Chapter 11

I want to rip my hair out. Even with headphones in, I still know what they're doing in his bedroom. Even if I can't hear it, I can still feel it. It feels as if my nails are being yanked off one by one, my fingers bloody and shaking. I hate it. I hate him. I hate being here. I hate this feeling. It's as if he's wrapping his hands around my neck and slowly squeezing harder and harder, watching as my face grows pale, ignoring my begging. I sit in the middle of my bed—music blasting in my ears—and...