So here I am, three days later, sitting in my bedroom staring out the window. I look down at my hands. Both bandaged - the right hand, broken and very...painful, the left just bruised and swollen.I leave the window and sit down on my bed. Just as I do, my mother bursts into my bedroom singing at the top of her voice, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear-““For Chrissake!” I scream. “I’m seventeen. I’m not a baby anymore!”“I don’t care how old you are, darling,” she. Her legs were spread, and blood smeared her inner thighs.Her mother had raped her, too.Dee felt sore, and tired. The memory of the dire happenings in Gynt still filled her with dread, and, searching, she found her clothes were scattered around the tree, bloody and torn. There was no sign of her choker charm.She didn't relish the thought of the walk back home, and leant back against the tree, tears leaking out of her eyes. She would start sobbing soon, she knew it."Dee! Dee! Are you all. More

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