The girl ran. She didn't want to stop, and she couldn't have even if she had needed to. Her legs had taken possession of her body, of her mind, and were doing all the thinking for her, about who she was, where she was going, why she was going there. Only one thing was rushing through her mind. A sentence, over and over. "Why did he hurt me? Why did he hurt me?" And inside, she really knew why already, but she didn't want to face it, she didn't want to see. He was worthless.

"She screams in silence,
A sudden riot penetrating,
Through her mind;
Waiting for a sign to smash the silence,
With the brick of self-control."

She tried to remember when things had started to change. When had her stepfather become anything but nice to her? At first he had been lovely. Her mother had met him seven months after her father had walked out. Nobody had heard from him since, except for when he sent one postcard at Christmas, saying that he was now living in Spain, and his new girlfriend was having a baby. There was no address to contact him back. Would Fran have called her father even if he had left a phone number? She didn't know. He had always been such a wonderful father, that she couldn't believe it when he had disappeared. He had even been getting on with Fran's mum. They never argued. What had the problem been? And then Fran's mum had met Alan. He had made Fran feel comfortable around him right from the start. She had only been twelve years old, and was overwhelmed by his kindness and willingness to accept her as his own child. He had no real children to call his own, and told Fran again and again that she could call him Dad if she wanted to. Eventually, it had seemed like the right thing to do, and so she had began to call him that. This pleased her mum even more. And then the changes began.

"Are you locked up in a world,
That's been planned out just for you?
Are you feeling like a,
Social tool without a use?"

Her mother had been away for three days, visiting her ill sister. Alan and Fran were alone in the house, and Fran noticed the change in Alan's behaviour almost right away. The way that his eyes followed her as she moved around the room. She had looked at what she was wearing, making sure it was appropriate, and it had been. There was no need for him to stare at her like that, she thought. She had tried to put it from her mind as she had gone to bed. Then, as she lay there, she heard his footsteps approaching. She turned over in bed, pretending she was asleep as he opened the door. He had whispered her name, and she ignored him, still feigning sleep. He had said that he knew she was pretending, and she sat up, hissing at him to go away, to let her sleep. He came and sat on the bed, stroking her hair. Then he had touched her. She asked him what he thought he was doing. And he had snapped out of whatever parallel universe he had fallen into, and quickly left her bedroom. But the next night, he had been back. And the night after that. Then, Fran's mother returned, and offered a week of peace for Fran.

"Scream at me until my ears bleed,
I'm taking heed just for you."

She hadn't told her mother a thing. Somehow, she knew that she wouldn't be believed, so she had stupidly kept quiet about it. Now she regretted leaving it so long. Alan began to come to her room again, when Fran's mother had gone to sleep. Fran was never asleep, though. She was always too terrified to close her eyes, in case he was there again when she opened them. And sometimes, he was. More than once, she had tried to cry out for her mother, but there was something there in Alan's eyes which made her change her mind. She knew that if she uttered a sound, he would seriously hurt her. And probably her mother, too. Finally, when two years had passed, Fran could stand it no longer. She told her mother, no longer bothered about the pain it might cause her. But her mother had called her a liar, a little tart. Fran had cried. And then she knew that she could bear it any longer. That was when she turned and ran.

"She's figured out all her doubts,
Were someone else's point of view,
Waking up this time to smash the silence,
With the brick of self-control."


The lyrics in this fiction were not written by me. They are taken from "She" by Green Day.