Friday, June 10, 2011

3 summers ago, 2

June 5, 2008
"Was that really necessary?" she asked, trotting after him.
He looked back at the crowd and the flattened man he had left in the center of it. His hand was throbbing. He tried to shake it out.
"I had to do it, to protect you. You look like a whore," he thought to himself. 
"You look like a whore," he said.
She kicked some gravel up so it hit his calves. No one knew how to make her mad like he did. She knew he was probably right. That guy at the bar wouldn't have talked to her like that if she didn't look like she was giving it away.
She tugged on the bottom of her skirt as she shuffled behind him. He was breathing heavily, angrily. His passion both scared her and stirred something in her. She had tried to get him, his anger out of her life. But it was that same passion, even when it turned to anger, that kept drawing her back to him.
He had slowed down enough that she was able to catch up. The hum of the bar crowd was barely audible now.
"I'm sorry," she said.
She grabbed his hand. The blood was drying. She wasn't sure whose it was. The throbbing in his hand pulsed through hers.
"I'm sorry, too. Let's go home," he thought to himself.
"Let's go home," he said.

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