She had a good life; no, she had the dream life really. Parents who while overbearing, loved her, a home that sprawled across the acres of land that it occupied in Dallas. She was given the best private education, the best clothes, the best of everything, and yet somehow her parents still managed to keep her grounded even with all the media attention that inevitably found its way to their family.
She had the perfect life, until a year ago, that’s when the first messages showed up on her phone, messages declaring the kind of love that made her stomach turn and bile burn the back of her throat. Then gifts started appearing, first in her car when she would come out of school, then in her locker, and delivered to her home. Her parents thought it was cute, a secret admirer, but they didn’t know the things that were said to her in the texts she received, she couldn’t bring herself to share them, to let them know the vile things he said, or the things he knew about her less then perfect behavior. They thought she was studious and well behaved, a model child and student, but he knew about the parties, the drinking, the experimenting she had done through her high school years, he even knew about the night at the quarry. She couldn’t bare to think of the disappointment and shame finding those things out might bring to the people who had raised her with so much love.
Instead she jumped at the chance to go to California, hoping to finally be free. As she slid into the taxi, she gave the address of her new home at USC, sitting back in the seat and watching palm trees slide by the windows as the driver weaved through the traffic. She took a deep breath, maybe the first real breath she had taken in a year. Things would be better here; things would be different.
@uscrp