Summer was like a long, slow breath buried deep down inside my chest. It hurt. It wanted to be there. It killed. I wanted to strangle it. It ran away.
I hate summers. I’m a weird kid. Nobody knows me. Everybody hates me. I hate myself. Myself hates me.
Summer is long. Long and wild. Long and scary. Long and terrifying. I hide underneath the quilt on my bed. I cry and scream. I shake and quiver. I long for. I want for. I have to. I want to. But I don’t.
I shriek when hands grasp at my waist and a hand slips down my leggings. Tears stream down my face when the hand touches my crotch. I give up when the other slinks up past my belly button and grasps my breast. I stare out the window hopelessly when it squeezes me and touches me like a snake. I feel hot breath against my cheek. I feel everything. I feel those hands. I feel them touching me. Its horrifying.
A knocking comes at the door. The hands leave me. The breath leaves me. I sigh. I know why.
Slamming doors.
Shouting.
Gurgles.
Silence.
I smell sandalwood. Hands touch me. Soft hands. Not rough. I caress them. They jerk back. I vomit. They pick me up. Downstairs. The room spins. I see stars.
I see a body. Fresh blood. Glassy eyes. I spit. They carry me away.
Questions I hear. I never answer. I question myself. I question those hands. I question my life.
Summer. Did this summer free me?
Bella Thompson-Lobb is a 13-year-old girl who lives in Melbourne with her two parents, her younger sister and two cats. Bella has enjoyed writing and reading from a young age and reads at least three books a week from the wide variety of novels she owns at home.
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