“Sounds fun, but be careful if you’re going to a party. Don’t take a drink from anyone, always make your own and”

“I know, Daddy, I’ve seen all the teen movies where girls get their drinks spiked, and I have those Rohypnol testers you gave me. I have no intention of going tonight anyway, you know parties aren’t my thing,” I assure him.

“Honey,” he sighs.

“I should go, you need to get back to work and I need to eat, I slept through dinner last night and I’m starving.”

“Okay, have a good day and call me later.”

“I will. Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, honey.”

After ending the call, I feel both better and worse. I miss him already. He’s become my safe haven and being this far away from him and knowing I won’t see him again for months has me on the verge of a panic attack. Inhaling sharply, I concentrate on walking and will the rising tide of anxiety to fade.

Rationally, I know that the short two and a half months I spent with hurricane Sebastian shouldn’t have had as big an impact on my life as they did. He didn’t rape me, or really physically hurt me. But in an instant, he took over my life completely and it scared the shit out of me. He refused to acknowledge my wants or desires unless he could use them to manipulate me into doing what he wanted and what was worse is that no one questioned him. Not my mom or my friend, not his parents or the kids at school. No one ever considered that I wouldn’t want him, so the idea that I was unhappy and overwhelmed never even crossed their minds.

I hate him for destroying my trust in people, because that experience fundamentally changed me and I’ll never get to be the person I was before him ever again.

Despite the early hour, there’re still plenty of other kids spilling from the houses as I pass, some look hungover, but others have an air of excitement over a new school, or new year.

“Morning,” a gleeful-looking girl says, sideling up beside me with her hands holding on to the straps of her backpack.

“Morning,” I reply, not wanting to be rude, but wishing I’d already put my AirPods in so I could pretend not to hear her speaking to me.

“I’m glad I’m not the only person up this early. I was so excited I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up since five trying to decide what to wear. Do I look alright? I didn’t want to go too preppy, but then I was worried I’d look like I was trying too hard if I wore anything dressy or like a slob if I wore anything too casual.”

“You look fine,” I say, taking a cursory glance down at her white tennis-style pleated skirt and pale-blue polo shirt. She looks incredibly preppy, but I don’t say anything.

“I’m Samantha, but most people call me Sammy.”