These stories are inspired by the real experiences of young people shared with us at Rosie’s Place, stories of challenge, courage, and searching for doors that lead away from harm and toward safety and dignity.

These stories contain material that some readers may find confronting and unsettling. Words or images may bring up feelings of sadness or discomfort, especially for people who have been subjected to sexual harm.

If you need support, you can contact: Kids Helpline (24/7) 1800 55 1800 or 1800 RESPECT (24/7) 1800 737 732

Quick exit

Chapter 2

Lani’s Story

I just made it to the station in time but ended up in the front carriage where all the school kids hang out. I usually avoid this carriage, but today it didn’t matter.

I wanted to get home...

As soon as I sat down, I looked across and saw two students whispering to each other.

One of the girls seemed like she was trying not to cry, and it looked like all the blood had drained from her face. I felt sick.

I knew that look.

I remembered my time at high school. My mum and stepdad were not the best of parents, even though mum really tried. They were both “out of it” on drugs a lot of the time, and there were always people coming in and out of the house.

I had to look after my two sisters most of the time.

One of my stepdad’s friends who often came to our house started to come into my room at night and did things to me. Horrible things.

Things that should never have happened.

I was so scared and ashamed. I never told mum.

I felt so alone.

It was when he started to move towards my younger sisters that I told a teacher at school about what had been happening.

After that everything changed.

My sisters went to live with my stepdad’s parents, but I was not their grandchild, and they didn’t want me.

I stayed in a few different places with other kids who also couldn’t live at home, and we had workers looking after us. But they didn’t really care about us. Why should they. We weren’t their family.

And then I met Pete.

It was great at first.

He was a bit older and worked so he had money.

He told me that he would get me whatever I wanted. He bought me food and clothes and gave me alcohol to drink, and sometimes asked if I wanted to have some of his “secret stuff”.

But most of all he was someone I belonged to. He looked after me when I felt no one else would.

I got good at sneaking out of my bedroom window and waiting at the end of the road where Pete would pick me up.

I would stay at his place until the early hours of the morning and then he would drop me back at the house in the morning.

Hours away became days, so the workers at the house would report me as “missing” to the police. Sometimes the police would find me and make me go back.

But I would just leave again.

Days turned into weeks and then into months and by the time I turned 16, I knew that no one was really interested in where I was and the people I was with.

Pete would tell me every day that he loved me, but then would also say that I had to “do better” and “be better” if I wanted to stay with him.

I loved him and thought he loved me as he said it all the time. But more than anything when I was with Pete, I had someone. I wasn’t alone.

And being alone was the worst thing in the world to me.

Until Pete became the worst thing I feared.

It started with the way he talked to me and then it became worse with him physically hurting me.

He made me do things I did not want to do.

I was too scared of him to say no.

When he went to work I had to stay in the house and do what Pete called my “chores”, like cleaning and washing and looking after his two dogs.

And then one day, when Pete was out with some mates, I packed up most of my things.

I used a screwdriver I had grabbed from the garage, and opened the side bathroom window and left.

I knew Pete would come looking for me as he had always threatened me with that, but I also knew how to disappear and not be found.

The sound of the brakes of the train brought me back to the present and what was now my stop.

I looked over again at the two girls who were also standing up and holding onto one of the poles near the train doors.

One of the young women looked so pale. She was shaking and her friend was holding her arm, as if trying to stop her from falling down.

Then I thought about people who did speak to me, support me, let me know that I mattered.

I knew that I wouldn’t be where I was now if people had not been there for me.

I still feel lonely sometimes, but not alone.

I have a job and friends, and keep in some contact with my mum and sisters. And of course my cat Bella always waits by the door for me at home.

I thought about all the times I had looked like this, and the just as many times when people would look back at me, but not say anything.

I felt invisible.

I felt so alone.

I believed I didn’t matter.

The two girls were waiting at the door as the train slowed to a stop. I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do but I moved towards them.

I walked over to them and lightly touched their joined arms.

"You will be OK. Just look after each other."

"I hope so. Thanks."

I hope it helped.

I stepped onto the platform and walked toward my car.

Seeing the two girls together made me think of my best friend.

My best friend and I could talk about anything, and she always understood me. I got out my phone and called her to see if she could meet me for dinner.