Narration and Waiting

I sat with perfect posture,

pinching my spine,

cracking nervous knuckles

under a sticky table.

He sauntered in and smiled

with perfectly crooked teeth.

Apathy never looked so good.

Slouching like a coat thrown over a sofa,

sipping milky coffee from a ceramic mug.

"Let’s go for a walk."

A simple request,

an invitation.

Nerves bit themselves under my skin.

I tried to be pretty,

like the other girls,

who slept around his feet

like loyal wolves,

curling,

clawing at his legs.

They waited patiently,

eyeing me every so often.

Each glare was followed by a coy grin,

I was no threat to them.

I was plump.
Awkward.
Homely.

We walked.

To a mossy, rocky river bed.

The stunning, 

radiant,

sultry

wolf mistresses disappeared

as my feet hit the sand.

I felt my body stumble

into a cumbersome, now wet lump.

My pale cheeks 

became crimson cakes on my face.

He laughed with dulcet melodies.

Hidden in the woods, 

his persuasion ensued.

Teeth dipped into my skin.

Shooting a burning star

through every vein, artery and bone.

My blood spun wildly out of control,

leaving the flawless smirk 

pasted on my frozen arms.

Rolling wildly down a muddy hill.

a slip and slide, 

made just for us two

Sprinting,

laughing,

rain drenching straight through

thin spring jackets.

Mud in my hair,

grass on his face.

Water soaking every inch of our skins.

When no one was watching,

he, that one beautiful boy, 

loved me, that one hideously sweet girl.

Now, all I have

is a plum colored bruise,

waiting on my arm

to remember.