Girl

They told me I wasn't her type. I was devastated, my heart dropped to my stomach; the only girl I ever felt this way about and I wasn't "her type."

I see her type in the halls, I suffer their jeers, they push me against the lockers and slap me on the back of my head. I see how her type treats her, how they drag her like a rag doll by her arm. I see the shame on her face, her eyes never stare at anything but the floor.

It's after prom and she and I are both sitting on the curb. Her dress is torn, her eye is black and blue, and her mascara is running. I place my coat over her shoulders, her crossed arms clutch it for warmth. A loud sports car with a glowing carriage pulls in front of us. He tells her to get in the fucking car.

"Sorry," she says as she brushes the coat off her shoulders and walks gingerly to the car.