Post by anastasiya ivanov on Apr 5, 2009 13:40:34 GMT -5
anastasiya aleksandrovna ivanov!
[/color][/font]WON'T HESITATE NO MORE
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TO BE CHILL BUT YOU'RE SO HOT
[/color][/font]THAT I MELTED I FELL RIGHT THROUGH THE CRACKS AND NOW I'M TRYING
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"well hey hey sexy people, the name's anastasiya aleksandrovna ivanov, but most people
just call me anastasiya, sometimes ana. i was welcomed into this fine world on december fourth,
which would make me about sixteen years old. obviously i'm a female, and
i'm hella proud of it too! i'm also very proud to be a heterosexual, so if
you don't like it, you can go suck it! a lot of people tend to tell me that i really do
look a whole lot like anne-marie van dijk. i think it's mostly because of my dark honey blonde
hair and my totally heart breaking light brown eyes. but what really makes me sexy is
my high cheekbones, full lips, and slight accent. oh...and did i mention that i'm living it up as high school junior.
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nothing's gonna stop me but divine intervention
[/color][/font][/i]i reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some but i won't hesitate no more[/font]
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ballet, blended colors, art, coffee shops (but not coffee), music, dance, nighttime, silence, piano, history, south america, dogs, paintings, science, planets, fruit, sneakers, the 50s/60s/70s, uniqueness, tounge twisters, poetry, water, gymnastics, curling, the olympics, greek mythology, boys, acoustic music, brass instruments, curling irons, green tea, ice cream, war movies, documentaries, school at times, valentine’s day (free chocolate!), rabbits, accents, root words, languages, classical music, spanish, jeans, cold weather, the color red, dreams (but not sleep), hippies, classic rock, 80s pop, flats, green apples, penguins, funny movies, makeup, writing, snakes, love, teddy bears, the word ‘majolica’, books, lizards, open-minded people, mother russia, stephen king, jack nicholson.
AND NOT SO MUCH?
sleeping, coffee, scene kids, buzz cuts, war, current music, french, fat, rude people, anime/manga, close-minded people, people with no self-respect, rap, santas in the mall at christmastime, the color orange, raves, fear, pesto sauce, palm trees, hyenas, immaturity, saxophones, folk music, frogs, spiders, hair mousse, stereotypes, bookbags, plastic bags, refillable water bottles, crankiness, the smell of dry-erase markers, handwriting, skirts, eggs, stupidity, bombs, skanks, knitting needles, girly magazines, the smell of gasoline, eyelash curlers, heat, sharks, creepy-crawlies, scary movies, english class.
WHAT GET'S TO YOU, SCAREDY CAT?
“I’m afraid of the dark. I hate to say it, but it’s true: I just can’t stand it. I have to leave the door to the bathroom open when I go to sleep, and the light in there has to be on. I can’t sleep if it isn’t. Granted, I don’t sleep much, but still. There’s just something about the dark that’s always weirded me out. There’s this highly irrational part of me that always thinks monsters come out during the night. It’s a childish fear, I know, but I’ve always been scared of the dark. Complete darkness, I mean. I’m fine if there’s a hint of light somewhere, because I know that’s reality and that I can reach to and get myself into before the darkness swallows me whole. I guess that’s why I always loved living in a big city: even at night, there were always lights on because someone was always awake. I could always look to that person, that light, and not be scared.
Another thing I’m absolutely terrified of is spiders. Honestly, I love most animals – most bugs I can tolerate. I don’t enjoy having them around, but I’ll still live peacefully with them. With spiders, it’s a different story. When I was around four, I was in bed and felt something prickly on my arm. Of course I ignored it; I was anxious to go to sleep. And then it kept prickling, so I looked down. Lo and behold, it was a spider, huge and scary and on my arm! Ever since that night, I’ve been phobic of them. I can never kill them by myself.
On a deeper scale, I’m afraid of never being remembered for doing the things I love. I can handle not getting married; I can handle not having kids. I can handle living from paycheck to paycheck. All I want is to be known and recognized as great doing the things I love.”
WHAT'S YOUR DREAM COME TRUE?
