All I could do was stare at my test paper in first period. Since when was I in a foreign language class? I looked up and around the classroom to confirm that I was, in fact, sitting in Econ. The words were utter gibberish when I turned back to my test. I blinked hard, staring down at the page in front of me. I couldn't make out a single word on the paper.
Shaking my head, I rubbed my eyes. I was just tired, that was all.
I looked back down, again not finding a single word I could read. The words were just scribbles on the paper, wavy lines and scrawls that my brain couldn't process.
My chest started to tighten even as my breathing accelerated. Why couldn't I read it? Was this some kind of a joke?
I looked over at the paper in front of the girl next to me, but I couldn't read hers, either, even as she scribbled away.
What was going on?
Panic started building like a fire inside of me. My hands started to sweat, growing clammy, and it felt like someone was sitting on my tightening chest. I tried to pull in a deep breath, but couldn't force the air into my lungs. I couldn't breathe!
I jumped out of my chair and ran out of the room, racing for the bathroom down the hall. Turning on the tap, I splashed cool water over my face before staring at myself in the mirror.
Calm down, I scolded myself. Calm down.
But I couldn't.
I slid down the bathroom wall until I was collapsed in a heap on the dirty floor. Tears flooded my eyes, and I let them out. What in the world was wrong with me?
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I didn't go back to Econ until the bell rang, ending class. Slightly calmer, I went to pick up my stuff, and bolted out of there. Mr. Fitzpatrick didn't get a chance to stop me, but Sam did.
"Is everything alright, Abigail?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. He didn't share first period with me so he didn't see me run, but apparently my face gave away my distress. I'd washed my tears away in the bathroom, but the puffiness of my eyes hadn't gone down.
"Yeah," I lied, searching for a plausible excuse. "I'm just really stressed about finals."
"You have no reason to worry," he reassured me. "Even if you fail, which you will not, your good grades will carry you through graduation."
"Yeah," I said, then changed the subject. As we talked, I glanced over Sam's shoulder and saw Tristan there, staring at me with a repulsive smirk. Once he caught my eye, he gave me a wink and a profane hand gesture. I glared back at him before cutting my eyes back to Sam.
Disgusting prick.
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I tried to push past Tristan again that evening, but he caught me around the waist. "You should know the drill by now." He grasped my hip painfully, dragging my body to his, and he leaned down and kissed me. I let him lifelessly. "Now, now, Abby," he said, murmuring against my ear. "You know better than to not kiss me back."
Fine. When he put his mouth back on mine, I participated angrily in his kiss. I fought my gag reflex when he shoved his tongue down my throat. Five minutes, I thought. I'd give him five minutes, then leave. That had to be enough, because I couldn't stomach any more.
Counting out the seconds in my head for distraction, I felt Tristan's fingers make their way to the hem of my shirt and begin pulling it up. I ripped away from him, clutching the fabric in my hand. "Get off, you pig!"
Tristan smiled darkly at me. "I want to see what he did."
I smeared Tristan's slobber off of my mouth. "What?"
"I know Eric left scars behind. My dad told me the nitty-gritties. I want to see it."
Anger seared through me. "Your dad is a pompous prick, you know that?"
Tristan just smirked at me, knowing I'd give in.
I heaved a furious exhale. I was trapped, I was so trapped. The cycle was happening all over again, and once again, I couldn't break it. Once again, some man was holding secrets over my head. Once again, some despicable man had my body dancing as his puppet, stripping me of my autonomy. Hopelessness ached inside of me.
Useless.
I knew how I was supposed to break out of the cycle. I was supposed to take the threat away from Tristan and reveal my secrets to everyone myself. But I wasn't brave enough to do it. I'd never be brave enough to tell people my truth then look them in the eyes after. It wasn't a real choice, after all. Not when the only option was impossible.
So, with hands trembling with more anger than fear, I slowly pulled up my shirt. My hands shook more and more with each inch of skin revealed. There were lots of scars to show, but I knew what he was looking for. I pulled the fabric aside to reveal the marking on my left breast.
Tristan smiled when he saw the egg-sized letter carved into my skin. "E," he read aloud.
Eric had carved his initials into his things for as long as I knew him. I, as his favorite possession, had been no exception.
My current tormentor reached out his hand to touch the scar, but I jumped out of Tristan's reach and yanked my shirt back down. There. I'd shown him.
Tristan didn't stop me, just leaned close over me, smirking. He knew exactly what he'd just put me through.
"I have to go," I stated, grabbing my backpack and stalking away.
"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Abby!" he called after me.
My eyes fell shut. It was never going to stop.
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I fell asleep watching a movie that night with Sam, a restless sleep plagued with a stress dream. A dark hallway closed in on me as I ran and ran towards a doorway of light at the end where safety beckoned. Peace was promised beyond that door, I knew. But no matter how far I ran, I never got any closer. In fact, I was losing ground, I—
"Abigail," Sam's voice cut into my dream. "Abigail, wake up. You are having a nightmare."
I jerked awake at the feeling of his hand on my arm. I flinched at his touch and lurched backwards.
"Hey, it is alright, it is only me," Sam soothed. "It was just a nightmare."
My skin was sweaty, my shirt sticking to me. "Yeah," I eventually responded. "Yeah, it was just a nightmare."
"Are you alright, Abigail?" Sam asked with concern, taking my clammy hand in his. I forced myself not to pull it away from him. "You've seemed so uneasy lately."
"Just graduation coming up," I lied again. "It's stressing me out."
"What can I do to help?"
"Nothing. It's just nerves. I'll be alright."
For the third night in a row, I begged off from going to Sam's house in the evening. School projects, I said. In reality, I just couldn't stomach spending any extra time with Sam. I couldn't stomach his touches. I didn't deserve them, and guilt flooded my nervous system any time he tried to get close. I tried to play it off, but apparently he was noticing something was wrong. I was pushing him away. I didn't want to, but how else was I supposed to deal with what I was doing with Tristan?
Was I supposed to live like this until graduation? I'd likely never see Tristan again since he was leaving for college soon after graduation, so the threat of him spilling my secrets would be gone. I'd have to push Sam away until then. Just until then. It was only two weeks away.
But how could I live with myself after what I'd done? How could I ever face Sam without guilt ever again? I'd feel this shame for the rest of my life.
I forced a smile when Sam left that night, but again didn't let him kiss me on the mouth. His eyes watched me with concern, but he didn't push it.
I didn't deserve him.