I probably slept about an hour. It felt less, but it also felt longer in a way. Unfortunately I must have tried to toss in my sleep and the pain in my stomach and everywhere below the waist decided to wake me from the place where I didn’t have any pain, and for once no nightmares either.
“Bitch,” I muttered into the still darkness as I started to crawl out from under the bed. There was no reason in staying down there and trying to sleep again. It just wasn’t going to happen, I was sure of that. And I was really up for that hot shower I was thinking of earlier and then put off because of the pain. It still felt like my insides were going to fall out as I hoisted myself upright by first using the bed and then the desk until I was standing on both feet again. I think the pain was actually moving now. Both up my spine and into my shoulders as well as down my legs and into my calves. Still, there was no point in crawling back underneath the bed again now. I needed to get myself to the bathroom now that I was up.
As I slowly moved my legs in baby steps over to the door I could feel them sticking together, but hey, what was new? I was used to this, and I would feel much better as soon as the stickiness was gone from my skin.

I felt my way down toward the bathroom in the dark, only standing still once to rest from the pain and listen carefully if James was still asleep. His snoring made me suck in a huge breath of release as I moved into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before I switched on the light.
It took everything inside me not to scream the neighbors awake. The stickiness was not what I thought it was. I had expected a little bit of blood mixed with a lot of semen, but there was nothing white to be seen at all. Everything down to my ankles was covered in blood. Some of it already dry around my ankles. Some still wet and dripping from my inner legs. I was bleeding myself to death. No person could be bleeding this much and not bleeding himself to death.
With a trembling hand, holding my breath for the pain I touched behind me where the pain was coming from. It felt open and raw, and much, much bigger than what it should normally be. I cringed as my fingers tried to feel the damage that was done, a tear leading right from the back toward the front, forming a narrow hole that had never been there.
Staring at my hand as I brought it level to my face I wanted to cry. It was covered in blood just from touching. There was blood everywhere and I had no idea what to do. Showering was not an option. There was no way I was going to put myself through the pain of putting an open wound like that into water. I was no doctor but I knew I needed medical attention. If the blood was still streaming out of me like this there was no way that I could stop it by myself. Hell, there was no way I could actually see back there to even see how bad the damage was.
I couldn’t stop the tears anymore. I stood there and I cried. I was going to die. I was getting my wish. But it would not be in my sleep, and it would not be at my own hand. I would bleed myself to death from being violently raped. As James ruined my life and taken control of every part of my being he had also taken control of my death. It was all thanks to him.
I could feel sobs ripping through my chest, but no sound was coming out. Only tears rolling over my eyes as my heart was being torn apart just like James did to my ass. And nobody would ever know what really happened. Chris would be interviewed by the police and he would tell them that I wanted this. That I threw myself at James. That I loved him and wanted to be with him. James would probably say the same thing, ending up that I wanted him to do this to me, that I wanted this and even begged him to do it. That he thought it a bad idea but that he just loved me too much to say no to me. My mom would hate me in my death when she found out that I “threw” myself at James. Wanting him all to myself. My little brother Keith would grow up with the stories of his perverted brother and the horrible way he got himself killed. But in time he would probably figure out what really happened. One night when he is a bit older James will probably go into his room for the first time, and then he will know the truth. But then it would be too late. He would rather hate my memory then, wishing that I could still be alive to take it just so that he doesn’t have to.

I wanted to sit down so badly. My legs were feeling like jelly, but I could not do so. There was no way I could lower myself to the bathroom ground without pain and infecting the wound even more. Then again, I would not have to worry about infections if I bled myself to death by morning.
I tried my best to swallow the tears and calm myself down, however the tears just kept on falling. I was thinking to myself that every person only has a certain amount of tears in their lives. If that is so I would imagine I have already used up all my tears, but apparently my body just didn’t get the memo yet.
I had no idea how long it took me to calm myself by trying to think silly thoughts, but in the end I was calm enough to take a towel and wet it. With difficulty and searing, burning pain I bent over and started wiping up the blood. One stroke at a time from my ankles upwards as far as I could go without causing pain that would make me to pass out, which wasn’t very far at all. All the way seeing the blood still dripping down my legs, coating my legs in blood where I had already tried to wipe them clean.
When finally I had decided that I was clean enough for the moment I took a face towel from the bottom drawer underneath the sink and started hobbling back to my room. It wasn’t easy or without me hurting myself, but something needed to be done. I had to get my phone, which was in the pockets of my jeans, which was in James’ room. There was no way I was going in there again. I wasn’t risking him waking up and one wrong move might just send me screaming at the top of my lungs. So plan B had to work out.

