Taboo // 5sos

Part 1

Hey guys, i also uploaded this on my other account (tomlinapping) but since im pretty much in love with this story i thought itd be a good idea to have this my first story here so enjooooooy hope you like it

You can read ahead on my other account but ill upload the parts that are already up there on here this week too so dont worry

Rosie 

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Ricky & Michael

Waking up on a parking lot, dirty ruined clothes and the hot sun burning on my face wasn't exactly new for me at that time. It was practically all I remembered about my Saturday mornings. And my Sunday mornings. Perhaps also my Monday mornings once in a while. I know people at my school thought I liked to hang out with my group of friends because they're older than me, which was probably true. My friends were all around 17 years old. I was about 13 and the only reason they sticked around is because I would have sex with them, no matter where, no matter when, no matter what.

Not like that's what I imagined my life to look like when I was young and dreaming about all those cool things I would be able to do once I became older, but my own life was boring, these people did 'cool' stuff, smoking weed, getting drunk, setting cars on fire... Maybe deep down, if I would've thought about it a little longer, I knew they weren't good people. They didn't actually like me, I was just their sextoy for as far as I remember now. I didn't mind though, they would still hang with me, that was all that mattered.

It always started the same. I'd walk 10 minutes to the nearest bus station and they'd pick me up there. Then, we'd drive for half an hour, twice the speed limit, not buckled up. It was gonna go wrong one day, but we didn't really give a shit. We'd stop at a derelict parking lot, set up a fire and get drunk, or high. Or both. Being a curious 13 year old, stuff like that was very interesting to me. They'd feed me drunk, refill my plastic cup almost every time I put it down. Eventually I started to put it down consciously, because I was too scared to ask for more. What happened after that was always different. Sometimes they'd beat up someone who – accidently – entered the parking lot. They'd often set old, abandoned cars on fire and watch it burn down. Sometimes there would be another girl. They'd try to feed her drunk too, then one of the guys would take her somewhere we all couldn't hear her. Most of them came back shaking, crying, or both. I'd just thought about them like attention seekers, they had perfect lives. What the guy had done to them wouldn't be that bad.

My parents divorced when I was 4 years old. My dad got custody over my older sister, I stayed with my mom. I don't remember anything about them, my dad nor my sister. My mom never wants to talk about it, so I stopped asking questions. Mom has a hard time taking care of me, paying the house and making sure there's food on the table every night. She works a lot, especially in the weekend. Most of the time she stays till midnight, or comes home in the morning. What I do with my time doesn't bother her. She has no idea what I do on Friday nights, if she knew she'd probably kill me. I don't think she wants to find anyway, that's probably why she never asks.

I was almost 15 when one day another group of friends decided they wanted to have our parking lot. There were 16 of them. We were with 9, including 3 girls. It took about 5 minutes till there was a fist fight. Obviously we didn't want to lose 'our' place, so one of the guys pulled a knife. He killed two of them, police were there 10 minutes later.

We were all at the police department, my body was hurting and my nose was bleeding. A nice, young lady asked me all the things she needed to know. I told her everything I did know, I wasn't as tough as I acted. About three hours later my mom got me from the department and we drove home in silence. I didn't sleep for about 2 nights. All I could think about was that guy killing those two guys. It went so fast, I had no idea what was happening till they were both dead, stabbed in the chest several times. Still, I kept blaming myself. If I stepped up, maybe they'd still be alive, their families didn't have to prepare a funeral, their parents didn't have to lose their kids. A month later my mom and I moved in another house. It was a little bigger than the house we had before, but I hated it. My mom didn't want me to be around my 'friends' anymore, so she decided to move far away from them. I heard her talking over the phone with my dad one day, saying that I chanced and that I barely ever talked to her. 'I feel saver being so close to you now', she'd said. I didn't blame her for being scared of me, after all I practically killed two people.