1st Draft. . . 


You saw me before I saw you, a stranger, your eyes burned through my back, and I could feel your presence even the in busy bustle of a Saturday market. You’d been following me, I knew it. Yet something about you lured me into a place where I felt secure and untouchable, even if you could flatten me with one quick blow. Somehow, for reasons still unknown to me, your face entreged me, your awquard body language made your 6ft 2 structure inviting. It was your eyes that literally stopped me in my steps. So big, so beautiful, I could feel myself slipping into them, slowly loosing my thoughts in their light blue haze. They always say never judge a book by its cover, and I suppose they’re right.

The cover well built, muscular god. Chiseled features covered with just the right amount of stubble.  

As I gaze at your face you truly are beautiful, but in a rugged way. Littered with little crevices stemming from your eyes, circling your brow. When you smile two dimpls appear, your laugh makes my heart flutter, it was a soft soothing noise like warm caramel to my ears.

You were sporting the new season top from Urban Outfitters fresh from the hanger; literally dressed head to toe like the perfect mannequins, a life size representation of any girls dream.

Your eyes were too intense to stare into for long, like the world would stop if I carried on for a second longer.

 On appearance you had all the attributes of a good guy. The blue-eyed boys never play the villain…

You’d been following me since New York Street, well that’s when I first noticed you. As I said, I felt you watching me, stalking me, a deer foraging, ambushed by a ravage beast. A predator stalking its prey with calculation and stealth. His pure mass and muscle overcoming the feeble intelligence of his prey.  To anyone looking at you, you must have been the shady character, a man following a girl, how original. Yet to me it was flattering, a plain school girl, lacking in the breast department, owning the chest of a boy, followed by a ugly short grey skirt and awful legs, but I’d still roll it up at the waste band making it even shorter, when I walk up stairs you could see my bargain bin knickers picked out from last years Ann Summers sale marathon, lace. My mousey brown hair always smothered my face, hiding my hideous features. I still slap on the make up every morning. My dinosaur strut usually causes a stare, passer bys presume I’m just a stroppy teen angry at the world, when actual fact its another shit defect I got from my parents, cheers guys.

So, you see my train of thought, why would someone as high flying and as glamorous as you follow me?

I felt someone brush past my thigh, it was you.

The hairs on my back stood to attention, my eyes locked into you face taking in your appearance slowly, scanning through every detail. I didn’t want to miss even the tiniest information. You accidentally on purpose bumped into me, dropping your copy of my favorite magazines of all time, featuring the best guitarist on front. If there was ever a moment to strike up a convocation that was the opportune right there. Some people like to wave at them as they pass by, me, I bit the bullet.

His flat was clean clinical, reflecting the precise actions of a muderer cleaning up his evidence, a strong smell of bleach hit me in a wave followed by various cleaning products. But it was fine, because he had actually invited me!

I reached my hand down toward my stomach wincing at the thought of what was about to happen, all the things I would never be able o do. Everything I ever wanted from life, gone. Could I really blame anyone else but me?

Right in that moment the door burst open.

“POLICE”.

Yes, that’s the man that raped my friend. That’s the man that tired to molest me.

Pedophile photographer / musician lured back to his apartment drugged tried to rape her. Touch her.

Girl kick arse used but police tagged.