Sexual Abuse
Dillon wakes me up. I fell asleep in the boots and leather mini-skirt and nothing else. He's brought a friend home. The friend is grinning down at me. I yank the sleeping bag over me. His name is Barrel, and he's big and round like one.
"She'll do," he says. Then he leaves.
"Do what?" My head is pounding.
"Nothing. Don't worry about it." Dillon heads for the shower. "Go back to sleep."
So I do.
"I'm not dead. I'm still me. I still have a body and everything." "You are still you but you don't have a body. What you're seeing is a thought form." He points to a tall gold urn up by the minister. "Your body is in there. You were cremated." Thunk thunk, thunk thunk. My heart pounds in my chest. Dread mushrooms in my stomach. Sweat beads on my forehead. "But everybody knows death is the end. That there's nothing left but matter." "Death is only the beginning, Logan. Hannah knows that. Lots of people do."
"Get off!" I push at him hard, with both hands. The next thing I know, he's pinned my hands over my head. I'm stunned how fast this guy can move. "It seems that we've fallen," he says, like he's talking about the color of his necktie.
Staring out from the front page is a picture of Mom, and I swear she's looking me right in the eyes. The caption reads, "Attempted Murderer To Be Given Parole."
