Welcome back, she greets.
My eyes widen, hand covering my gaping mouth.
Her eyes are emotionless.
Her body is scarred.
Her dignity is shattered.
Her virginity is marred.
It's begun.
I see her.
And I tremble.
The worst of the worst is not over.
Not for her.
And I know it.
It's only the beginning of the worst of the worst.
Water streams my cheeks, and when I try to wipe them off, I see black.
I'm crying black tears.
"I'm sorry," I whimper, reaching out for her. "I'm so sorry."
I fall to the floor, trembling, black liquid falling from my eyes.
Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault.
It was.
You didn't want this.
I didn't protect you enough.
You didn't know this would happen.
I did... But I didn't do anything about it.
She doesn't respond.
Well, what's done can't be changed.
She puts a hand on my shoulder as I sob.
What can be done is if you can change.
Her arms wrap around my back, her enviable warmth now stone cold.
"I'm sorry," I weep, voice shaky.
She buries her head in between my head and shoulders.
I feel her tremble.
Don't say sorry.
She weeps.
I hold her tightly.
Since sorry won't change anything that has already happened.
YOU ARE READING
A Prose With No Direction
SpirituellesA prose with no direction. A mind with no guidance. A human without a purpose. That is the kind of story I hate to be. That is the kind of story I, unfortunately, am.