(Remember that this book will contain themes of sexual assault. Please take care and stay safe when reading.)

CHAPTER ONE:
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"I've gotta remember,
That I'm just a toy."- dodie

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Nobody. I'm nobody to you. And you, you're just the man who sexually assaulted me.

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Have you felt like you're the prey, and your mind is the predator? Have you ever felt like you're drowning in your thoughts? Have you ever been tormented by a demon who clung to you and slowly drained the life out of you?

Carrie has been there. She was violated- made to feel worthless. She was sexually assaulted.

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Relaxing in the back of a taxi, Carrie, aged 25, peered out of the window, observing people, cars, life, pass by her in a blur. As the light turned red, the taxi slowed to a stop, Carrie continued to stare out of the window, becoming distracted by the sounds and sights in front of her. In the distance, just close enough to see, was the house.

His house.

The house that he had lived in for many years. Smoke puffed out of the chimney that was barely tall enough to peek through the trees and over the top of the row of shops that lay on the main road, allowing Carrie to see the rough outline of the building; enough for her to know it was there. To anyone else, the building would have meant nothing. To Carrie, it was everything. Her best friend had lived there for many years. The building was the enclosed space in which so many memories, memories that she tried so hard to lock away in the back of her mind, had been made.

The car began inching forward as the light turned from red, to amber, to green, carrying on its journey through the bustling city of Manchester. Carrie had been left there at the traffic lights, eyeing the barely-there chimney; at least, her mind remained there. How innocent their friendship had been- how toxic it became.

Coming to a halt once more, the car allowed a family to cross in front of it. Finally, Carrie shook herself out of the memory of that house. She noticed two children, a boy, and a girl, no older than nine or ten, clearly squabbling about something or another, the boy poking the girl with a giggle as she tried her absolute hardest to look annoyed. She cast her mind back to the period in her life when she was that young girl. The nine-year-old who pretended to be irritated by her friend, but secretly was desperately fighting back a smile that only he could ever bring out. Their first meeting was one of her most treasured while simultaneously one of her most dreaded memories.

It was her second day at a new school, a school that was ten times bigger than her previous school, so, naturally, she was intimidated. Her hands shook, and her palms became clammy as she climbed the stairs of the school bus. The school bus. Carrie was just nine years old and felt adrift, so she sat down on the very front row and tried her best to calm her breathing. About half an hour or so into the journey, she felt a light poking on her back, causing her to spin around and come face to face with a young boy who was peeking his head through the gap in the seats.

"Who's maths class are you in?" asked the very spirited and animated young boy.

"I can't remember. It was a man," she replied, feeling at ease at his warm smile.

"Mr Walton?" the boy asked, delighted to have a bus companion who was in his year after a year of being the only junior on the bus, with every other student being a year seven or above when he was only in year five.

"Yes, I think so," Carrie responded with a small smile.

"Me too!" he proclaimed eagerly.

Their conversation ended there until he began to poke her with a ruler, an action that continued for years. Small, nine-year-old Carrie had no idea what implications this conversation would have: had no idea how much this boy would come to matter to her.

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"Ma'am?" the taxi driver urged. They had been parked on the curb of the pavement for minutes, something that Carrie had missed when she was distracted by her thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How much do I owe you?" Carrie asked while snagging her purse from the handbag she hadn't even realised was clenched in her lap. After paying the taxi driver and leaving a tip since she most definitely had not been the best passenger, she stepped out onto the pavement. A gust of wind-battered her as she left the shelter of the taxi, causing her to swaddle her coat around her, snug to her body, as she scaled the steps to her front door.

The draught flung the door closed hastily behind her as she stepped inside. Beginning to unbutton the black coat that was wrapped around her and hanging it up, her mind was still reeling from her trip. Seeing the building again brought memories flooding back, memories that she had long tried to forget. The face of his nine-year-old self popped up in Carrie's mind. On the odd occasion that she had previously regarded the past, it was always the young him that she saw; the innocent version of him that she would sing with in preparation for the year six school musical. The innocent him that she made cards with whenever it was their bus driver's birthday.

She remembered him before it had gone wrong.

Carrie began to clamber up the stairs to her spare bedroom. The door handle was blanketed in a sheet of dust since it had remained untouched for months. A birthday card from him was lying at the top of the box that Carrie plucked from underneath her bed. She picked it up, her hands trembling as she did so, and she was struck with emotion as she fixed her eyes on the face of the card; mouse being flung up in a spoon by a cat. Carrie's heart broke just a little more as she flipped the card open and saw the message. How does a child that draws a small chocolate bar in his friend's card and labels it 'choc' become the kind of person to sexually assault his best friend? When had she become an object to him? When had he stopped seeing her as his best friend, instead, seeing her as a toy, a conquest, a challenge?

