Mistrust Read Online Free

hear Sam, I open the door and quietly pad down the hall to the bathroom Sam and I share.
    My senses are in overdrive, and I try to remain invisible. When I get to the bathroom, I quickly close and lock the door behind me. Taking a deep breath I feel my legs become solid again. I can’t even move anymore. I’m so scared Mom and Dad will know something has happened by looking at me that my entire body is on high alert. Swallowing hard, I try to calm my pulse as it hammers violently through my veins. “You can do this, Dakota,” I encourage myself.
    Double- then triple-checking the door’s locked, I’m finally able to get into the shower, knowing I’m safe in here. Turning the water to as scalding hot as I can get it, I drop the towel and step into the continuous stream of boiling water. The moment it touches my bruised and painful skin, I let out a small yelp of pain. But I welcome the heat, and hope it has the power to wash the night off me.
    Looking around the shower I try and find a cloth to wash my body, but there’s nothing in here. Dripping wet, I get out and look under the vanity to see what mom’s got here. I find a scrub brush with hard bristles I’ve seen mom use to clean the bathtub, and I bring it into the shower. Squirting liquid soap on it, I begin by scrubbing my fingers, which leads to my hands, and then all the way up my arms. I can’t stop; I need to make sure everything is removed, scoured clean so I have no trace left of what happened last night.
    Every body part I touch hurts; every bruise I scrub makes me wince in pain. I dread washing my vagina, but I know I have to. “Oh God,” I say to myself as I squirt more soap on the scrub brush. Totally bracing myself I move my hand down. “Ahh,” I cry out as I wash off whatever the hell is on me. The heat of the shower is pounding on my back, and tears are flowing down my face.
    This hurts so bad. But I have to do it. I have to wash away whatever happened to me. No one can know; no one can suspect. I don’t want to know, I don’t want to even think about what might have happened. It’s too embarrassing. If anyone finds out, they’re going to think I’m a slut, and that I was asking for it. I can’t have that. I can’t let anyone find out. It’s beyond humiliating.
    Shaking, I continue to clean myself, making sure any trace of what happened is long gone. The only problem is the more I scrub, the dirtier I feel.
    “Get off me,” I howl while squeezing more soap on the rough bristles. “Get off me!” I keep crying as I try my hardest to clean the filth away.
    I stand in the shower for so long that the water begins to cool. I look down at my body to see exactly what I’ve done to it. I’m completely raw from the hard brush, and some spots are red from where I’ve scrubbed enough to break skin. “Oh my God,” I gasp as I look at the parts of my body which are covered in crimson drops.
    Suddenly everything changes while I’m standing under the now cool water. I go from feeling crushing shame and humiliation, to staring blankly at the wall. Small blurring dots dart in front of my eyes as I continue to glare at the tiles on the wall. Not a single thought enters my mind, not even a hint of feeling.
    My tears stop and the compulsion to make sure I’m thoroughly clean dissipates at a rapid rate. The cold fingers gripping my throat have melted away. I can’t feel anything. I can’t think. There is nothing for me to hold on to. I’m icy cold and numb.
    As I stand under the shower a realization washes over me. A part of me died last night. Something was taken from me, and I know I didn’t give permission for it to be taken. I know what happened now.
    I was raped.
     

 
     
    I’ve locked myself in my room and pretended I wasn’t feeling well, which is the only reason I got away with it. Mom was concerned when I came out in jeans and a long-sleeved sweater, but when I told her I’d danced too much and hadn’t drunk enough water, she put