He.
[He told me he was not wired to care] Even after that night and what he has done to me, he did not care. He did not care how much he stole from me. He did not care about all the nights I cried myself to sleep. He simply did not care about what he did. And that sucks the most. While I am here hurting like as if there is some knife in my soul, he couldnt spare me a mintue. Which makes me feel even more useless. There are times that the memory keeps replying in my mind. As if it is a movie on replay. The memory seems to find me. My friends think I left that party early because I wasn’t feeling well, little do they know. But I can’t tell anyone about it. I can’t tell anyone about what happened. The worse part was that I wasn’t even drunk so I am able to remember ever fucking moment of it. That boy who destroyed me, I thought he was my friend. I thought he cared about me… I thought he was a good person. When I first got to the party the boy hugged me hi. He asked me how I was and seemed like he cared about me. He made a comment about my outfit and how I looked good. It seemed alittle flirty but I just convinced myself that he’s just really nice. I was on my way to the bathroom because this random, jackass spilled his drink on me. I was opening the door when I felt these hands around me. I turned around and it was him… in the act of raping me.
