Playing With Fire

I remember the day like it was yesterday. It haunts me every second of my life, even more when I close my eyes. Everything about it: the smell, the words that were said, the clothes I was wearing. Now it just feels like it was all a horrible nightmare - a never-ending, cruel reminder of how flawed I truly am; how stupid I can be. Up until now, I never realized how cunning and horrid the truth was. As I think back, I keep telling myself it never happened. It was someone else. It was a movie I saw. The story changed everyday. I couldn't face it. I just couldn't.

I had everything going for me. I was young, a sophomore in high school. Barely fifteen. It was December. I remember my mom had taken me shopping a week before to buy me a new outfit: a graphic tee, black skinny jeans, and purple Chucks. I loved it. I walked with excitement to school with my best friend, Nick. We were so close - never been apart since preschool. But things were slowly changing. He had plans with his family after school that day. He had said he was sorry that he couldn't walk home with me. He told me it wouldn't take long and that he'd meet up with me later. "It's okay, Nick," I'd said, "I understand." He'd hugged me goodbye and left to meet his two older brothers at the crosswalk.

I'd thought of calling my own brother for a ride home. I dialed his phone number and heard the phone ring, expecting him to answer with a cheerful "Hey, Kara!" or "Kara! Yo!" just like Nick's brothers did. But of course, he didn't even pick up. I didn't bother leaving a message because knowing him, he couldn't have checked it anyway. So I set off for my house, thinking about whatever could kill time during the short half-hour walk to my apartment. I remember I'd played with my ring - the purity band that Nick and I went to engrave on his birthday. I kicked a rock or two. Sipped the hot chocolate I had bought just before I left. Texted Nick that I missed him. Hummed the latest Paramore song. Focused on the crunching of snow underneath my shoes. Closed my eyes.

Then the smell changed. The fresh, crisp winter air and snowy scent transformed into the stench of gasoline, cheap cologne, and cigarettes.

Then it happened. The hot chocolate fell to the ground, burning my hand. A pair of hands grabbed me; one covering my mouth, one around my waist. I swung open my eyes and tried to scream, but nothing came out. The hands were large, rough, and freezing cold. Whoever it was had a tight grip on me and nothing I did could free me of it. I cried. And cried until no more tears came out. I desperately hoped someone was watching and could help me.

Then it all went black. Those few minutes, I've blocked out and can't remember. At nthat moment, I'd thought I'd died.

But I hadn't. No, I was in a far worse place.