The Ghosts We Leave Behind.

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You know the stereotypical town where every movie takes place? The one that has a high school full of Jocks, Nerds, and Outcasts, and their parents never know or care about what their children are out doing. The people always seem to exist in some kind of bubble, where nothing bad ever happens and everyone is the most perfect they can be. I grew up in that place.

I haven’t been on this Earth long, but I loathed every moment I spent in that suburb. The very thought of going back there makes my stomach flip and bile rise in my throat. Granted I may sound overdramatic or spiteful, but I can promise you it is elicited. I spent 3 years in that town being told I was a liar, that it was my fault.

I spent 3 years in that town being raped by someone who said he loved me.

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My hazel eyes scan the skyline on the horizon, as I pull my bright bottle-red hair into a messy ponytail. It’s been 5 years since I’ve left my home. Today was the day I was finally going back. That’s what happens when Death comes into town before I do.

My eyes keep to the window wishing I didn’t have to be away from the Chicago skyline. All I could think about were the memories of the nights spent awake, the crying, the pain. Yet I had to go. When Death beckons, No isn’t an option. Though it’s not like that word holds any meaning to me now.

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As I sit in my cramped plane seat, the large woman next to me snored loudly. My eyes stare hard into the clouds as I place my purple headphones into my ears so that my music could drown out her feral snores. My mind begins drifting, drifting to thoughts of him.

I can never fully remember him. I remember his eyes and how menacing they could look, his fake smile that held no real love and of course his calloused hands. He overpowered me with his kisses and sweet words at the ripe age of 15. I was only a year younger than him, but he was much more advanced in ways I had yet to learn. He ravished my young body and never stopped for 3 long years.

It never stopped.

Even when I tried to tell someone about my plight, they laughed in my face and told me ‘Oh honey, things like that don’t happen here.’ Heaven forbid anyone even mentions the word RAPE. I learned to keep my mouth shut.

They blamed me. They told me I had asked for it. Did I really ask to have someone force himself on me? If I did, I never remembered that conversation.

In all honesty, I gave up on revenge. He will live with the guilt, with the pain of knowing. Hopefully.

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As I walk to Baggage Claim, my mother stands with a sign. ‘Welcome Home’

If Only.
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