Loving His Forever

By: LeAnn Ashers


Dedication: To everyone who has suffered abuse. Know you are more than what happened to you. Know what has happened to you doesn’t define you or have to dictate your life. You are not alone.

You’re a fighter. Keep on fighting. <3



“Come on, Braelyn! This is our senior year and we just finished finals. Let’s go have fun.” Sydney tugs on my hand while puckering her bottom lip, pouting.

Jerking my hand from hers, I lie down onto the bed with a thump. “Sydney, you know parties aren’t my thing,” I whine. I feel her sitting down on the bed beside me.

“I know that, Braelyn. They aren’t really my thing either, but I really want to go to this one. We’re leaving this place forever and we never even had the college experience,” she tells me sadly.

“Fine, but I’m not staying long.” I give in and sit up on the bed. I look over at my closet warily. What can I wear? I’m more of a jeans and a pretty top kind of gal.

“Thank you!” Sydney squeals before laying a big smooch on my cheek. Blushing, I wipe off her lip gloss.

I don’t like being around drunk people. Drinking changes people and sometimes those changes can be deadly. How is it deadly? Let’s take my father, for instance. He was an abusive drunk who liked to hit his wife and kids. That was my life until I left for college. College set me free, and I will never step foot back in that town if I can help it.

Putting my hands on either side of me on the bed, I push myself up to my feet and shuffle over to my closet. I feel incredibly nervous about tonight. I’ve stayed away from people drinking for all four years of college; now all that work is going down the drain, since I will be thrown right into the middle of it.

“I got you this!” Sydney yells from behind me. Turning around, I look at her and see she’s holding up a black mini dress.

I narrow my eyes. “A little cocky much?”

She rolls her eyes and hands me the dress. She grabs her own little dress and walks over to her side of the room. Sydney’s side of the room is books. That’s basically it. Books litter the floor, shelving, and window seat. I read too, but mostly on my Kindle.

Pulling the shirt over my head, I get a glance at the huge scar on my shoulder, the product of me falling down onto the corner of the coffee table when my father chased me. I shake my head to clear the memory from my mind.

Slipping the dress on, I instantly notice how tight it is. It hugs my curves to the point where it’s unflattering. I cringe and start to pull it back off when Sydney looks over and catches me.

“Don’t you dare!” she squeals.

Sighing, I drop my arms and sit down on the ground. I grab my makeup bag beside the mirror and look at myself. My eyes are large and brown, there are freckles on my nose and cheekbones, my lips are full and plump. One thing I love about myself is my long eyelashes and big, round eyes.

I take my beauty blender and put on foundation that will cover my freckles. I really hate my freckles; most people with freckles hate them. Once you get in the sun, they multiply. I line my eyes with eyeliner and mascara, then take my red lipstick and dab some on my lips to give them a small tint. Grabbing the wand, I style my hair into big barrel waves. I call it a quits after that.

“Woah, baby,” Sydney catcalls. Blushing, I grab some heels and slip them on my feet. Luckily, one thing I’ve got going for me is I can actually walk in heels. I was born with two correct feet, unlike Sydney. It never fails; she always tries to wear them, but her feet turn sideways and she looks like a newborn foal.

“Okay, ready to go?” Sydney calls. I turn around and look at her. Sydney is beautiful. We became instant best friends. She’s the one who got me out of my shell. I was ready to live life once I got away from my father. She helped with that. Her life is one I would give anything for. Her mom loves her unconditionally and sends her cookies every week in a package filled with ice packs.

Feeling sad, I look away so I can grab my clutch. I walk over to the front door. Sydney lets out a deep breath and mutters something. She slips her four-inch heels on then places her hands out on either side of her. Then bam! Her feet turn sideways and she crashes to the floor. I put my hand over my mouth as I try to hold in the laughter.

I walk over to her. “Why do you even bother?” I ask. I grab her hand to lift her back to her feet. She grabs the heels and pitches them out the window. Well, that’s one way to get rid of them. She’ll buy more by the end of the week.

She grabs her flats and slips them on while fluffing her hair, then grins at me. “Ready.” Rolling my eyes, I take her hand and pull her out of the door.

We take a taxi to the frat party. I groan when Sydney pushes my unwilling body out of the taxi. I freaking hate parties. They are full of grabby assholes that are looking for a warm hole to stick their dicks in; it sure won’t be mine.

“Stay for at least thirty minutes, Braelyn, okay? If you don’t like it, we will leave.” She touches my shoulder to get my attention and then raises three fingers before muttering, “Scouts honor.”