“I want to be a ballet dancer. I’ve been dancing since before I could walk, it seems. I want it more than anything. No one knows how many nights I spend practicing, how sore I get, or how I push myself, all to get better. I know ballet is hard to make a living from, but it’s my passion. On a more realistic note, I want to go to college at Berkeley and major in bioengineering. I’m good at biology, so I want to put my strengths to good use.”
WHAT ARE YOUR HABITS , GOOD AND BAD?
“I twirl my hair a lot. I tap my foot a lot too, especially when I’m nervous or concentrating. It helps me focus. If I have a song stuck in my head, I’ll tap the tempo to that. Sometimes I’ll just tap at a consistent tempo and breathe along to that. It really helps calm me down.”
WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?
“I’m an insomniac, have been since childhood. I don’t know what it is about me, but I can’t ever get to sleep when I try to. I’ve tried everything, including pills. Those years were the worst years of my life, the years I was addicted to them. People who’ve never been addicted to something really don’t know how hard it is to get yourself off it. Those pills weren’t sleeping aids; they were my life. I took pills like I breathed air and they were killing me. I took them because I needed them to survive. Without them, I’d make myself sick. I’d constantly be tired. That’s why I absolutely hate sleep now. Nothing productive ever happens when you sleep and it’s just one vicious cycle that goes on and on. So I dance whenever I can’t sleep. It occupies me and tires me out so I’m forced to sleep, but it’s not an addiction. Another thing about me is that I’m a perfectionist. I’m not hiding it, but being a perfectionist and being an insomniac don’t exactly go hand in hand. I stay up way too late, perfecting every little thing that’s due the next day or months from then. I will settle for nothing less than perfect, and that’s all I expect of myself.”
GOT A FAVORITE MEMORY?
“The first time I stepped on a stage for my first ballet recital. The feeling of everyone’s eyes on me, hearing the crowd cheer after I danced – it was the best feeling in the world. It’s why I’m so passionate about it.”
THE WORST?
“The entire period in my life when I was addicted. It was the worst four years of my life. I spend every day wishing I could get those years back. I never like talking about it.”
WHAT ABOUT PET PEEVES?
“Bad hygiene. I don’t know if that’s a pet peeve, but it just irks me. Things are meant to be neat and tidy and clean and in order, not messy and unkempt and gross. Oh, and wire hangers.”
HOW STRONG ARE YOU?
“Once I say I’ll do something, you can bet I’ll do it. I’m not lying. I’m a very reliable person, and I get things done. I don’t like to procrastinate: I keep myself on a schedule and stick to it. I guess it’s because I love being busy. I’m also a pretty good listener, and I genuinely try to open my heart up to people when they need it. I’m not one of those people who doesn’t let people in. I let people in – to a certain extent – because I believe you need to open up yourself to others to let yourself and others grow. And I’m fluent in Russian, if that counts.”
EVERYONE HAS A WEAKNESS ...
“I’m reserved, almost painfully so. And by reserved, I don’t mean shy. I will talk to people – but usually only if they talk to me. I don’t know why, I’m just not a very outgoing person. I like to stay inside my own thoughts where I can clearly follow things on the messed up scales I work with. For that reason I come off as quiet to a lot of people and they misinterpret my actions. Also, when I set a goal for myself, I have to achieve it, no matter the consequences. It’s not just about pride with me, it’s about showing people I have talent, and getting them to appreciate me. It’s bad, but I can force myself to do pretty much anything. I’m also scared of getting into relationships, and falling in love, just because I don’t see anyone ever appreciating all the sides of me.”
HOW'S YOUR HYMEN, METAPHORICALLY OR NOT?
“I’m a virgin. I fully believe that my virginity is something I should keep till I find the person I’m in love with, and that’s not going to change.”
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i'm yours; well open up your heart and see like me
[/color][/font][/i]open up your plans and damn you're free look into your heart and you'll find
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In Cold Blood.
FAVORITE MOVIE?
The Shining.
FAVORITE MEMBER OF NSYNC?
I was never really into NSync…
FAVORITE FOOD?
Beef stroganoff.
FAVORITE TYPE OF BUBBLE GUM?
Stride sweet berry.
FAVORITE COLOR?
Red.
FAVORITE TV SHOW?
Password Plus.
FAVORITE NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE?
Water.
FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE?
White Russian.
FAVORITE TIME OF DAY?
Daytime?
