Free Breaking Shaun by E.M. Abel

reached into my suitcase, I found the shoebox where I kept all my keepsakes. Happy memories from my entire life all fit into that one small box. Sitting on the end of my bed, I flipped it open and started thumbing through the contents. There were movie tickets, postcards from the different states my mom, sister, and I had driven through, and all my favorite pictures I’d taken. When I saw a photo of Lili and me, I held it up in the light. It was a picture of us in Santa Cruz when I was fifteen and she was eleven.
    Those years had definitely been the hardest of my life. Just a few months after that photo had been taken, I’d decided to let go and have fun for the first time. That decision had changed my life, and for better or worse, it had undoubtedly changed me.
    I’d gotten drunk with a few girls I knew from school. We had gone to a party, and although I’d felt out of place and nervous, I’d quickly forgotten why after a few shots and some beers. I’d forgotten everything I learned, like not going off alone with a guy I didn’t know or not accepting drinks from strangers. All those defenses I’d had around me since I was a small child had melted away under the burn of the alcohol and the promise of a normal teenage experience.
     
    He had blue eyes, and his hands were clammy. His breath smelled like cheap vodka and cigarettes.
    I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t. It was a lot like those nightmares when I’m being chased, but my body wouldn’t move, or my eyes wouldn’t focus. For those few minutes, I was conscious and terrified, but soon, it all just went away and turned to black.
    When I woke up the next morning, I was alone in a room I didn’t recognize. My shirt was off, and my jeans were around my ankles. Dried blood was on the inside of my thighs, and I was sore. On that unfamiliar bed, I sat there in shock, and I felt my old self slowly dying. I’d lost my innocence, and I hadn’t even been present when it happened.
    It’s probably better that way.
    Rushing to the nearest bathroom, I frantically rinsed the blood from my legs with wet toilet paper. I watched as it slowly crumbled and fell apart in my hands, but I just kept scrubbing. I couldn’t even cry. It was my fault. I’d been dumb enough to trust a boy I didn’t know. I’d given away my control.
    It was just the lesson I needed—a reminder of why I should hold on so tight and never let go.
     
    I’d learned from my mistakes though, and I wouldn’t bury myself in them. So, I’d moved on and acted like that night never happened. I hadn’t told anyone, and no one had asked. My mom and Lili hadn’t even seemed to notice the change even though I’d felt like a different person completely. An ugly ball of anger had settled itself inside me, and I’d developed an explosive temper. My mother had just attributed my mood swings to teenage hormones, and my sister had been too young to understand.
    After that, sex had become my escape, my weapon. It had been my way of releasing all the stress and pressure life put on me. Much like a cocktail after a hard day’s work or eating a fudge sundae after following a strict diet, I’d known it was bad for me, but I’d earned it. That one little moment of release and pleasure to reward myself had been worth it even if I knew I would regret it and guilt would soon follow.
    I’d become pretty promiscuous after that night. As much as I’d hated the idea of being used by men, I’d enjoyed the idea of using them. And I had. I’d used them to make me feel wanted, I’d used them to make me feel special, and I’d used them to get off. It had almost become a sport for me. What man could I get? And how easily could I get him? At first, I’d convinced myself that I was fighting back. Men weren’t the only ones who could use sex as a weapon. I would fuck someone, and just as quickly, I’d pretend he meant nothing to me. Honestly, most of them hadn’t meant anything because I meant nothing to