I think once you can feel your heartbeat in your mouth, once you can’t speak for yourself, you know you’re going to regret your next move.

I don’t know what made me do it, but somehow I found my legs swung over the bed, ready to reach the ground that held the day before me.
I knew it was no use, getting up. But I did anyway.

Meet him at 2:00.

My whole body was telling me no, but my mind wasn’t objecting. All I could do was wait for it to be over.


Red eyes bore into my shoulder, concentrating on something that wasn’t there.
I tried to focus on anything but the discomfort and retraced the steps in my head.
I couldn’t.
There were no thoughts in my brain; I’d left it on my pillow that morning in bed.
And the last five minutes were a blur that even I didn’t want to witness. I was a slave to myself, an ongoing battle that could never be won plays constantly on a loop in my brain.
A part of me wants to know how I got here, yet another wants to close my eyes and hide under the warm covers of my parent’s bed.
I started to wonder if it was my body or my mind to get me into this situation. The thoughts roam my empty head and knock into one another, distorting the clear words.


I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I should tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I have to tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom. I can’t tell my mom.

The pathway blurs as I walk down the familiar streets into the familiar front yard and onto the familiar doorstep.
I can’t do this.
Lift right hand. Turn right hand down. Push. Step. Close.
I cover my tearstained face with my hair, keeping my head down.
“Did you go for a walk?” It’s dad.
I swallow. “Yeah.” I manage in the loudest voice possible. I have to leave before any sort of conversation starts.
I’m sorry, mom.
I run up the stairs and shut the door, burying my face into the pillow.
I don’t scream. I can’t.
I cry and do the only thing I thought I could do.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Rin—
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“What’s up, girly?”
“I, um, I—”
“Tell meee.”
Pause.
“I lost my virginity.”
Silence.
“You what?”
“Lost my… virginity.”
-
Another pause.
-
“Oh my god… gross! Sorry, but that’s pretty disgusting. You’re kidding, right?”
Click. Throw at the wall. Noise. Dent. Yell.
“Sorry, mom.”