|U N E D I T E D|

Where's the fade in and out when you desperately need it, crave it? I like to think that there's a slow transition between colours and emotions. A gradual shift that's easy to accommodate in my mind.

But there seems to be none of that for me. There's only stark contrast with definite boundaries. There is no continuous spectrum, just a line spectrum that's slowly eating me alive.

I remember the moment I saw my best friend again after two weeks. I remember looking at her and seeing him. His eyes, his nose, his smile. Him. Him. Him.

And for the first time since that night, the white cracked, the iceberg broke.

Not in a good way.

I wanted to scream and hurt her. My best friend. I wanted her to feel what I was feeling— but I didn't, at the same time.

She ran towards me, her arms spread, and she hugged me and all I could think was, 'Get away. Get away!'

Her embrace was foreign and her touch was chilling, reminding me of the night when everything changed. I tried, I really did. I tried to hug her back but I couldn't. Not now. Not ever.

There's no room for emptiness now. There's only rage, blinding rage that fills me every second of the day. It heightens when I look into the mirror and see myself. The dark circles rimming my eyes seem to be ever growing and the make-up gets thicker.

Each day blends into the next and I go on— fuelled with rage. There is no today, no tomorrow. Only that day, that night to be precise. It's like a messed up video on repeat. One that I am forced to watch when I'm trying to get some peace.

My friends have begun to get suspicious. But how can I be the same girl anymore? I can't.

I can't look at her and talk to her. Not when I'm burning with rage and I want to scream and yell and tell her to get lost. When all I want to do is push her away because in a fucked up way, I think that it's her fault. Her fault that he knew me.

But simmering beneath that rage is pain— pain that likes to disguise itself as anger. Pain that shows up when I'm trying, really trying to pick up the pieces, but I'm reminded again and again of what happened.

Pain that he seems to notice.

I don't want anyone. I don't want them to see how ugly I am. How I hate everything about me. I don't want them to see what they've done to me. I don't want anyone.

I'm better off alone.

Because when I'm with people, all I can think of is, 'Why are they laughing? Stop. Just stop.'

All I can think of is that it wouldn't make a damned difference in their lives if the stupid spoilt girl is broken.

Everyone loved me for who I used to be and no one will for who I am now.

My thoughts don't belong to me. They're foreign. But they pop up into my mind and leave a foul taste in my mouth.

Who am I?

Does despair do this to you?

Does it shatter you first, leave you blank and then fill you with red hot anger next?

What's next?

Will I forever be fuelled with this anger until finally one day I'll combust?

Nightmares blend into the mornings and the days go on. I find myself looking over my shoulder more than I look before me. Perhaps, that's because I've realised that there's no moving forward from here, there's only looking back and pretending to be alright.

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Gwyneth stepped out of the building, her bag hanging over one shoulder and her arms wrapped around her books.

She stopped as a hand clamped around her elbow. Fear gripped her bones and only intensified when she turned around to see who it was.

"M-Mason?"

His lips quirked up to a crooked smile.

He leaned in, his body unstable. "Good to see you too, sweetheart." His gruff voice croaked.

She wrenched her hand away from his grasp and stumbled back.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He warned. "You really don't listen, do you?"

"What do you want?" She demanded, summoning some courage.

Mason smirked and walked closer. He pulled out his phone and swiped across the screen without breaking eye contact.

"Here you go." He said, handing her his phone.

Gwyneth frowned and took the phone from his hand tentatively. She glanced down and a sharp gasp escaped her parted lips.

The screen of his phone lit up with a picture. It was blurry with the outline of two men and the hazy face of a woman. But it was clear as to who the woman was. Nothing of her body was seen except her face which was flushed with streaming tears. The large bodies of the two men pinned her down— their attention fixed on their own pleasure.

The woman in the picture was her.

Gwyneth blinked, her body locking up. Her spine straightened and she looked up to see a smirking Mason.

"This is a warning. Don't tell anyone or we'll fuck you and your entire family over."

"Mason!" She exclaimed, her voice nothing more than a silent whisper caught in the wind.

