I pretended not to notice the hurt look that came over my mom's delicate features. "Oh. I see. Well, if that's what you prefer. May I ask why?"
So Sam and his buddies won't find me so easily. If they bother, that is.
I wasn't sure if I was simply a plaything to pass their time with or something more, but I didn't want to risk my safety regardless. It was a pathetic way of disguising myself, but I figured the move had already been a big effort on my part.
"Just trying to fit into the new me. You know, the not-so-awkward, more fun-loving one you want me to become so much." This I delivered with a smile to soften the blow of my news.
My mother had always fretted over how much of an introvert I was. Instead of worrying about whether I was focusing on schoolwork or if I was caught up in the wrong crowd, she worried that I didn't see my friends often enough and didn't have fun. She would find out about all the parties my schoolmates were having and ask why I wasn't going.
I just never felt like I truly belonged in the place I was born and bred in. I was a bookworm, whereas my peers loved to hang out late into the night to drink and smoke weed, both things I had no desire to try. I figured I had too many issues on my hands already to handle, and books were my way out of my head and my life. Both vices were the reason Sam touched me that first time anyway.
I was thirteen then. It was about a week after my father's death, a time of extreme grief and sorrow, perhaps denial as well. My father had been a jovial, loving guy, who looked at my mother and I like jewels, and treated us as such. We had never needed to worry about anything because my father was good at making sure everything was taken care of. I had grown up with ballet classes, and he and I would bake and cook together. So when he died one afternoon in a freak car accident, the world as we knew it completely shattered. My mother stayed for almost a month in the bed she and my father had shared, not moving much at all, a self-imposed solitary confinement since the devastating news of his death.
That day, after making sure my mother had the sandwich I prepared for her, I walked to the back of the house to get some fresh air. School was a hit-and-miss affair so far - I couldn't stand the incessant pitying looks directed my way and the teachers didn't seem to expect me to attend my classes anyway.
As I sat on an upturned flower pot in the messy shed, I heard footsteps approaching. Glancing up, I found Sam rounding the corner - he stopped when he saw me. Dressed in his usual ripped jeans and faded black tee - he looked nothing like my mother, even though they shared the same father.
"Angel. Whatcha up to?"
We weren't close, him and I, even though he lived next door to us my entire life and we had the occasional family dinners together. As my mother's half-brother, they shared a similar hair color, but he was tall and bulky and had a rough demeanour about him. The smile he wore now made me uneasy, but that was probably because he never smiled. It was a strange look on him, like a twisted, contorted version of his face.
"Just getting some air."
In truth, I was worried about my family. I didn't know how my mom and I would survive. We didn't have any savings, and my father had always been the sole breadwinner. If my mother were to spiral into depression, we would soon have nothing to eat. Perhaps there was someone who would hire a thirteen-year-old? I could work after school. Would that bring in enough money for us?
I wished he would leave me alone to my thoughts. I wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. If he wanted to do me any good, he would leave me in the peace of my own company. Instead, he took several steps and stopped in front of me.
"You always were such a pretty girl."
I froze as he reached forwards, a big, dirty hand fingering my hair. We weren't the touching or hugging kind of family. But what Sam was doing seemed quite unlike what family do. Or perhaps it was his way of comforting me after my father's death?
His next move left me no room for doubt about his intent. His dry, coarse lips brushed against mine, tentatively, prickly facial hair scratching against my tender skin. "So beautiful."
I jumped up and decided to make a run for it. The adrenaline rushed through my veins the same time a strong hand gripped my wrist, almost crushing it. "Where do you think you're going? I'm not done here."
He was at least two feet taller than me. His normally dull brown eyes gleamed predatorily.
"Let...let go of me." My voice had absolutely no substance, it came out like a squeak. Sheer terror ran through me. My hand was beginning to become numb.
"Stay quiet, little girl, and I won't hurt you." His stale breath was warm against my neck, and I jumped when I felt a wet tongue against my skin. His rough hands snaked up my shirt, inching towards my bra.
I tried to shake free but could only feel his grip tighten on me. Diving towards my mouth, he shoved his tongue down my throat whilst his fingers began to grope my chest. I whimpered when I felt his hard pinch on my nipples. Pulling away, I cried, "Sam! Sam!"
He didn't stop. It was as if some beast had taken his place. "You better keep it down or else somebody's gonna get hurt." His breaths became laboured, ragged, as his hands squeezed both my breasts. "Feels even better than I
