I look at the clock. 6AM. I know I'm not going back to sleep now, so I dress myself, and wander downstairs. The house is deathly silent. I love it like this; everything feels so private and personal.

 I'm sitting at the kitchen table when my mother gets up. She says nothing to me as she walks past, just looks at me with that same look I've come to recognise. Ever since the attack, mum had been trying to get me to agree to reconstructive surgery. I disagreed, and thankfully, dad agreed with me. I didn't think I should change myself and the way I looked just because some people might be offended. These scars were a part of who I was now, and with time, people would accept that.

 Walking to college with Helaina was a challenge. After the attack, newspapers had wanted to know everything, down to why He had chosen me. I couldn't answer that, and through it all, Helaina had been a total godsend. She'd even taken to answering my phone, just in case it was someone asking for an interview. She'd talked me through my decision not to have any surgery, and even battled it out with my mum when she lost her temper. People who weren't used to the scars on my face would stare, but she would soon put them straight. And not necessarily in a polite manner. Helaina was one of the few people I couldn't imagine my life without.

She was taller than average, with blonde hair. We'd been friends since the very first day of school. Since then, we'd been inseparable, and twelve years later things hadn't changed. I trusted her totally, and she trusted me the same.

College passed quickly, but with Helaina being kept behind for her attitude, I was left to walk home alone. Lately, I had become paranoid when I was alone, but doctors said that it was natural after what had happened to me, although it was a little late developed. Police hadn't caught the man responsible, and I felt guilty about the fact that I couldn't give them any more information other than the fact it was definately a man. Doctors had said they'd found Rohypnol in my system, and that was why I couldn't remember anything. I thought back to the dreams I'd had most nights since, and wondered whether the man who had attacked me in those was a clue to the identity of my real attacker. I shook those thoughts from my head, figuring that I would remeber if He had had one green eye, one grey, with scars all over his face and neck.

The End

113 comments about this story Feed