Tear Me Apart

I'm forced to stroll through the halls of Graventhrone like an attention seeking whore because I didn't let him bully me.

I didn’t let him stomp over me. I refuse to be mocked or torn by him.

A nasty punishment for standing up for myself. That's it. Nothing more.

Splinter fiber naked. Without protection or any form of security, apart from a white towel that is barely wide enough to cover my ass properly.

My light blonde hair thats still soaked from the shower, is moisture running down my back and dripping onto the light marble floor at every step I take.

Rarely have I clung to any kind of fabric so tightly as I do just now. Because this white wisp of cotton is my only armor in this absolute moment of losing control.

Everywhere I hear the clicking of mobile phones, hear the recording of videos. Flashing-lights of pictures. Laughter and insults.

But I don't show even a spark of intimidation. Never.

I would rather be humiliated over and over as long as it means that I won’t show him that I'm weak.

He won’t get the satisfaction of tears he wants to tear out of me.

Of course, there he is.

At the end of the corridor. Holding my clothes playfully into the air, with a spiteful grin on his lips.

A grin I'd love to smack off him.

He told me I will regret it. Said I would suffer. Meant I would shed tears on which he could boast about.

He wanted to see the humiliation in my blue eyes, he wanted to break me. To revel in my shame.

But I will not let a single drop of salt water trickle down my cheeks, he won’t get the satisfaction of tears on my skin.