Love Chronicles of a Sixteen Year Old High School Student by alakeshadow

Prologue and Chapter 1: The Intro To My Story - and How I Got Here

Love Chronicles of a Sixteen Year Old High School Student

By alakeshadow

Disclaimer: I don't have time. I don't own it.

Authors Notes: Hi everyone, alakeshadow, here! Sorry for the long wait. I'm working on my other stories. Actually, I'm waiting for my beta's to email me back with them. Sigh...oh well. Anyway, this story is very special to my for my own reasons so if you'd be so kind, could you keep the flames to a low amount? I love you all!

alakeshadow

Prologue and Chapter 1: The Intro To My Story - and How I Got Here

I am Kagome Higurashi. This story is mine...its real. Everything that I say is true, nothing is fabricated or twisted. It is something I have finally found the courage to write and tell all of you. It is the story of how I fell in love...and what happened to me before it. The things that helped lead up to it.

These are the love chronicles of a sixteen year old high school student.

These are my stories.

*****

When I was twelve years old I was almost raped by my best childhood friend. He was someone I trusted...someone I knew...someone who believed they loved me for all of the wrong reasons, and took that love to the extreme when his passive attempts were buffeted back and ignored. His name I will not enclose for my own reasons. All that matters is that I never told anyone. It's strange that I didn't, thinking about it now, but I didn't. And because I didn't, I never healed.

At night, he would bike the three miles to my house from his and say goodnight to me from my window. During the day, he followed me and made sure no other boys would come near. He beat someone up once for holding my hand in gym class during our square-dancing unit. He sat next to me on the bus everyday to and from school. He had severe ADHD, his emotions always getting a hold of him before he even came close to controlling them. Once, he punched a hole into my wall because I had brought up the subject of something someone had said to him about me. Another time, he picked up a desk and threw it across the room. Either way, he was unable to be contained. And I should have realized that sooner.

When it happened, we were in my house down in the den that was in my family's basement. We were just hanging out and talking about whatever it was we, as twelve-year olds talked about when suddenly, I lightly punched his shoulder with my fist. He looked at me and did something similar but I only laughed and returned it. We ended up wrestling when he pushed me hard backwards – and then suddenly, he changed.

I'll never forget the sudden feeling of his hand slipping down into the front of my jeans and grabbing me – just as I'll never forget the way his other hand held me down as I realized something was wrong and began to struggle.

He was stronger then I was so I couldn't pull away – and when his hand began to unbutton my pants, I panicked. I ended up kneeing him hard in the groin and fleeing upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me and locking it. I remember his shout of pain - and then his scream of anger; the sound of his heavy body racing up the stairs – the sound earth-shatteringly loud in the silent house. It was only me and him there. He slammed himself against my door making me scream, and then tried to wrench the doorknob off the door. To my relief, my mom walked through the door five minutes later and brought him home.

To this day I am afraid of the sound slamming doors and heavy footsteps.

Until the end of my eighth grade year, I refused to talk or be near him. He called everyday to apologize.

"I love you!" He would say, sometimes beginning to cry.

"Don't you understand that I love you? I didn't know how else to show you! You didn't listen!"

When I finally graduated from middle school, his apologies and stalker attitude did not change. One day, his parents got into a screaming match and divorced each other within a couple weeks. By the end of the month, he had moved to Florida with his mom. And I never missed him. He called me from Florida the day he got there and I finally found the courage to tell him I never wanted to speak to him again. I haven't.

That summer, I realized the full extent of what he had almost done to me. I became afraid of any man I came within close proximity to. Even family members and my step dad who I had cherished beforehand, were enemies to me now. This fear progressed and became full blown by the end of those two months. A boy in my middle school when I was forced by my parents to go to some arcade with him, forced me into receiving my first kiss. I can still feel the slimy texture of his tongue. It makes me ill because of how he used it on me. But, he promised to protect me in high school, and I believed him, so hesitantly, I allowed it. His name...was Naraku.

By the time I was in the first year of high school, I had fully enclosed myself in my fear and secluded myself from all others except Naraku. He was my buoy, my solid place. I thought at one point that I loved him. I didn't. I didn't because every day after school, he would take me to the library and forcibly kissing me among the dusty shelves. My fear only expanded even more because of it and I began to feel truly alone; like I had no other choice and that maybe if he did it long enough, the fear would one day simply stop.

It was a stupid notion.

Independent from a young age, it became painfully aware to my parents and those around me. I lost contact with people I had known in middle school, and stayed away from the kids in my school. I made myself into an outcast on my own free will because I didn't know how to trust anyone. Everyone seemed like an enemy.

A couple of weeks into school, my mom told me that I needed friends and forced me to start hanging out with a group of girls my age. There ring leader was Kikyo, a girl in my grade with long black hair and dark eyes.

She became my worst enemy and nightmare to date.

She talked about sex incessantly. Beast-sex, dildos, sexual positions, G-spots, and a variety of other things that I don't even want written for others to read. She knew it all, and took great pleasure in seeing me wince. But, I was accepted into the group and that was what my mom wanted; so I forced myself to deal with it. Then one day, Naraku told me Kikyo had been hitting on him. I figured it didn't matter. Kikyo wouldn't do that to me! We were friends!

"No she's not, Naraku! She knows were together!"

"Whatever." He said, and then we went to the library.

If only I had known.

Three weeks later I saw them kissing one another on one of the heaters in a middle school part of the building. He was clutching her breasts and her hands were holding his.

