TRIGGER WARNING: SOME READERS MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO HANDLE THIS CHAPTER READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

God, I hate freaking parties is all that you can think when you there.  It is now Friday night, and you’re at Brad’s party.  Emily, as well as the other fake friends you came with, has abandoned you a long time ago.  They are probably off drinking, or making out, or something.  Not like you really care, although, being alone here really blows.  What you are wearing (if you are girly):

  What you are wearing (if you are tomboy):

  Pick either one you like. 

Everyone is drinking except you and dancing to ty music and having and junk.  Nothing interesting is happening, but everyone else seems to be happy.  Some guy comes up and starts talking to you.  He calls you cute, and he lays other compliments on top of you.  You start to engage in a conversation with him, even though he is a wee bit drunk.  It’s hot in there. You feel like you are probably sweating.  And since your foundation tonight is liquid base, you are sure your face looks an oily mess right about now.  You want to go apply some of your mattifying powder.  “Where’s the bathroom?” you ask.    

“Come one, I’ll show you.”  He leads you upstairs and shows you.  You leave the bedroom, and he calls your name.  “Hey, , come her for a sec.”  You find the source of the voice; he is in one of the bedrooms.  “Come here.” He tells you.  You go into the room.  Next thing you know, he’s touching all over you and kissing all over you.  You don’t like it; you didn’t give him permission...  You can tell that soon, it’ll get bad.  He had left the door open and the light is on; he doesn’t care who sees.  You try to get away, but he grasps you so tight that you can’t.  You keep saying stop it and freaking out, but it is no use.  Some people walking by see, but no one cares.  This stuff happens at parties, right?  That’s what they think, anyway.  Plus, everybody is drunk.  He squeezes your s.

 You scream “STOP IT!” over and over.  You hope to God that someone will hear.  Luckily, someone does. 

You can feel a third presence there. You glance with wide, fearful eyes.  There is a person there.  At first you are a little uncertain what gender this person is.  They look a lot like a guy, but something seems a bit off.  An androgynous person, maybe?  Thing is, is it an androgynous guy or an androgynous girl?? You can’t tell because they are wearing baggy clothes: jeans, a graphic tee, a varsity style jacket, and a backwards flat-brimmed baseball cap.  The black hair with side swept bangs doesn’t really help you decide, either.    “Hey!  What are you doing?”  the person asks, seeming kind of angry.  

            “Please help,” you begin to cry. 

            “You think its okay to just touch girls like that?”  The person comes stomping in.