FAVORITE HOLIDAY?
Christmas.
FAVORITE IDEAL DATE?
Something simple where we get to talk, like going to a museum or a walk in the park.
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spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror
[/color][/i][/font]and bending over backwards just to try to see it clearer but my breath fogged up
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“Aleksandr Ivanov, 48, anesthesiologist. We have an average father-daughter relationship, and he’s protective of me, but I’m not a daddy’s girl. I love my papa, though, and he’s taught me a lot of things that I’ll always keep with me.”
AND HIS BABY MOMMA?
“Valeriya Ivanov, 45, artist. I’m closer to my mother, mainly because my dad was always at work when I was home. We’re also both more artsy than most.”
WHAT ABOUT THOSE CRAZY SIBLINGS?
“I don’t have any siblings.”
WHERE ARE YOU FROM?
“I’m a Muscovite, born and raised. Moscow, Russia is and will always be my home.”
WHAT'S YOUR LIFE STORY?
“Well, it all started on Christmas morning of 1982. My mother was getting surgery done – on what, I forget, you’ll have to ask them – and my father was an intern at the hospital. Before the surgery began, my mother was worried about it hurting or going wrong, so my dad stayed and kept her company. They got to talking, and a few weeks after the surgery, they went out for coffee. I don’t know how, but they hit it off like that. They were two kids, a few years into college, and they fell in love. They waited awhile to tie the knot, presumably because they were both still in school. After they were out of school, my mother moved in with my father and they were married in 1989. Two years later, I was born.
I had an odd childhood. Living in Russia after the Soviet Union fell apart was hard. Things in Russia were bad, and my dad had to work most of the time to keep food on the table. My mother tried to stir me away from the trouble that followed with the collapse, but I was still… well, scared. 1998 was when it hit worst. The economy was in a recession and my dad almost lost his job. Still, we stayed, and hoped for the best. Things got better surprisingly quickly for Russia as a whole, and things seemed to be going well.
And then my parents started fighting. My mother was hell-bent on us leaving Russia for the United States, where I would have more opportunities and a brighter future. My father, content with his job and fearing the stereotypes Americans associated with Russians, refused to leave. That was the year my insomnia started to really kick in. Normally I’d stay awake for an hour or two before bedtime. After they started fighting, I couldn’t get to sleep, no matter what I tried.
Then came the pills. We went to the doctor and he gave me a prescription for Lunesta. At first, I was fine: the pills were great, and they helped me fall asleep while my parents argued. But then one pill became two and two became three and soon I was downing four pills a night to rid myself of their troubles and my lack of sleep. The pills didn’t help me sleep – they knocked me out for a solid eight hours, and after that eight hours, I’d wake up groggy and disillusioned, as if I’d been knocked into a coma that I was just coming out of. I tried weaning myself off them as best as I could – I’d reduce the dosage, only to find myself restless and tossing in the middle of the night. I’d inadvertently roll out of bed, reach for the pills, and take a few more. It was like I needed them to survive.
Sooner or later, my father cracked. He was willing to transfer to another hospital – one in the United States – and deal with the stereotypes if it meant a better future for me. So we moved when I was twelve to Chicago, Illinois. My father got another job as an anesthesiologist and my mother continued with her art. Still, no one realized how many pills I was taking and how they were affecting me. On my thirteenth birthday, my mother walked into my room and found me shaking out four pills before bedtime. That was when they finally got the hint – I was clearly addicted and needed help. They started keeping the medicine with them and only allowed me three pills, then two, and then the minimum dosage per night. Within two years, I was off Lunesta, and my parents refused to put me on medication for my insomnia ever again.
I realized my true passion for dance during the fighting years. With my monotonous rhythms of consciousness and sleep dictating my life, the only thing that seemed to truly keep me alive was my ballet. I practiced and practiced and practiced like every day was the last day I’d be alive. Really, the only reason I wanted to sleep so bad was because my body needed to recharge. Before and after school, I’d work my hardest on my dance. I’d always strive to be the best, no matter how many hours it meant I’d have to practice.
