Introduction

It wasn't so bad, I realize. All I have to do is talk to the school's counselor until Mom finds a good therapist.

Well, it wasn't so bad until I actually talked.

"Have you ever been raped?" Yes, that was the actual question that spilled out of my mouth a few minutes ago. No, I'm not an idiot, I just didn't know how to do these things, talking to strangers about my personal problems. It doesn't hurt to know who you're talking to. In fact, it makes me more comfortable to know the things about them before I spill out my every thought, feeling, and life in details.

By now the counselor, Ms. Bridget Hewitt, understands that I am out of my comfort zone. I kinda made it obvious, twitching in my seat, taping my fingers on my thigh, glancing around the room every second, and answering her questions with short, simple lines. No emotion passes onto my face except for nervousness. I cannot help but be nervous when my diary is a person who conceals all the s**t I've been through and who may or may not tell another person about what I've said. I never really trust people. They say they won't tell anyone, but they end up telling somebody like their boss or the policemen.

Ms. Hewitt sighs as she stares into my eyes. I'm not looking at her, instead looking out the window while replaying a song in my head to fill the silence around  me, us. "Taylor, can you just tell me one thing? Honestly and completely?"

I then glance pass her, seeing her leaning forward with her hair up in a bun. I must be stressing her out because earlier it was flowing down her back. Wow, I have some effect on people. Or maybe it's just therapist and counselors. "Yeah, sure." My throat begins to have a knot stuck inside so I clear my throat, hoping it's not an emotional subject. I might just begin to cry.

"Why are you here?"

I look at her as if she's stupid. She probably is stupid and doesn't even know it. There have been meetings, notes, phone calls as to why I'm here. If that woman doesn't remember, then there's something wrong with her. "Because of what my..." I take a deep breath and say, "Father did to me."

She shakes her head, like I did something wrong. "Why are you here? Why do you need help? If the scenario is because of your father, wouldn't he be here, seeking for mental help?" Apparently, she's smarter than I thought. Smarter than me, in fact.

It is the first time I hear that question. My body stiffens and my head begins to ache with a billion thoughts running through my mind. Can it be that I'm searching for emotional help? Maybe it's for a reality check, or to see if I can live without guilt. Does it have to do with Mom, the way she's been acting, or Davon, how he's been treating me? Why am I here?

"I'm here because that man has mentally abused my mind. He makes me toss and turn at night, fear for my life while I walk down the streets, have me thinking only he can touch me or treat me like his girlfriend, having to be more and more cautious around guys, letting me believe that him touching me was okay. It's not okay, I know that since day one. I was just trying to protect him, make him and my mom happy. The only thing is I made matters worse. I've been depressed with secrets, nightmares, the truth. I tried killing myself hoping it would make things go away. I am here because I need help. If you don't know that by now, then maybe you need to find another job."