I took my biggest pair of sweatpants form the closet. The ones I never wore unless I needed to mow the lawn or something like that. I then lined it on the inside with the towel, hoping that it would catch most of the blood and would keep the wet red substance from dripping down my legs. Then with caution I stepped into the pants and started pulling them up my legs. What should have been an easy thing to do turned out to take me several minutes. I just could not get it up my thighs. Every time the towel inside the pants touched me I wanted to scream from pain. At the end I decided it was like a band aid. I just needed to rip it off, or in this case rip it on. So that’s what I did.
“Mother fucker!” I gasped as I pulled the pants up, feeling the pressure against where I was hurting the most. It didn’t just pain. It seared. It felt like every fiber of the towel was in fact a knife, pushing into my flesh. Trying my best to ignore the pain and getting the shirt to pull over my head went a bit easier. Yes, I was sore around my back in my arms felt numb, but I was still able to move them at least.
Moving down the stairs was another ordeal all on its own. It felt like I was walking down for hours. Each step shooting through my feet, up my legs and finding every spot on my body that was hurting. Two steps down I just wanted to crawl back underneath my bed, but I continued down. Knowing that James would in the end be responsible for my death was just too much to handle. The realization had shocked me wide awake. I needed to get out. I could not wait another twelve hours or longer until my mom got here. By that time I could have already bled myself to death, or worse, James could have woken up with lust and taken me once more which was sure to result in me dying in his arms. And I would prefer to rather die out on the street than in the arms of a monster. I had had enough. One person can only handle so much in one lifetime, and I was at the end of the line for me.
Seeing the front door come into vision was like seeing heaven. Seeing it made my feet move faster all by themselves. I didn’t care about the pain anymore. I was almost free. I could smell the freedom behind the door that came with the night air and darkness that would hide me in its safe embrace. There was no way that James would ever find me again. I would die before I walked into this house again. Everything will be fine as soon as I am through the door. Everything!
The door didn’t creak as I opened it and the cold air brushed over my face.
“I’m free,” I whispered as I walked outside, feeling the cold biting my skin.
I knew that I would never see my house again. It was final. This was truly goodbye. Whether I made it or died trying, it did not matter anymore. In the end the only thing that really mattered that I was out of here, and James would never find me. He would never lay his eyes on me again.
As I hobbled down the street as fast as my injured body could take me, I did not once glance back on my old life. There was no need to do so. I did not say goodbye, because I had already paid for my freedom with the blood that was supposed to keep me alive.
The silence in the streets were deafening as I made my way to god knows where. I had no idea where I was going. I needed to get to Chris and get my money and a backpack full of clothing. I didn’t want to see him, but I had no choice. He had everything I needed for my new life.
A part of me was telling me to rather walk into the direction of the hospital. Get some help. Survive the night at least. But there was no way I could do that either. In the end James would find out where I am. He would be the dad who lovingly wants to nurture me at home, make it all better. And everybody would believe him. And he already had his alibi. I had a fight with my boyfriend. He stormed out on me and then I took off. Someone must have raped me after I left the house. It was the perfect story and I could already hear him telling it to any nurse who was willing to listen. And I would never tell. He knew it. I would never breathe a word of what had happened. Who would believe me in any case? The kid who already tried to commit suicide? The kid who broke the heart of his boyfriend? The kid that they could prove was already getting ready to run away from home. The proof was all there, in Chris’ bedroom. Another reason why Chris was the better option. After a train ride I could go to a doctor if I didn’t bleed out, but for now it wasn’t an option. I changed my direction and started moving towards Chris’ building. Not knowing if he would be there and with no idea how long it would take me to get there through all the pain. Trying to block out every other thought I had and concentrating on not taking the usual route to Chris. I needed a road with places to hide. If James finds out I am gone he would look for me at the first place that pops into his mind – Chris.