vingt - roll with the punches

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It was a Friday. A day where I was supposed to go out with Billie to Gilman and dance and sing my ass off.
That is not what happened.
This is what happened; he didn't call. I did. More than twice, this time. He didn't crawl up my drainpipe. I went to his house. I tried to roll with the punches. I tried to believe all was good. That is not what happened. This is what happened.
Nobody was home. There were no cars parked in the driveway. I broke through the lock with a bobby pin and went down to his basement. And there he was; laying there, bloody and bruised, beaten to a practical pulp. It was worse than the other two times.
Billie looked dead. I really thought for a second he was; the was he was slumped against the wall. But then he mumbled something I couldn't make out.
"Billie.." my voice broke. "Oh my god.. Billie. Baby, please.. what happened...."
"Get out."
He mumbled it again, sputtering up some blood in the process and revealing chipped teeth.
"Please.. do something or I will. You have to do something!" I cried, walking to him. "This isn't okay. This is so wrong."
I brushed my hands up under his shirt, looking at him. His head was completely turned away from me, and as a tear slipped and he winced.
"Valerie, get out."
"Billie," I begged once more. "Please.. why is he doing th–"
"Get out!" He snarled.
And with that, I was up and out the door. Running, the tears streaming down my face, a burning in my chest.
I couldn't roll with the punches this time.

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