The Only One

Prologue

I'm a pretty girl, according to many, with long brunette hair, almond brown eyes, and a beautiful long blue dress that went down to my knees. I was shopping at the avenue, there's many shops of different topics, so it's pretty much my go to area. I was pretty popular, since mostly the people who are considered "pretty" seem to be popular around my town. Although, none of those friends I have seem to ever want to hang out, which I find quite strange.

Men kept giving me smirks, staring at my cleavage. I try my best to hide them, make them appear small, yet this always seems to happen. I was just simply walking to the coffee shop, since that's pretty much my daily routine. Shop, get coffee, go home and just collapse on my bed and take a long nap.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I respond to the tap, "Hello?" It's a young looking man, he seems to my age, or perhaps a bit older. "Do you know where the nearest subway is?" He smiled. Ah dammit, I have no idea where it is. The one time a guy is actually not harassing me, I can't even do anything in return. Looking around, I start to say something, though he interrupts, kidding." I awkwardly laugh, what was the point of asking me if you don't actually need help, jerk.

He then asked me what my name was. "Marie. Marie Valerie." I slightly smiled. "Ah, so Marie, would you like to go out?" Seriously? I thought this guy was just trying to be friendly. "Uh.. I hardly know you, I'm sorry." After saying that, his attitude changed. He seemed to be getting impatient. "Yeah? That's why I want to go out." Why can't he just take the hint... I frown. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just not interested." He stares at me for a second and laughs. "Whatever, you dress like a slut anyway."

What the fuck? Is that seriously how guys act when getting rejected? How immature. I rolled my eyes and continued walking to the coffee shop. Out of nowhere, I hear a guy screaming. I couldn't make out what he was saying at first, but then it hit me, it was another adult man harassing me, a 17 year old female.

"Lift up your dress for me, babygirl" he repeated over and over again. I felt sick to my stomach, I wanted to just vanish in thin air, but of course, I had to deal with this guy. "I'm NOT INTERESTED!" I screamed back at him. He ran up to me. "Woah woah woah.. why so aggressive? I think someone needs a punishment.." He smirked at me and smacked my ass. Out of instinct, I kicked him in the balls and ran away. How the hell do people have the confidence to be so disgusting?

Holding back my tears, I finally arrived at the coffee shop. I walked in and waved at the pretty lady that's there pretty much every time I order. She was gorgeous, she always did her eye makeup perfectly, and had a beautiful smile. She had long, black hair, with adorable looking bangs. Don't even get me started on the outfit.. she looks so adorable. A cute brown, fuzzy, sweater, with a lighter brown colored short skirt. She's so pretty I just wanted to kiss her! Platonically though.. I'm attracted to men, being gay is a sin. That's what my mother says at least. Though, I don't think kissing is a platonic thing. Oh well, most likely it's my hormones messing with me.

I order my usual caramel latte, give the girl a tip, and walk out. I was starting to really wish I wore something less tight, I can feel 1000 eyes on me. Well, obviously not actually 1000, but it sure felt like it. I try to hurry up and get to my car, I usually purposely park far away from the coffee shop so I can get some good exercise walking there.

Home at last.. I quickly take off the dress and throw on a hoodie and sweatpants. Looking at the dress, I just wanted to punch it. "It was my fault, wasn't it? If I didn't wear this dress that made me a.. slut.. like that one man said, I wouldn't have gotten harassed." I cried to myself. Deep down, I knew it wasn't my fault at all, I just felt so disgusting. I don't even know what I was thinking, I knew some people were gross, yet I still chose to wear the dress. Maybe I should just wear baggy clothes more often, since men can't control themselves.