That was when I realized my longing to be perfect. I found myself disappointed when I was number two in the class, or if I got a low grade on a test. So I’d push myself, both physically and academically. I never did it to beat someone else – I always appreciated others and used their experiences and stories to give myself a better understanding of a subject. It wasn’t competition; it was appreciation for knowledge and a desire to make the most out of myself. I could feel myself slipping into the abyss of the sleeping pills, and my way of keeping my head above water was to push myself.
People were rarely jealous of me because they saw how hard I tried. Intelligence was not a natural thing but an acquired trait that developed within me over the years. Through broadening my horizons I expanded my knowledge base and leaving my old ways of thinking behind. Still, the one thing people labeled me for was my heritage. I had always been proud to be Russian – in my eyes, Russia was a great country, pretty wonderful all-around. But when I talked people heard not my words but my accent; when I wrote they read not the ideas but the broken English in which I thought. People considered me to be their enemy after years of fighting amongst the Americans and the Soviets.
After awhile, the stereotypes died down. There are still a few ignorant people today who will call me a communist under their breaths or refuse to associate with me because I am from a different country. To me, those people aren’t worth my time. Right now all that matters is how my life is growing and how I can influence others through it for the better.”
THE SOUNDTRACK TO YOUR LIFE?
The winter here is cold and bitter
It's chilled us to the bone
I haven’t seen the sun for weeks
Too long, too far from home
I feel just like I’m sinking
And I claw for solid ground
I’m pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
And oh, darkness, I feel like letting go
If all the of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I can love you much better than this
Full of grace
Full of grace
My love.
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THERE'S NO NEED TO COMPLICATE
[/color][/color][/font][/font]OUR TIME IS SHORT THIS IS OUR FATE I'M YOURS SCOOCH ON CLOSER DEAR[/font]
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hey, what's up? my name is alyssa and i've been rocking out with
my stunna shades for sixteen years. yeah, i know i'm pretty ill.
and obviously i'm a female, can you dig it? if you wanna get in touch with
me just hit me up by pm or msn. oh, and i gotta have me my admin edit.
Anders had thought Anne was a lost cause. Completely and utterly lost, without a friend in the world. He’d taken pity on her that night, kept her on her feet while her “friends” partied the night away. She’d shamelessly flirted with him, laughed at all his jokes, threw him seductive glances when she wasn’t near him. It hadn’t been his fault that by the end of the night he’d gotten the idea that Anne wanted him. After all, she had practically thrown herself into his arms and had already undressed herself by the time he’d even brought the subject up. How could what they did be considered rape when she’d so clearly wanted him the entire night? There was no gray area; it wasn’t rape, it couldn’t be if they’d both enjoyed it - especially Anne.
That’s what he’d told her. He’d fed her lies through a silver spoon all throughout her stay in Denmark, denying everything she said left and right. She’d tried to tell her friends; they’d merely congratulated her, praising her for finally “getting some”. In Emilie’s words, Anders was “one of the hottest - no, scratch that, the hottest - boy in Copenhagen” and she was “lucky to score with him”. Only she wasn’t lucky. She’d been taken advantage of and she knew it. She’d been far too scared to her parents, or even Asher - if either of them found out she’d been drunk that night, she’d be in for a lot worse than a grounding. Still, Anne was intent on getting back at Anders - she was sick of him texting her every night with “we sure had fun that night, didn’t we? ;]” or “you were great”. She’d sent him one text back: “you’re going to wish you were never born. I’ll make sure of that.”
Anne was convinced she could carry that threat through. She didn’t care how she carried it out; all she wanted was revenge. First and foremost, she wanted her virginity back - she was one of those girls who was saving it till marriage - though it was obvious she wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon. She figured the next best thing she could do was seek revenge. There was no way in hell Anneliese Jean Rosenberg was going to be a victim. She wasn’t a person who sat there and took things as they came to her; if she was wronged, she would go to the ends of the earth to make that thing right again. She’d heard the stories, she’d read the books, all where the girl had fallen victim to her horrible perpetrator. Anders was her horrible perpetrator, that was for sure. But she’d rather gargle with liquid nitrogen before admitting he’d defeated her.
