------------------------------------- This work within its first few lines contains language or other material which some readers may find offensive. In consideration, Stories Space has hidden the preview of this selection. By choosing to view the piece in its entirety, you agree that you are 18 or older and do not object to such content. ------------------------------------- You don’t look at me the way you used to. You...

It's my fault that it got in me. This is my punishment for being so damn weak. So damn selfish. So incredibly stupid. I lay in a pool of regret-tainted sweat, struggling to catch my breath, sharp pains shooting up and down my spine. My stomach rolls. A wave of nausea flows through me, propelling me upright. I lurch from my sister's bed, out of the arms of my sister's husband, empty the contents of my stomach into my siste...

He thinks he's being funny. The sound gradually increases on the iPod deck, the rhythmic bass of Steeler's Wheel echo off the bare walls. My brother turns to me and grins. He's got two left feet and a spastic hip, completely off-beat. I feel a chill. It settles deep within my bones as my flesh and blood, my brother, my twin, my best friend, awkwardly dances towards me with a knife clenched tightly in his hand. I'm not as...

My name is Dylan and I am an addict. My drug of choice isn't alcohol. It's not cocaine or heroin or meth or gambling or even sex. My drug is intimacy. I crave it. I want it. I need it to survive. The touching, the caressing, that bond that is created when two come together and connect—that's what's missing from my life. That's the hole I desperately need to fill. I'm a lonely girl on my own for the first time in a big cit...

I don't belong here. My arms are open and outstretched, welcoming the intrusion of a hand-held metal detector. A bored corrections officer runs the wand unnecessarily across my breast and crotch several times before she waves me through. I am used to this kind of treatment. But I don't belong here. I walk down a familiar hallway and pass through familiar doors. The sound my heels make as they click against the concrete fl...

“We’re being followed.” Mama pretends not to hear me. She cranks up the volume on the radio. Sings aloud with Aretha. Belts along with the Queen of Soul about R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I have a headache. I want to turn off the radio and go to sleep. I want her to shut up. But Mama’s face shuts me up. Her fat purpling eye shut me up. Her bruised swollen cheeks shut me up. Her cracked bleeding lips shut me up. Battle scars she calls t...

 --------------------------- This work, within its first few lines, contains language or other material which some readers may find offensive. In consideration, Stories Space has hidden the preview of this selection. By choosing to view the piece in its entirety, you agree that you are 18 or older and do not object to such content. --------------------------- “You know this is going to hurt, right?” Leila turns away from...

“I don’t like the way you’re holding that knife.” My grip loosens around the plastic handle but I don’t put it down. “Yeah, well I don’t like the way you bringing your hobbies home with you,” I spit back. He sways a bit, like he’s been drinking. His eyes bloodshot. Wild. Dilated. He’s coming at me. Licking his lips like he wants to do things to me. He smiles. He actually smiles. Like this is OK. Like this is normal. Becau...