Eighteen.

I still wore my hair in pigtails. Not the Catholic school girl french braids like my friends, but true - two ponies on each side of your head - pigtails. I was naive. I woke up early each morning to glide cheep eyeliner across my eyes, smudging and smearing and hoping it looked just right, although it never did. I tied ribbons in my hair, but the bows never looked quite right either. My uniform was too small, my fat rolls too big, but I didn't know any better. I was stemming from the awkward tweleve and thirteen, wanting so badly to mature, but knowing that barely filling a C cup was the best I had to offer anyone. 1

Tonight however, I wasn't wearing pigtails. I lathered, rinsed, shaved, soaped, washed, dryed. I looked in the mirror. The bottle of gel made a loud noise as it globbed up in my hand. Squish, scrunch, curl, sculp. It had to look perfect. The gel bottle was empty now, and my hair looked like a greasy, hard, but scrunchy, mess. To me though, it was perfect. I painted a light pink on my nails, and as I did everyday, smeared and smudged black eyeliner across my eyes. Tonight though, I was meticulous, making each eye look even and dark. I thought I was gorgeous. I pulled on the tightest pair of jeans I owned, not considering at the time my larger than average figure, and a top that showed off my nearly C's I was so proud of. My phone went off in a vibrating frenzy. I ran downstairs and swung open the front door. Music blasting, the blue car was waiting outside with him in it. He looked great, even from two hundred feet away. I tried to portray a girly persona, screaming for him to wait. I threw on shoes and grabbed a purse containing no more than a cell phone and a few pens. I ran outside almost forgetting to shut the door behind me. 2

"Hey, so if they ask you tonight, you're 18. You look cute!" he smelled great. "Eighteen...got it?"3

Of course I got it...but where exactly were we going? God my friends were going to be jealous. Hes 18, a senior in high school, wearing designer jeans, smelling of designer perfume and cigarettes. 4

"Pleasure to burn?" He tossed me a lighter. I looked at him blankly. "Oh, you don't have anymore?" He handed me a long slender cigarette. Funny thing was, I had never smoked in my entire life. Inhale, exhale, flick, ashes fly off... I didn't know how the whole thing worked. I took it from him, lit is as best as I could, and pretended to fake it while we drove and listened to music. Pleasure to burn indeed, I thought with a smile. We pulled up to a house, flooded with people. I instantly felt intimidated. I walked up the creeking stairs, following his every step. I looked around. Empty beer cans lay on the floor, some crushed, some still dripping. Someone puked in a trashcan next to me, looked up, laughed and said hello. A bottle came towards my face, and I followed the hand, down the arm, up the shoulder. I had no idea who it was, but I accepted regardless. It was already half gone, so I didn't have much to put down. I was screaming. I was laughing, giggling, joking, dancing. Things that I would never do. I was enjoying myself. The music got louder, the bass shaking my legs. I put my glass in the air and jumped on the couch. Someone came up behind me and we started to dance. I giggled. I saw colors, blue and purple and the room was spinning. I was screaming. I was laughing. I jumped off the couch. I ripped my shirt off. I lit a cigarette and laughed harder. I blew smoke, still faking it, but laughing anyways. I grabbed another drink. Someone fell over, knocking a bottle of liquor across my feet. It was cold. I laughed.5

Blackness.6

Blackness.7

I awoke sometime later, blood dripping down my leg. I looked around. I was in a dark room, dimly lit only by a light coming from the stairwell. I assumed it was a basement. I could hear the party upstairs but my head was pounding. I was scared. I just wanted to go home. Why was I in pain? I'm bloody. I don't understand what's going on, why I'm in pain, why I even decided to come to this party. My hair was a mess. I grabbed the hair things off my wrist and pulled my hair up into pig tails. I wiped the makeup off my eyes, smearing it down my cheeks. I sat there staring blankly at the wall, feeling around for my cell phone, ipod, remote, anything to distract me from the pain I felt. I heard footsteps on the stairs. I pulled my hair down and grabbed for the pack of cigarettes I saw sitting on the nightstand. I put one in my mouth, trying to look as cool and composed as I could. A tall guy came down the stairs, and looked shocked to see me. I smiled as best as I could at him, trying to wink in attempt to pull his gaze from my bloody panties and disheveled appearance. He laughed at me. Mocking me. He removed his shirt and positioned himself inches from my face. "It's more fun when you're awake." he grinned. I could feel his cold hand on my already bloody thigh. I turned away. I didn't even know his name. He laughed. "Not ready for round two yet? That's cool. Here's a lighter." He lit my cigarette for me, as I again pretended I knew what I was doing. He layed down next to me, half naked, cold as ice. "You got a name?" I guess it was his idea of small talk. I puffed on the cigarette. "Mandee." Smoke flowed out the corners of my mouth with the word. "How old are you?" I closed my eyes and pretended I was in my own bed, curled up with my puppy, away from this mess. "Hello? Age? How old are you?" ...8

"Eighteen."9

Inhale, exhale, pretend. 10

"Eighteen."11