She wasn’t going to be stupid about this, though. She knew she’d have to plan out her every move, trap him before he trapped her again. Anne wasn’t going to go back to Copenhagen and beat Anders’ brains out; he’d already thought of that and she knew it. He was expecting her to come back either broken or in a fit of rage. And when that happened, he’d call the police and have her behind bars for assault. As much as she denied it, Anne’s spirit had been broken. He’d accomplished one of his goals with Anne: making her scared, skittish and uneasy every waking moment of her life, always wondering if he was there watching her, ready to strike again. She didn’t know if he’d tried to do that or if that was just one of the side effects of being raped; still, it hit her, and it hurt bad. Anne had always possessed a strong spirit… that was, till she’d met Anders.
Oddly enough, the two good things Anne had gained from this experience were impeccable organizational skills and killer reflexes. The two worked hand in hand; now, whenever Anne went somewhere, she knew exactly where she was, who she was with, and what she had to accomplish by going there. She was always on the lookout; for some reason, she could sense Anders around her everywhere she went. She had made sure Anders was still in Denmark when she’d come back to Stewart; still, she couldn’t help but be afraid. Every passerby seemed like a spy for him, plotting her every move. She knew he would try to attack her again; he could sense it. Anders Jacobsen always got what he want, when he wanted it, exactly how he wanted it. He even had his parents wrapped around his finger; there was just something about him that demanded attention. He was the authority figure.
Anne’s job was to switch their roles. By the time she was done with him, Anders would be the victim. She had never been a mean girl, but what he’d done had brought out the worst in Anne. He’d turned her into a skittish, paranoid freak of a person who was hell-bent on destroying the legend that was Anders Jacobsen. Her first step was to build up her physical strength; she’d never been particularly strong, and she was going to change that. The day she’d formulated her plan of revenge was the day she’d started building up her strength in every aspect. She went to the gym three times a week, went for a run before bed every day, got at least eight hours of sleep every night, took vitamins religiously. Neither her muscles nor her cardiovascular system nor her immune system was going to falter till she’d brought him down. She now knew that any possible weakness could be used against her, and she wasn’t going to let that happen.
Turning herself into a superhuman had its faults, though. Underneath it all, Anne was still hopelessly afraid, and there was no way of fixing that unless she sought serious psychological help - which she wasn’t too keen on going after. She’d lay in bed at night, trembling and worried sick, and would think about her friends. She knew she should have been there for Asher more; she knew she should have at least tried to get him and Rylee on good terms again. But she had been too scared to even talk to Asher now; she had to watch everything she said to him because of the special bond they shared. Anne had always told Asher about her problems, and this wouldn’t be an exception if she let it slip out. Anne had distanced herself from him in hopes of keeping her drunken escapade a secret. Of course, she’d thought of the possibility that he might be suspicious of her newfound aloofness. Then she’d remembered that he was going through a breakup with the one girl he’d ever loved; Anne would be the least of his problems.
The one friend that really hit home was Colin. Deep down, Anne knew she was falling for him all over again. Sure, Anne had had crushes before, but Colin was so… different. No boy had ever cared about her like Colin had. He was always there for her, always - even when his sister was going through probably the worst breakup her sixteen years had seen, Colin was there for Anne. He’d called her numerous times and left a plethora of text messages, voicemails, e-mails and even MySpace comments asking her where she was and why she’d been ignoring him. She’d read every one of them and had to stop herself from replying in a frenzy of sadness and guilt. The one person Anne told everything to was Colin; he knew her better than her mother or her father or even Asher did. Heck, he probably knew her better than she knew herself. She could easily say he was the greatest person she’d ever met.
Anne knew Colin would never hurt her - but this summer had changed her view on any man, including Colin. She feared even touching him, let alone telling him she’d been… raped. It wasn’t just that, though; she knew that if he found out, he’d either think she was a tramp, get angry at her, or try to rip Anders apart… maybe even all three at once. She couldn’t take any of those three at this point. Her spirit was so badly bruised that having the person she loved most in the world tell her anything even remotely bad would crush her. She’d be devastated if he called her a tramp, or if she saw genuine anger in those beautiful brown eyes of his. There was still the last option - the one where Colin got angry at Anders and would try to hurt him for what he did to Anne. She doubted the last option would follow through, though.
The night was still young and Anne was out on her nightly run, trying to brush away the thoughts that so persistently entered her conscience. Over the summer, Anne had realized that physical exercise wasn’t as bad as she’d made it out to be - in fact, it was the one thing that kept her alive in a sea of emotional exhaustion. Though progress was hard, she’d been making it and seeing herself grow physically stronger by the day kept her mentally sane. She knew that if she worked hard enough on herself, she could take Anders down - he wasn’t strong like many boys were and he was a bit on the gangly side.