For so long, she had willed herself to let it go.

Let him and their past go.

No matter how many times she had persuaded herself that she had left those thoughts and feelings behind, something always happened to unravel all that work, and she landed right back where she started. Carrie loathed that she let him torment her for so long; convincing herself that he did nor break her became a long term issue for her. Friends and family routinely assured her that she was strong. She was perfectly aware that what he did was wrong- so why did she blame herself? Could she have stopped him? So many times, he had confided in her. So many times had she given him support, advice, and encouragement. Retrospective urged her to believe that all of the red flags were glaringly obvious in their late-night conversations. She should've given him better advice and professional help to prevent everything from crumbling around her. No. She told herself no. No, she could not have done better. This was not her fault. If only she could believe that.

It was only through contemplation around ten years later that she realised the degree to which it had transformed her. At that time, it was simple, immediately cut him out of her life and never look back. Why couldn't it be that simple?

Eventually, she packed the memories away for another day and pushed the box back under the bed, walked out and closed the door behind her, trying to set her mind on something else.

She turned to the one thing that she could rely on to clear her mind, a nice hot shower with some of her favourite music. Once she had finished undressing, she stepped into the shower and let the spray of hot water flow over her. Taking a few moments to appreciate the warmth emanating over her form and the sound of her favourite song, 'get easy,' playing smoothly in the background, she cleansed her mind. Already beginning to feel better, she smoothed her hands over her hair and then began to wash it.

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Her hair, still damp, left a small trail of water behind her as she plodded downstairs after drying off and dressing. Her mind was no longer in the past, and instead, she was feeling somewhat positive. The TV began to talk about the news of the day, and she hastily changed the channel as soon as she heard the word 'Brexit.' Rather than listen to the next debate, she turned to a TV show about a bridal dress shop, not that she heeded the programme. Promptly, her attention drifted to the phone in her hands as it pinged, noisily alerting her to a notification, a reminder for her appointment the following day.

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That evening, memories of the past plagued Carrie's mind as she slept. The bed covers were tied in a knot from her tossing and turning while she dreamt about one particular bus journey that stood out to her.

"Who do you think Mike should go out with?" Carrie managed to get out through her contagious giggling as they attempted to be matchmakers for the other students on the bus.

"I think he should go out with the most beautiful girl in our year," he replied proudly. Mike, curious to find out who the two irritating year five students wanted him to date, decided to ask who he was talking about, hoping he wouldn't regret it afterwards.

"And who's that then?" Mike asked the two of them.

Carrie was left aghast when she heard the name that slipped from his lips before he even realised he was speaking.

"Me?" she asked, her shock evident on her face.

Not wanting to seem embarrassed in any way, he decided to go with what he had said, after all, he thought it was true. A cheeky smirk grew on Jack's face when he realised how shocked Carrie was.

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Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Carrie's eyes flicked open in shock, her heart rate considerably elevated from its resting state. Had that been a sign? Had that been the moment in which she was no longer just his best friend? Oh, how she yearned for the answer. Carrie wanted a lot of answers. She damn well deserved them. It had been too long; she could never get the answers she wanted. It would become impossible for her ever to tell him exactly what she wanted to. Carrie had tried to assure herself that she had come to terms with it all. All the unanswered questions. Maybe she had been lying to herself. She had worked so hard to close that part of her off; refused to feel anything she had felt when she was fifteen. Seeing that chimney had brought all of that crashing down around her, leaving her defenceless.

Even if she had no idea how to contact him anymore, no way to know where he was or what he was doing, she would write the letter that her counsellor suggested she write all those years ago, when she was just seventeen-years-old. Writing a letter in which she expressed all of her pent up emotion, her counsellor explained, was the most efficient way to get closure. Her sessions were filled by reminders to Carrie that it was okay to feel the way she was feeling and that it did not make her weak in any way. Carrie hadn't believed it then. Maybe sometimes she still didn't. But a lot of hard work and effort went in to being okay again. When she was younger, she never admitted that a significant contributing factor to her mental health issues was him and what he did. She was supposed to tell him what he had done to her.

Maybe she finally would.

This letter would be different from the one she would have written years ago. She was older. Stronger. She wasn't broken. She was never broken. What he did had not made her weak. It had made her stronger. Taught her what she deserved and that some things are out of her control so she should never blame herself for that. And so she began to write to tell him all this.

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Dear Jack,
Thank you for making me stronger...

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Word count: 2203
Approx reading time: 11 minutes

(Please be aware that I am English, and therefore, some spelling will be different from American English. These are not typos; it is just the British spelling.)