The Art of Finding Jasmine Rose Peters

24

'Respect lost can never be earned.' ~JRP

There was one thought on Hayden's mind as her in-built biological alarm clock woke her up.

I will not go to school.

She had had enough of that stupid school and the people. There was no one that would make her go to school, and that was final. A little rest will go a long way, she told herself, snuggling into her warm covers.

It felt beyond refreshing to be able to lie back down after she had woken up. Hayden grabbed her old-but-gold laptop and opened up her documents. She was going to enjoy a little time with her characters, and there was no stopping her.

***

The first time it had happened to Jaz, she didn't recognize what it was. It was the day after her 13th birthday, after he had taken away her womanhood.

She was lying down in bed scribbling down some things for a character she wanted to develop. It was around 10 o'clock, her bedtime. But she didn't want to sleep. What if he comes in again?

And the worst part of it was her room couldn't be locked, so she couldn't stop him from entering.

She had ignored him the entire day, and she wasn't planning on ever being close to him. She had actually hidden a table knife beside her so that if he tried anything ever again, she would use it on him.

As if he hadn't taken the hint from her ignoring him, and flinching whenever he came close, he knocked on the bedroom door.

"Jazbear, can I come in?"

Jaz ignored him. What the hell did he want? He already had what he wanted, so what did he want again?

She wanted to scream at him not to come in, but she was scared of what he would do. Sure, he had never physically hurt her or laid his hands on her, but he could and there was no stopping him. He had already damaged her in ways she doubts she would ever be repaired, so what was stopping him from scarring her body more.

Despite not answering, he slowly opened the door and entered the room.

Her breath hitched as he came closer. Her mind was screaming at her to go as far away from him as possible. She was already at the edge of the bed when he sat down on the bed. It creaked under his weight.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened yesterday," he said, with fake signs of remorse. "It won't happen again." He extended his hands to pat her.

"Stay away from me!" she yelled, struggling to bring out the knife. "I have a knife."

She waved it in front of him and he backed off.

"Now, now," he said. "We don't want anyone to be hurt, do we?" Before she could realize anything, he had snatched away the knife and thrown it on the floor. It landed with a clang.

She whimpered. There was nothing standing between him and her.

Then, she snapped.

Tears started falling down her face as she begged him. Her mind was playing images of what had happened the other night—the way he pinned her down with no escape.

"No, no, no." She couldn't let it happen again.

"Calm down!" She could hear him faintly. How would she calm down? Her body was still sore, and her mind contained scars that she could never erase.

The room was closing in on her, and her ears were numb. Her head was pounding, and her heart racing. Sweat mixed with tears and created a sickly salty combination.