Running was arguably Anne’s new favorite thing to do. While it did leave her sweaty and panting in the end, it gave her a goal. Sometime’s she’d run to the fire hydrant, sometimes to the coffee shop. Symbolically speaking, she was running toward a stronger Anne - one that could get past this horrible experience and one that could get back at Anders, but mostly one that could learn to love again. She was hoping that one day, she’d be able to approach Colin and not have an ounce of fear keep her from him. She wanted to be able to stay in his arms and feel safe, not smothered. She wanted to look into his eyes and see the Colin Jamison she knew, not another boy who could hurt her and tear her spirit to pieces.
Tonight’s run was no different than the others; she liked to randomize where she went and tonight’s destination was Main Hall. After stowing a bit of pepper spray in her pocket, she’d decided to stray from her predetermined path and take the scenic route instead. It had been a wise decision and Anne felt herself completely free of her burdens for what seemed like the first time in forever. Looking up at the stars and feeling blades of grass touch her ankles was more relieving than she’d expected. She was turning into the courtyard, the sounds of the rest of the world muted by Coldplay’s ‘Cemeteries of London’. A semblance of a smile graced her features as her sneakers thumped across the pavement.
It was a gorgeous night and beauty seemed to seep from every possible source. The flowers seemed to glow from the beams of moonlight and the trees each adopted a radiant silver halo that made them seem almost angelic. Shadows of leaves and branches danced playfully across the moonlit cement, which sparkled with an iridescent brilliance known only to precious diamonds. The crisp night air whipped across Anne’s delicate skin, flushing her cheeks with a rosy hue that she was sure had been gone for good. She could feel the evening’s saturation of tranquility easing over her as she continued her run - that was, until she saw Frankie.
Anne stopped abruptly a few feet from the girl and almost immediately the flaws of the night came racing back to haunt her. She cursed herself for only wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top - her constant motion had kept her blood running and her skin warm, though now the cold scratched its way back into her bones and she shivered slightly. Trembling, she contemplated on what to do. She’d never thought that she’d actually see Frankie any time soon, especially during one of her nighttime runs. She had planned her days out accordingly so she wouldn’t have to directly confront Frankie until she was ready. This encounter had shattered those plans and Anne stood awkwardly, not ready to face the consequences.
She had two options: confront Frankie and deal with her inevitable questions, or make a run for it. The latter option seemed far more appealing, though Anne knew it wasn’t fair to Frankie to keep her wondering this long. So she took the risk and went with her gut, taking a few hesitant steps toward her roommate. “Hey,” she said in a cautiously warm tone, extending the greeting as if they’d talked just moments ago.
I should have run.
my stunna shades for sixteen years. yeah, i know i'm pretty ill.
and obviously i'm a female, can you dig it? if you wanna get in touch with
me just hit me up by pm or msn. oh, and i gotta have me my admin edit.
Anders had thought Anne was a lost cause. Completely and utterly lost, without a friend in the world. He’d taken pity on her that night, kept her on her feet while her “friends” partied the night away. She’d shamelessly flirted with him, laughed at all his jokes, threw him seductive glances when she wasn’t near him. It hadn’t been his fault that by the end of the night he’d gotten the idea that Anne wanted him. After all, she had practically thrown herself into his arms and had already undressed herself by the time he’d even brought the subject up. How could what they did be considered rape when she’d so clearly wanted him the entire night? There was no gray area; it wasn’t rape, it couldn’t be if they’d both enjoyed it - especially Anne.
That’s what he’d told her. He’d fed her lies through a silver spoon all throughout her stay in Denmark, denying everything she said left and right. She’d tried to tell her friends; they’d merely congratulated her, praising her for finally “getting some”. In Emilie’s words, Anders was “one of the hottest - no, scratch that, the hottest - boy in Copenhagen” and she was “lucky to score with him”. Only she wasn’t lucky. She’d been taken advantage of and she knew it. She’d been far too scared to her parents, or even Asher - if either of them found out she’d been drunk that night, she’d be in for a lot worse than a grounding. Still, Anne was intent on getting back at Anders - she was sick of him texting her every night with “we sure had fun that night, didn’t we? ;]” or “you were great”. She’d sent him one text back: “you’re going to wish you were never born. I’ll make sure of that.”
