Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Stephanie

“Hey that’s my name!”

“Yes, this story is made just for you”

 Stephanie had the mightiest of dreams. She was energetic, youthful, and had so many friends! Her mother was oh so affectionate, waking her up every morning with warm food, her father and three brothers loved her dearly, spoiling her with gifts whenever they could. Every night, she dreamt of her bright future, out of the love and care she received. The dreams fueled her aspirations and even gave her family hope that she’d make it big someday. Until, One dark and stormy night, an evil boy was desperate to steal her ambition. He barged into her castle, ravaged and ransacked her colorfully decorated rooms, painting them, her dreams, and her story pitch black

“Ooh! Ooh! What happens next?” (younger version)

“I don’t know, if you’re ready to know” (older version)

“What do you mean? I want to know how the story ends!” (younger version)

“Very well. It’s time you knew. She’s Still here. An original.” (older version)

Unlike the movies, she didn’t have a gut wrenching feeling. She trusted him, there was nothing to be afraid of. She wished she had said no, she really wished she did. Barging into her, his unforgiving hands prodded away. 

One, his hand maneuvered down, ink splattering everywhere. 

Two, he grabbed. Just grabbed. Her dignity, her innocence, her childhood, her whole being. Ink trickling down seeping into the pure white pages. 

Three. Her mind was filled with utter confusion, while his. His with lust. She could feel his intentions with every poke, his cruel, clear, deliberate intentions. He stole a part of her with every forceful touch. His hands prodded away. Her eyes filled with tears, staring at the clock across the room, implicitly begging for time to pass quicker. Looking into her mom’s eyes she pleaded in silence. Her mother was standing only 6 feet away but felt miles away as she silently begged for help. 

Four. Her innocence was hers no longer. The damage was done, the end of her story began with his touch, her pages stained with restless nights, endless tears, and daunting black ink. Her life was being unwritten, rewritten, smeared and stained, forcefully carved onto her skin, eating her whole. Her beautiful pages.. Engraved with such disgust. In 4 minutes, her life was destroyed. 

“Why does this sound familiar?” (younger version)

“You’ll understand soon.” (older version)

The following days were dreadful and slow. She couldn’t remember a thing. “Why is eating, sleeping, and just existing such a chore?”, she’d often ask herself. Her friends began to disappear one by one as her bright demeanor faded into dullness. She spent hours in the shower, scrubbing and picking off her filthiness that never seemed to wash off until her skin became the same bright pink that covered her castle’s walls. Her silky raven hair became thin and brittle; with every touch a strand would fall like a countdown for her life. Soon, days, weeks, and months had gone by. Her irregular behavior melded into her new normal.

For a while, She went on with her life, but there was always something unsettling. A voice. A little girl, calling out her name with utter desperation. Whispering “We need help.” at every moment of silence. The more she heard it, the more she pretended not to. The voice would sometimes claw its way out, clinging onto torn memories, forcing the hopeless voice out. But something in her would always shove the voice even deeper than where it was before; and that was the last of it. 

In the seventh grade, her bubbly facade took over. She reconnected with people, started eating her favorite foods again and just like that it was like she was back. Back to family reunions like she was never gone. She was sleeping over at a cousin's house, excited for the spring barbeque. Late at night, she sat on a cool leather couch and slowly fell asleep to the sound of wolves howling. Only this time, it was different. This time, it was like the movies, the gut wrenching feeling fueled her fear. He sat down next to her, again, like that fateful night, 2 years ago. Tempting her with his phone to distract her from the panicking thought that his hand was slowly getting closer and closer to her thigh; Grinning at her, wanting her to take the bait, the little voice grew in her mind, “help me. Help Me. HELP ME.” 

One, her hidden memories flooded her mind. In an instant, the crumbled chapters unraveled their twisted contents.

Two, she felt the unwelcome touches once more, instinctively prying them off as she ran to the bathroom. She desperately scrambled to piece her ink soaked chapters together; forcing them back into her book tussling with her mind to make sense of it all. 

Three, she felt everything. The bright fluorescent lights, the cool tile floor, everything. She traced her tired eyes and gripped her fragile strands of hair. The once forgotten stains were flooding her mind like a wave of bitter amnesia. She fought silently to stop the ocean of ink from turning her pages black as she struggled to cover her mouth, slightly muffling her sobs. 

Four, she knows. Her hands were shaking as her hidden pages slowly fell back into place. 

“Stop. I know what this is.” Younger Version

“It’s me. And it’s going to be you..” Older version

 “I kept this from you because I resented you. I constantly tormented myself, screaming “Why can’t I go back to being HER. That beaming ray of happiness who knew no pain.” You, I mean. You were everything good about me.” 

 “Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it. LEAVE ME ALONE. PLEASE. Please. You aren’t me, you’re broken.. You can’t be me.” Younger Version)

“Why did you rip out my chapters?” 

“To protect you. To keep the innocent sweet girl inside me from leaving. I did it because I love you. But the more I thought about it the more I realized. No, she never left. You never left. She’s still here, she’s been here, proving that my innocence can’t be taken because it wasn’t his to take. I may have had some dark chapters, but he didn’t ruin my book, no he doesn’t get to have that control over me. Over us. That’s when I decided to live with every chapter, because that means four dark chapters of my life, don’t define my entire book. I control my story, I get to decide how it ends and how it continues. 

I’m sorry for keeping you locked in my memories. I’m sorry for being ashamed of us. I need you to know, I need you to understand, that it wasn’t our fault. It’ll never be our fault no matter who tries to convince us otherwise. The next couple of years will be so hard, but you’ll make it through. I know you will. We have an untameable ambition and it’ll change the world someday…i’m sure of it. We can become whole again you know? You and I are both parts of Stephanie.” (Older version)

“You really mean it? We can be her again?” (Younger version)

“We are her. We’re both the little girl that resonates in dad’s memories and the cranky teenager that drives mom crazy. I promise.”

In a much needed silence, we understood one another because with a bittersweet embrace we’ve become one again, we’re finally on the same page.