TW: SA / Suicide
For as long as I could remember, I've always been on the weird side, or at least that's what my family would call it. I always preferred to keep to myself instead of mingling with others.
Most people my age would be out and about, spending time with friends, while I preferred to just stay in my room, reading all day.
I found solace in books. They were my only outlet, my only way to relieve stress, or… simply forget about my life. Even just for a little.
At school, instead of going to lunch, I would branch off to the side, making sure I was hidden away. I had no friends. None at all.
I've been like this ever since that stuff happened to me. I don't like to think about it too much, but it always found its way back into my mind.
I was around eleven when he chose me. I doubt I was his first victim or his last.
I was a foolish kid who would talk and mingle with anyone who gave me the time of day.
One particular person being my teacher.
Throughout my childhood, I wasn't given much attention by my parents. That was almost always reserved for my brothers.
There were three of us, and I was the only girl. My parents didn't pay me any mind.
I was a mistake. I was never outright told that, but eventually, I read between the lines. I wasn't planned. I was just a thing that tied my parents together.
Later on, they had my brothers one by one—Rinley and Alex. They brought my parents newfound joy. Joy they never found in me. But as a kid, you need attention from somewhere, right?
Rodrick Brown.
He was my fifth-grade teacher at the time. A man in his late twenties.
He was the fan-favorite teacher. Every damn student in my grade adored him—including me.
Getting sent to his class wasn't a punishment. It was more like a reward. He'd pass out candy, let students play games, even gave us extra recess.
What more could a child want?
So when Mr. Brown started showing me—little ole Amara Barnes—special attention?
Boy, I was over the moon.
He always seemed to single me out among the other twenty kids in our classroom. Singled out in a good way. I was more on the advanced side compared to the other students, so I got extra brownie points.
Nothing below an A ever graced my report card. Not that my parents cared. He did though. And I loved every second of it. Every last bit of praise, every compliment, every reward—I soaked it up like a dry sponge.
That was the first step. Buttering me up slowly so that eventually, I'd trust him.
The second step? Getting me alone.
He started inviting me to the faculty room during lunch. We weren't always alone, but it was far more personal.
He even let me grade my classmates' work. Told me he saw me as an equal. Said I was by far more mature than the other kids.
To kid-me, that meant the world.
Oh, how naïve I was…
One day, my parents forgot about me. Rinley sprained his ankle, so they were off at the hospital, consoling their "little champ."
Me? I was sitting in the school office as the hours slowly passed.
Eventually, Mr. Brown strolled in and saw his star student waiting.
He smiled at the office lady and said,
"I'll take her. She can stay with me until her parents arrive."
And off we went to his classroom. I wasn't thinking about my parents anymore. I was with my favorite person in the world. They didn't matter. Not in that moment.
By the time they arrived, it was too late. Mr. Brown already had me compelled. While we were in the classroom, waiting, he suddenly confessed,
"I love you, Amara."
I blinked, confused.
"What?" I asked, laughing nervously. He crouched in front of my desk.
"I mean it. I've had these feelings for a while now. Do you… feel the same?"
I did. Not in the way he meant, but I did love him. I loved him like a father. A protector. Someone who saw me. Someone who made me feel like I mattered.
Unfortunately, I didn't explain that. So, to him, I loved him—loved him in the way he loved me.
He leaned in and kissed me. Right then and there. No warning. No hesitation.
I froze. I got scared. But I didn't stop him.
So to him, that meant I wanted it. That I was okay with it.
Right after, his classroom phone rang.
"That must be your parents," he said casually.
I nodded and bolted out of the classroom, down the hallway, not stopping until I reached the car. My heart was pounding. My mind racing.
I thought about telling them. I really thought about it.
But when I opened my mouth, the words just jumbled in my throat, tangled and stuck. So we rode home in silence. And that silence would continue for three years.
By the time I hit middle school, I still hadn't told anyone. I kept sneaking off to see him, under the pretense of going out with friends.
My parents never cared enough to ask.
Over time, our "relationship" took a turn for the worse.
Just shy of my fourteenth birthday, my parents ignored it again. Not forgot. Ignored.
Over the years, I'd grown used to it—birthdays not celebrated, achievements not acknowledged, milestones overlooked.
But it still hurt.
Every. Single. Time.
Mr. Brown was the only one who ever tried to make me feel special. Aside from the kisses, the touches, and the wandering hands, he never took things further.
That was all I had to give to feel happy. Or, at least, to feel something close to happy.
Sometimes I wondered what would happen if he did try to go further. What would I do? What could I do? I never had an answer.
So I just stopped thinking about it.
For my birthday, he took me to his home like he sometimes did. We baked a cake. Watched a movie. Laughed on the couch.
Afterwards, we lay down together on the couch, and cuddled like we always did.
But this time, something changed. His touches became more aggressive. More forceful.
I grew uncomfortable, scared. So I slipped off to the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled out my phone.
I called my dad.
Voicemail.
I called my mom.
Voicemail.
I knew deep down that he was growing impatient. That he wouldn't wait forever. But not today. Not on my birthday.
I tried one more time to call her.
That's when the bathroom door opened.
He was there. Just standing in the doorway, watching me. Like he had been listening the whole time.
"What's going on, Amara?" he asked, stepping in slowly.
"Why are you hiding? Who were you calling?"
My heart dropped.
My lips parted to answer, but the words wouldn't come. Again.
This wasn't the Mr. Brown I knew. This was someone else entirely.
His smile was gone. His voice had turned cold and impatient.
He snatched the phone from my hand, glanced at the screen, and threw it across the bathroom.
"You're calling your mom?" he snapped.
"After everything I've done for you?"
Then he grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me out of the bathroom. I didn't know where he was taking me, and I didn't want to find out.
I fought. I kicked and screamed and clawed.
But I was just a girl.
I lost.
He tossed me onto his bed and stood over me, muttering, "Finally. My reward. My prize."
And there, in that bed, my innocence was forcefully taken.
I lay there, numb, barely breathing. Eventually, I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.
There was a detective at the foot of the bed, talking to my father.
I heard him say I'd been raped.
Apparently, the neighbors had heard my screams and called the cops. By the time they arrived, I was unconscious.
Mr. Brown had tried to lie. Said the neighbors were old and confused. But the police were required to perform a welfare check.
That's when they found me.
Bruised. Bloody. Broken.
He tried to run. They caught him.
He was sentenced to five years.
Five.
What a joke.
I didn't understand why. He should've been locked away for life.
My parents pretended to care until I recovered. Then they wanted me to move on. Pretend nothing happened.
"It's over now," my mother said.
"You're safe. That's what matters."
But I wasn't safe.
I was shattered.
They told everyone—including my brothers—that I'd been in a car accident. I was expected to keep up the lie.
So I did. I didn't have the strength to tell the truth.
I snapped out of my thoughts, gazing up at the night sky. It was beautiful, and quiet.
Held that sense of peace I craved in my life.
I slowly took my shoes off and made my way to the rooftop's ledge.
I could hear my phone buzzing in the background. I didn't check.
There was no going back.
I took a deep breath—and jumped.
The wind hit my skin as I fell. Cold. Sharp.
I embraced it.
This was what I wanted.
BANG.
"QUICK, SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" a shaken passerby shouted, stumbling across a bloodied body lying in the alley.