Anne was convinced she could carry that threat through. She didn’t care how she carried it out; all she wanted was revenge. First and foremost, she wanted her virginity back - she was one of those girls who was saving it till marriage - though it was obvious she wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon. She figured the next best thing she could do was seek revenge. There was no way in hell Anneliese Jean Rosenberg was going to be a victim. She wasn’t a person who sat there and took things as they came to her; if she was wronged, she would go to the ends of the earth to make that thing right again. She’d heard the stories, she’d read the books, all where the girl had fallen victim to her horrible perpetrator. Anders was her horrible perpetrator, that was for sure. But she’d rather gargle with liquid nitrogen before admitting he’d defeated her.
She wasn’t going to be stupid about this, though. She knew she’d have to plan out her every move, trap him before he trapped her again. Anne wasn’t going to go back to Copenhagen and beat Anders’ brains out; he’d already thought of that and she knew it. He was expecting her to come back either broken or in a fit of rage. And when that happened, he’d call the police and have her behind bars for assault. As much as she denied it, Anne’s spirit had been broken. He’d accomplished one of his goals with Anne: making her scared, skittish and uneasy every waking moment of her life, always wondering if he was there watching her, ready to strike again. She didn’t know if he’d tried to do that or if that was just one of the side effects of being raped; still, it hit her, and it hurt bad. Anne had always possessed a strong spirit… that was, till she’d met Anders.
Oddly enough, the two good things Anne had gained from this experience were impeccable organizational skills and killer reflexes. The two worked hand in hand; now, whenever Anne went somewhere, she knew exactly where she was, who she was with, and what she had to accomplish by going there. She was always on the lookout; for some reason, she could sense Anders around her everywhere she went. She had made sure Anders was still in Denmark when she’d come back to Stewart; still, she couldn’t help but be afraid. Every passerby seemed like a spy for him, plotting her every move. She knew he would try to attack her again; he could sense it. Anders Jacobsen always got what he want, when he wanted it, exactly how he wanted it. He even had his parents wrapped around his finger; there was just something about him that demanded attention. He was the authority figure.
Anne’s job was to switch their roles. By the time she was done with him, Anders would be the victim. She had never been a mean girl, but what he’d done had brought out the worst in Anne. He’d turned her into a skittish, paranoid freak of a person who was hell-bent on destroying the legend that was Anders Jacobsen. Her first step was to build up her physical strength; she’d never been particularly strong, and she was going to change that. The day she’d formulated her plan of revenge was the day she’d started building up her strength in every aspect. She went to the gym three times a week, went for a run before bed every day, got at least eight hours of sleep every night, took vitamins religiously. Neither her muscles nor her cardiovascular system nor her immune system was going to falter till she’d brought him down. She now knew that any possible weakness could be used against her, and she wasn’t going to let that happen.
Turning herself into a superhuman had its faults, though. Underneath it all, Anne was still hopelessly afraid, and there was no way of fixing that unless she sought serious psychological help - which she wasn’t too keen on going after. She’d lay in bed at night, trembling and worried sick, and would think about her friends. She knew she should have been there for Asher more; she knew she should have at least tried to get him and Rylee on good terms again. But she had been too scared to even talk to Asher now; she had to watch everything she said to him because of the special bond they shared. Anne had always told Asher about her problems, and this wouldn’t be an exception if she let it slip out. Anne had distanced herself from him in hopes of keeping her drunken escapade a secret. Of course, she’d thought of the possibility that he might be suspicious of her newfound aloofness. Then she’d remembered that he was going through a breakup with the one girl he’d ever loved; Anne would be the least of his problems.
The one friend that really hit home was Colin. Deep down, Anne knew she was falling for him all over again. Sure, Anne had had crushes before, but Colin was so… different. No boy had ever cared about her like Colin had. He was always there for her, always - even when his sister was going through probably the worst breakup her sixteen years had seen, Colin was there for Anne. He’d called her numerous times and left a plethora of text messages, voicemails, e-mails and even MySpace comments asking her where she was and why she’d been ignoring him. She’d read every one of them and had to stop herself from replying in a frenzy of sadness and guilt. The one person Anne told everything to was Colin; he knew her better than her mother or her father or even Asher did. Heck, he probably knew her better than she knew herself. She could easily say he was the greatest person she’d ever met.
