My Sadist King

My mother always asked me why I dressed so “strange” when I began high school. All I could do was shrug. I couldn’t tell her that the dark clothes reflected how I felt on the inside. I just hated people. I hated everything.

It was blatant that I was out of place throughout my short high school career, but I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. I just wanted to be myself and be happy about it. The other students would stare and I would pretend they weren’t there. They would throw trash at me and I would walk on as though the laughter hadn't been directed towards me.

I was the black sheep. The black sheep of my family and the black sheep of my school. Everyone stared at me like I was an organism underneath an old microscope, crawling around in disgusting and unusual ways. No one let me in. No one treated me with respect. They all jabbed at me with pins and needles to see what would make me tick.

And that’s why I let him kidnap me.