He didn't say anything else as he leaned in close to her ear and she stood still, too shocked to react. His breath fanned her ear and she shivered at the proximity. Everything in her screamed to run away, but her body did not respond to the brain's command.

"I'll see you again, love." He whispered against her ear.

He pulled his phone away from her grasp and turned to walk away without a second glance.

He didn't look back to see the crushed look on her face, the devastation that echoed deep in her mind. He didn't turn to look at the ruined person she'd become—mere tatters of something whole.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she rubbed them away with the back of her hands.

Perhaps this is what her life would be like now, broken moments with little to no happiness. A life where she'd be a prisoner in her own mind. A life where she'd have no one to lean on, save for herself.

•••

Evan was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. They'd just gotten home from a tiring day and wanted nothing more than to have a drink.

It had been his idea and Gwyneth had agreed immediately, hoping to get her mind off the message.

She touched her pocket, hearing a slight crinkling sound of plastic. Taking a shaky breath, she looked up and smiled at her best friend.

"You okay?" Faith asked.

Gwyneth simply nodded and gave her a reassuring smile.

The evening passed in a haze and her bottle of beer remained untouched at her side. She couldn't seem to differentiate between one moment and the next.

And soon, she was waving her friends goodbye.

Daniel lingered near the doorway before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips.

He pulled away with heat in his gaze. His arm reached up to circle her waist and he tugged her closer. She could feel the heat of his hard body— he was so close.

For a second, she was someone else, her heart thudding at the proximity. For a second, she caved in, leaning into his warmth.

He cupped her face and kissed her ravenously as they stumbled back in a chaos of heated kisses. They landed on the sofa, still eating at each other. His hand moved down her body—

And it wasn't him anymore. Large grubby hands took the place of his touch.

No. She would not give in. This is what she needed, craved even— the caressing touch of a lover. One who would wipe away the remnants of their filthy touch.

He lay over her, his large body covering her's, kissing her with fervent passion and she struggled to keep up with him.

Gwyneth wrapped her arms around his neck and his hand glided down the length of her body, leaving jolts of electricity in its path.

Again, large sweaty hands replaced his, tainting her with gore. She could do it, she could. They wouldn't win. Never

His hand gripped her arms and she could no longer differentiate between what was real and what was not. The moment became a nightmare with the darkness seeping in.

Gasping, she pushed him, scrambling away. She curled herself into a ball at the far end of the sofa.

"Gwyneth?" Came his harsh voice. She could hear him move closer but she didn't open her eyes.

A tentative hand touched her shoulder and she sobbed. Desperate to get away, she jumped and fell off the sofa.

"Please... please, just go." Gwyneth whispered.

But he didn't move away. Of course, he wouldn't. He crouched down beside her and reached out once again.

"Please. Just go!" She pleaded, leaning away.

A myriad of images flashed through her mind. She could feel them— their cackling laughter after they were done with her, the crazy look in their eyes, their grubby hands touching her— bruising her.

"Godammit Gwyneth! What's wrong?" He snapped.

"Please. Just leave." She repeated, keeping her sobs at bay. Without a word, Daniel stood up and walked away. She knew he was mad and disappointed. But there was nothing left. Nothing left for her to give.

She waited till she heart the soft click of the door.

She thought she could do it. She thought that being with him would save her. But every time he touched her, she'd had to struggle to wake up from the horror that gripped her bones.

Gwyneth sat on the floor by the edge of the sofa, rocking back and forth with sobs wracking through her

She had thought she was strong, that she could get past it. But she couldn't.

Rubbing at her eyes furiously, she stood up and ran into her en-suite. The woman standing before her was not one she recognised. Her once lively eyes were blood-shot, hiding secrets that consumed her. A paleness had seeped into her skin, erasing any traces of life.

Who was she?

The woman with the dark circles wasn't her. This wasn't her. Where had her lively demeanour gone? They'd ripped away every figment of her life, leaving only bits and pieces to survive on.

And soon, even those bits and pieces would run out. What would she do then?