Anne knew Colin would never hurt her - but this summer had changed her view on any man, including Colin. She feared even touching him, let alone telling him she’d been… raped. It wasn’t just that, though; she knew that if he found out, he’d either think she was a tramp, get angry at her, or try to rip Anders apart… maybe even all three at once. She couldn’t take any of those three at this point. Her spirit was so badly bruised that having the person she loved most in the world tell her anything even remotely bad would crush her. She’d be devastated if he called her a tramp, or if she saw genuine anger in those beautiful brown eyes of his. There was still the last option - the one where Colin got angry at Anders and would try to hurt him for what he did to Anne. She doubted the last option would follow through, though.
The night was still young and Anne was out on her nightly run, trying to brush away the thoughts that so persistently entered her conscience. Over the summer, Anne had realized that physical exercise wasn’t as bad as she’d made it out to be - in fact, it was the one thing that kept her alive in a sea of emotional exhaustion. Though progress was hard, she’d been making it and seeing herself grow physically stronger by the day kept her mentally sane. She knew that if she worked hard enough on herself, she could take Anders down - he wasn’t strong like many boys were and he was a bit on the gangly side.
Running was arguably Anne’s new favorite thing to do. While it did leave her sweaty and panting in the end, it gave her a goal. Sometime’s she’d run to the fire hydrant, sometimes to the coffee shop. Symbolically speaking, she was running toward a stronger Anne - one that could get past this horrible experience and one that could get back at Anders, but mostly one that could learn to love again. She was hoping that one day, she’d be able to approach Colin and not have an ounce of fear keep her from him. She wanted to be able to stay in his arms and feel safe, not smothered. She wanted to look into his eyes and see the Colin Jamison she knew, not another boy who could hurt her and tear her spirit to pieces.
Tonight’s run was no different than the others; she liked to randomize where she went and tonight’s destination was Main Hall. After stowing a bit of pepper spray in her pocket, she’d decided to stray from her predetermined path and take the scenic route instead. It had been a wise decision and Anne felt herself completely free of her burdens for what seemed like the first time in forever. Looking up at the stars and feeling blades of grass touch her ankles was more relieving than she’d expected. She was turning into the courtyard, the sounds of the rest of the world muted by Coldplay’s ‘Cemeteries of London’. A semblance of a smile graced her features as her sneakers thumped across the pavement.
It was a gorgeous night and beauty seemed to seep from every possible source. The flowers seemed to glow from the beams of moonlight and the trees each adopted a radiant silver halo that made them seem almost angelic. Shadows of leaves and branches danced playfully across the moonlit cement, which sparkled with an iridescent brilliance known only to precious diamonds. The crisp night air whipped across Anne’s delicate skin, flushing her cheeks with a rosy hue that she was sure had been gone for good. She could feel the evening’s saturation of tranquility easing over her as she continued her run - that was, until she saw Frankie.
Anne stopped abruptly a few feet from the girl and almost immediately the flaws of the night came racing back to haunt her. She cursed herself for only wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top - her constant motion had kept her blood running and her skin warm, though now the cold scratched its way back into her bones and she shivered slightly. Trembling, she contemplated on what to do. She’d never thought that she’d actually see Frankie any time soon, especially during one of her nighttime runs. She had planned her days out accordingly so she wouldn’t have to directly confront Frankie until she was ready. This encounter had shattered those plans and Anne stood awkwardly, not ready to face the consequences.
She had two options: confront Frankie and deal with her inevitable questions, or make a run for it. The latter option seemed far more appealing, though Anne knew it wasn’t fair to Frankie to keep her wondering this long. So she took the risk and went with her gut, taking a few hesitant steps toward her roommate. “Hey,” she said in a cautiously warm tone, extending the greeting as if they’d talked just moments ago.
I should have run.
this application was created by ally uno of toybird productions and
ally cubed of toybird productions and CAUTION 2.0. steal this and we will
hunt you down and release ally uno's angry pregnancy hormones on you.
