You were too much a coward for even I. A girl that can't even form a sentence without horrifically tripping over her words. You were more moody and dramatic than a girl on the rag. Too much for even me to handle. I was not about to sit back and be your "little wolf cub friend."
You tried desperately to flirt with me. Unsuccessfully of course. Attempting to gently sweep the mess of hair from my eyes (like this was some cheesy fucking 1970s movie). Laughed and grazed my arm as if you had been shopping for tips in an issue of Seventeen. At moments like that I was sure my skin would fall off. Hoped actually.
I cleverly held you off with everything but a stick. Then you finally did it. Went in for a kill shot. Thankfully my reflexes were fast enough to catch the blow with my cheek. Hydrochloric acid. That's what the wet sticky feel of your lips felt like upon my face. That was when my manners seemed to grow legs and sprint off of the bus. It took everything not to castrate you. Instead I shot you down like Old Yeller. No getting up from that one bud.
No comments:
Post a Comment