I just stood there staring, unable to do anything else for several moments.

And then I ran. I ran hard, and didn't look back, sprinting down hall corridors and narrowly dodging the glass cases that held trophies, art, or other displays that rested against the walls. But even if I hadn't it wouldn't have been better. I felt betrayed. The boy who had had my first kiss...who had said he would watch over me...he was doing this...to her?

When I went to him to ask why he had done it, he shrugged.

"Who wants somebody as worthless as you when I can have her?"

I ran again at his words.

For the next few weeks I had to endure Kikyo reading his notes at our lunch table, had to watch them fondle one another in the halls. Images of me and my best friend from middle school made me turn cold inside every time. Soon, she began tripping me in the hall, and the both of them would laugh, his arm around her as they walked off. When winter came, it became a sport to throw hard-packed snowballs at me. Around early February, my locker was grafitied with black marker with words like "Bitch" "Useless-cunt" and "Whore". I threw myself outside and cried behind one of the school's apple trees, its bare branches a potent symbol of my raw emotions.

It only got worse.

In early March my grandmother died. The one person I was the closest to; the person who kept me at her house for weeks on end, the person who gave me chocolate and sugared cereal and orange juice despite my parent's protests. She died in the hospital. I was taken out of school to drive down and see her hooked up to a bunch of monitors. She wasn't even conscious.

I had five minutes to talk with her before I had to watch them pull the plug.

I watched her die, her kidneys failing first, and then her other organs. I broke in many ways that day as a result.

When I returned to school, Kikyo and a group of her friends came around and began to terrorize me with renewed vigor.

"Were you there when they pulled the plug? What did she look like when she died? I hope it hurt! You don't deserve to be happy, bitch!"

I had told Naraku about what had happened in tears on the phone because I didn't know who else to talk to. I didn't think I had anyone else.

He had told Kikyo everything I said probably right after I'd hung up.

Yet still, I sat with her and her friends because I had no where else to go. My outcast lifestyle gave me no choice. I had tried to tell my mother of what Kikyo was saying but she'd only tossed my words aside.

"Some middle school stuff is all it is, Kagome! You'll get over it!"

She was depressed because of Grandma dying...and I could bemoan her that because I missed Grandma too. After that I never told her anything again, not wanting to bother her in her grief.

No one was going to help me so why cry out anymore?

But then one day, even Kikyo crossed the line.

We were all at the lunch table and Kikyo proposed this new game called the "Figure Eight" game in which you draw a figure eight in the middle of the table and someone with a piece of paper asks you for the names of your two favorite people, and other things like the names of your pets or favorite actors. Not seeing a reason to not play, I said fine and did as they asked.

When I finished and she read the result, I was horrified.

"While you were in your room with your dog, your brothers Erik and Paul were having anal sex in the bathroom and your dad was fucking Hope (my cat)! Then when you walked out and saw it, you called up Owen Williams and began having phone sex with him because it was making you so horny!"

And she went on.

She went on and on with her mental cruelty until I finally fell over the edge and I got up from the table and left. I left to the sound of their laughter, and vowed never to return. I went then to my counselor and told her everything.

A few weeks later, when I finally had begun to have some self control in my life, my best friend since elementary school died in a car accident. I was with him in the car when it happened. We had just gotten back from a movie...he had been joking around and accidentally jerked the wheel to hard. We crossed lanes and a truck t-boned us, then ramming us into a tree. I still have scars from where the glass sprayed in on us and cut me up.

In May, I was asked to go to the prom with one of the seniors but because of my heightened fear of boys I turned him down. I later realized how much fun we could have had. He had actually been a decent guy. Bitterly, I vowed to try and accept men again into my life. That was when I met Muso.

*****

When the year ended, nothing was settled and I was a mess. The last week of school a girl came in on Kikyo's orders to beat me up. I ended up running to get help for myself. That summer, the same girl, again on Kikyo's orders, tried running me over with her truck, crossing both the white and yellow lines and coming up behind me on the sidewalk. She swerved back into her lane seconds before she would have hit me, and then screamed obscenities from her window as she drove by. My backpack had brushed against the side of the truck as she did so. No one was around to see it.

I was with Muso, a guy who I had begun to go out with. I'd told him about library-boy and Kikyo and just as the first one had, he said he would take care of me and protect me. This time I did tell my parents, and Muso helped verify my story. The girl was caught and punished accordingly with a suspended license and seven hundred or more dollars to pay.

When I started my second year of high school, my classes became harder and my isolation grew even more. Kikyo and Naraku had broken up without my knowledge at the end of last year and now I felt sick whenever I saw either of them. I felt desolate but somehow made it through.

Muso and I however, weren't.

He began to hit me, and a relationship much like the one and my would-be rapist began to occur. The bruises I sustained, I blamed on my work on a horse farm. When he nearly broke my right arm throwing me down a flight stairs in his house, I finally broke free.

It was to my sophomore summer.

During those two months I yenned myself. And for the next half of the school year, I went to counseling almost every day. Somehow, I found it in myself to get over all of the miseries Kikyo had relentlessly inflicted upon me for the past year and a half.

I still wonder how I did it.

I got over many things actually...but not my fear of men. So far in my life, any relationship I'd had, had resulted in either physical or mental pain. I didn't want it anymore so I tuned men out completely. At least...until I met someone named Sesshomaru, my junior year.

That's where my story starts.