(Seraphina)

I get called up to the counselor's office during my physical education class. We didn't change out in the locker rooms, so I grabbed my backpack and walked up to the front office. I sighed, wishing to listen to music while I wait. I'm able to sneak my phone in my coat, and I hear Nicotine by Panic! At The Disco.

"Seraphina Cohen?" the receptionist calls out to me. I look up. "Mr. Jackson will see you now."

I get up and walk into my counselor's office. Small and cozy. He hands me a cup of water, and I sit down. He sits down behind his desk and pulls up my school profile.

"Excellent grades so far, no visits to the principal's office, and very few behavioral issues. This news is excellent, but some teachers have come up to my office, and they tell me that you hardly talk unless you need to," he says. Pausing my music, I look at him.

If I told him the truth, would he listen to me? Probably not.

"I want to let you know that we are here to help you. That may sound like a lie, but we do care. Everyone in the faculty cares about what you think," Mr. Johnson says, smiling gently.

That is one of the biggest lies that people tell you in high school.

"We think that you have a lot to say. We'd like to hear it. Your art teacher isn't very concerned, but he would like to hear you talk to some of your classmates during art," he says.

What if I don't want to talk?

"I know that you don't want to step out of your comfort zone, but I feel like you need to step out of your comfort zone," he said.

I don't want to get burned in the Sun. Stepping out of the shade, or your comfort zone means stepping into the real world, or the Sun.

I stay quiet. The adults don't want to listen to what you have to say. That is one of the biggest lies that they can tell you. I know, for a fact, that the principal and teachers will warn your parents if you have suicidal thoughts or behavioral problems. I choose to stay silent.

Only Emily can get me to talk.

"I'll call you in another day. Your next class is - no, you have lunch. Have a good day, Seraphina," he tells me as I leave the office. I walk to the cafeteria and sit down with Charlotte, as usual.

Emily is sitting there at this time!

I sit down and eat the salad that my mother had packed for me. Hardly any sweet treats in my lunch bag, as usual. Every time I ask for a gift in the bag (I write it in a note and leave it on the counter), I get applesauce or carrots with hummus. Do they want me to lose a lot of weight? Do they think that I'm fat?

"Seraphina, you okay?" Charlotte asks me. I nod, lying. I didn't say anything out loud, but I was still lying.

Only one person knew my secret, and she didn't tell anyone. I'm grateful for that. If anyone else knew, they'd think that I was a slut or that I was asking for it.

When I get home, I hide in my closet. I had finished my homework in art class when I finished one of my drawings. Shaking in fear, I scream into an old sweater that I had since I was in sixth grade.

~•~

"Has anyone seen a phone?" Emily asks some drunk college students. I follow her, still crying and shaking. She leads me outside, and I pull out my phone. Dialing 911, I freeze up when the operator asks me what the emergency is.

~•~

Feeling sick to my stomach the next day, I stay under my blankets. I feel so disgusted with myself. How did I let this happen to me? Did I ask for it? No, I didn't.

I was raped. I know that for a fact. "Why" is the only question that I can't answer at this moment.

~•~

Suddenly, I find myself in the bathroom, throwing up whatever I had eaten. Someone holds my hair back, and I look up. Emily is in here with me. Did she stay here with me? How did Emily get into the house? I smile weakly, and she gives me some mouthwash that she keeps in her purse.

"You never know when you need it," she tells me with a small smile. I count to sixty while using the mouthwash. I hate the mint-flavored ones. I spit it out into the sink and pant.

"You okay?" she asks me quietly. I shake my head. She holds me close to her body, and I let her do that. Still quivering, the sobs start to rack my body, and I start crying.

I can't take it anymore. I need to tell someone. The guilt is eating away at me. It's like a monster inside my body, and it's begging me to be let out.

For now, I have to keep it bottled up.

"Your mom let me enter the house," she tells me gently. "I said that I had to help you with homework and she believed me."

I nod, washing my face with warm water and soap. We head back to my room and sit on my bed. I hug a teddy bear tightly, and she pokes my nose.

"Meh." I bury my face into the bear's fur. She pets my head gently, and I smile up at her.

With Emily, I can honestly be myself. I can't be myself anywhere. I can talk and say what I want to speak with her. Around teachers, students, and my parents, I can't. I can trust Emily.

It all comes down to trust. Trust was lost between my parents and me because they told me to stop talking. I lost confidence in people that seemed harmless because Ethan Montgomery raped me. I don't trust the teachers because they blab to your parents if something's wrong with you.