Get out.
I was broken, shattered into a million irreplaceable pieces. My body was tight, cramped, awkward and clumsy. I was newborn, unfamiliar in my soul, willing to be crushed because all I had didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I was insignificant. I was broken, broken, broken.
Get out.
Get out.
Oh God, Sasha . . .
Get out.
I was drowning in bed sheets, layers of imprints from Sasha’s hands, her screams, her kisses on my chest. If I closed my eyes, I could feel her pressing into me, feel her slowly sneaking her hands inside my jeans and tugging them off, feel her wanting me even though I was completely undesirable.
Get out.
Get out of me, Sasha.
I was feeling guilt. Guilt that I’d hurt her, that I’d caused her to stop. It was my fault that she’d left, that she’d told me to get out. Self-condemnation was my friend right now, but it was also my enemy.
She was feeling guilt, too, because when I saw her again, her arms were covered with scars. Bloodstained, angry, remorseful cuts.
Get
out.
YOU ARE READING
Looking At Us
Teen Fiction❝Looking at us, I see your smile, and I feel your hand, and I wonder, truly, if we are meant to survive this journey.❞ Based on a true story in which a group of teens battle love, life, and sociality.
