fille stupide

by bosssanders on November 23, 2008 with 5 comments

She’d only wanted to get away from the sadness for awhile, and here she found herself sitting next to her best friend’s cousin – a boy she barely knew. He was angry that his own best friend sat behind him, making out with his younger cousin despite the fact he’d warned him not to touch her. She didn’t understand why he didn’t just look away and leave it be, why he couldn’t just let it go…they were just kissing. But, then he looked at her in that way that boys never looked at her, and she froze. She could feel a tendril of her hair being gently pulled as he wrapped it around his finger and let it fall loosely back off. He told her she was pretty and she smirked at his brashness, thinking he was kind of cute. And, then he kissed her.

Pulling away, she’d frowned. She hadn’t expected that, or any of this. They had been invited to a party, and yet everyone had left only minutes after arriving to fill a car with fog as they choked on joints. She hadn’t wanted to go, though. She wasn’t looking to get in trouble tonight, she’d just wanted out. She’d wanted to breathe, and she’d wanted to stop crying – something she could only do if she could leave for a while. So, she had. She looked up at the boy who had kissed her, and he was frowning now, but not at her. He was getting angrier at his friend behind him and had begun to say something when she whispered, “Why don’t we just go talk in another room?”

Taking her hand, he led her away – away from the kitchen, away from the back patio, and up the stairs. As he opened the door to an entirely different room and she spied the bed against the wall, she knew she’d said the wrong thing. She was fifteen, and still untouched – and sometimes she spoke about things she never meant to do just to impress her friends – but, this was nothing like what she’d meant. She’d only meant they move to another room, away from the activities that had seemed to upset him so much.

But, then she strangled back a laugh – at herself – thinking that even the thought of him wanting or expecting that from her had been too forward of herself. Why was she even worrying? He was nineteen, and she was fifteen – and she didn’t think herself to be too pretty, and she definitely hadn’t done anything to make him think she was up for this…had she?

Sitting on the bed, he patted the comforter beside him and she walked over, leaving the security of the door frame and sat down to talk.

But, he was nineteen and she was fifteen.

(part 2 is here)

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