She splashed water on her face and looked up at her reflection again. They hadn't disappeared. She scrubbed vigorously at the circles around her eyes and didn't pay any heed to the running tap.

But the water didn't erase away the remnants of their sins. They hadn't for the last weeks. Why would it now?

With one last frustrated sob, she ran back into her room and grabbed her hair dryer. It was heavy. It would be enough.

Gwyneth clutched the hairdryer tightly, her knuckles turning white. She stopped at a short distance away and stared at her reflection. Then, summoning all the strength she had, she swung the arm holding the dryer and flung it across to the mirror.

She didn't flinch as a loud shatter was reflected across the bathroom by the tiles. Her gaze was steady, watching as her reflection shattered into a million fragments. A few pieces hurled towards her, piercing her flesh.

But she was numb. Numb with anger.

Her breathing was deep and her steps steady as she moved closer to the shattered glass.

Four large pieces lay on the slab showing a shattered image of her haunted face. No amount of glue would make it perfect again. The little cracks would remain, the tiny pieces would still be missing— broken forever. Showing only fragments of what it had once been, pristine and perfect with not a hint of defect.

Gwyneth clenched her jaw and picked up a piece. There was no fear, only rage for what had been done to her. Rage, because she was weak and couldn't fight back, because she was a coward and couldn't speak up.

She didn't feel it when she pierced the glass piece into the flesh of her left palm. At least not at first.

Her gaze remained on the spot where glass pierced skin with blood trickling out. A sharp sting hit her and amplified suddenly. It spread from her hands up to her shoulders and she stumbled back.

In a haste, she pulled out the piece of glass and cried out in pain. Her sob echoed like the sound of a wounded animal.

She stumbled to her bed, holding the glass piece in her right hand and cradling her left palm against her body. Tears rolled down her face as the pain intensified with every slight shift of her fingers.

She fell back on the bed in a delirious mess, losing her grip on the glass. Her hand moved to the pocket of her jeans and tentatively pulled out the small packet.

Gwyneth got up slowly, staring at the red gash on her left palm. It would leave a scar just like everything else after that night. It would be a reminder of what her life had been like and she'd be damned for the entirety of her life.

But it wouldn't have to affect her if she...

Her gaze snapped to the small packet containing white powder and she made up her mind thinking that there was no moving forward from here. There was only that moment that was shoved into her life like a storm, destroying everything in its path. And she was just another one of those trees that had been uprooted and flung across the terrain.

Her breath hitched as she opened the packet. Maybe the drugs would blur out the world for the rest of her life. Maybe they would transport her to better places. Or she could throw it in the bin and live like she had been for the past few weeks.

But her life was over either way.

A/N:
Aaaaaaand we have an update! I'm not big on author's notes but I want to say 'thank you' to all of my readers.

I've been super busy lately, with a million exams and stress to get into a medical college *huffs in exasperation*

BUT I love writing and this story... gosh I can't even describe how I feel while I write it. I've read and re-read the chapters more times than I can count and I feel like the first chapter (Yellow) needs a lot of work and the two amazing reviewers who took their time to read and gimme an honest opinion about my book said so too.

So here's the thing, I know that Gwyneth seems too perfect. I mean, she's good at almost everything. But I wanted to portray her that way for two reasons: 
1. To show how much people change after certain events in their lives
2. She's kind of like me. I'm good at academics, singing, dancing, (decent at) painting and sketching, and I think I'm okay at writing. So people just assume that I'm perfect like I've got it all easy. But it's not true. I haven't elaborated much on her feeling before she was raped when she was still 'perfect' because that's not what the story is about. And I feel like people usually don't write about seemingly perfect characters. (Also, I'm not trying to boast here)

Another thing is that a lot of people might think that my first chapter is so irrelevant. Yup, I think so too. But I guess I put it in there because I wanted to show that there's no feeling of 'impending doom' before your life turns 180 degrees and you're flung across into really tough times. I'm going to edit the first chapter though, so don't worry! :)

~Rhea