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Just pointing out, this is the 1900's. So i know men suffer from rape. I'm not saying they don't. But in these times, women suffered more than they do now and most men got away with it. So Im not putting men down or saying its not as terrible, it's just times were different back then and husbands especially could rape their wives and no one would look twice 
Lydia pov
Dun dun....dun dun.....dun dun
The beating of my brothers heart filled my ears as he slowly drifted off into a state of peace. Something that seemed impossible for me. I could sleep for England. But doesn't mean its peaceful. My sleep is full of memories. Memories I'd rather forget. Phantoms of my past that haunt my dreams and crush my soul. The sheer thought of life made me want to curl up in a ball, away from the world and cry. Cry for all those who came before me. All those who are going through the same as me now. And all those who will go through this in the future
What causes people to do this? How can anyone feel the need to not only invade someone's body, but destroy their pride by doing so. Nothing scares me more than knowing that if I were to have a daughter in the future, there is a 85% chance she will be raped. Whether it be by a stranger, family member or by her own God damn husband. How can I ever have children knowing that this would happen?
And his poor mother. The man who raped me probably has a wife, kids a mother and father. And I don't blame them when they think he was murdered for no reason. They have to go through the grief and heartbreak unaware of the fact that he deserves death and so much worse for he had taken my life away without stopping my heart 
And what about my family? Mama is looking down on my right now and Lord knows what she might think. I don't know if she would understand. I don't know if she would cry or scream or just comfort me. She might tell me to go back to bed. Probably begging god to save me. But God has already betrayed me too many times. My life is in the hands of the devil now
I left my brothers arms careful not to wake the sleeping boy and I made my way to the bathroom. As I let the bath water run, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It was the same as it always was. But it was as if I could see through the physical side of me and delve deeper into my emotional state just from the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot from so much crying but the tears have stopped now. I've cried myself dry 
People see my life as perfect. What they see is a lucky girl. Someone who got adopted by a rich and successful man only to be brought into a powerful family. They see me as someone who can get whatever I want at the flick of a switch. The outside world think that joy is something I face on a daily bases, shared with laughter and love
But they don't know me. They don't know the father who came before. They don't know the mother who passed and they don't know the amount of pain I felt in that orphanage. My life now is full of blood and gore. Although there is alot of love, there is also betrayl, hatred and brutality that can't be found anywhere else. What was once a broke home, is now a broken life
Everyday, I walk a slower step, my skips have stopped and instead i daudle the streets like a tsunami of depression. My world cracks just that tiny bit more each day until eventually, it's just going to break into two. They scare me...feelings! They like to prance at you when you least expect it. Like a predator attacking its pray. I could have a morning of sunshine and songs quickly followed by an afternoon of storms and gunshots
I grab a piece of paper I have been saving in my pocket and a pen and I begin to write although some words are unreadable with my shaky hands. I try not to let out the sob knowing it will wake my brother so I just hold it all in. I leave the several written letters on the side with a few tears drops as accidental accessories 
The bath is run so I step into the warm water. I close my eyes and soak trying my hardest not to let the waterfall of emotions become too overbearing. However it's too late. Before I know it the blade is in my shaking hands pressed against my opposite wrist. I stay like that for a moment, not moving the blade. I stay and I think 
Is this really how I want to go? Alone and without warning. But I have no choice. I don't! I'm scared to my core and this is the only way out. The only way for me to stop living in fear is to stop living. The fear and unknown of our world will always be there. Its impossible to get rid of. But the beating of a heart can be stopped at the flick of a knife, the pulling of a trigger and a bang to the head. It can be over so soon, so quickly
I feel the room spinning and yet I don't stop. The blade moves along my skinny and malnourished wrists like the teeth of a lion on the gazelles skin. It digs down deeper with each slit and I soon let myself fall below the waters surface. The pain is only there for a moment more before it subsides and my vision becomes that of a coal mine. Dark and unalive with a meer lamp to guide me