Burn

I'd never been a risk-taker, my heart was glued upon my chest, and my emotions were kept within me, where they were supposed to be.

If one were to slip through the cracks, I would beat myself up about it. But no, Not with Amy. Amy was like my release, she would absorb my yelling, my crying, and it wouldn't change the way we were.

Though, I always had to watch my back, trust was not my strong point. Every secret I told could be used against me, and I wouldn't let that happen. The first time that I told Amy, It felt as if there was a huge boulder lifted off my shoulders.

But then it dawned on me, what if Amy were one to tell, what if my secrets were projected to the entire world? It couldn't happen, and it wouldn't. At least, I had thought so at the time.

Me and Amy met when I was fourteen, shortly after I was raped.
Thinking of it now, telling my story almost brings me to tears.

Amy and I weren't very close, but I had actually trusted her, at least, more than the rest of them. I had a lot to learn about Amy, how manipulative she was, when I wouldn't do what she asked she would shove the tragedies down my throat, and use them against me.

But, I didn't know it then.

I came to her a couple weeks after losing the only thing that was fully mine, that I hadn't thought of giving away, and told her about it.

She seemed concerned the week before; when I wasn't smiling the way I used to, when I took sick days of school. She acted like she really did care. So, poured my heart out.

I told her of the chilly night, with wind blowing in my face. I told her of the dark alley that I had curiously walked into. How dumb was I, telling her all these things.

Our friendship lasted, and she had consoled me about everything, she was there for me, for a price.

Never will that price be known.

“rebel, rebel you've torn your dress,
rebel rebel, your face is a mess”