fast, but I feel good. Almost floaty. The blood is going to need to be taken care of, but it’s just on my skin. Pulling out my wet wipes, gauze, and different types of tapes, I clean myself up, ignoring the passage of time.

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