I'm Sorry

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                She was pissed. She wasn’t really shouting, she didn’t need to, but the amount of hate and venom in her voice probably could’ve killed somebody.

                I shouldn’t have turned around.

                She would’ve would out eventually.

                She didn’t need to.

                Did you expect to date her and make out and have sex and everything else without taking your shirt off?

                I could’ve waited until they healed.

                Healed? Do they ever heal? When was the last time you didn’t have purple marks?

                It could’ve stopped.

                You know that wouldn’t happen.

                I pulled my arm away and turned back around, not answering, just biting my lip and hoping I wouldn’t cry. Nobody had ever found out. I didn’t think I’d feel like this when someone did. I put on my bra and shirt and pulled on my boxers before taking off the towel and pulling on my pants as well.

                “Ash, don’t ignore me. Who did this?”

                “Doesn’t matter.” I sat down on the bench and pulled on some socks with rainbow stripes.

                “It does matter. Who did this.”

                “You can’t change it Erica, it’s done, knowing who did it doesn’t change what happened.”

                “I could help, call someone or something.”

                “My mom would be waiting for him when he got out and I’d be put in the foster system so I could get stuck with some jackass who treats me like shit in another county. I’ve only got another two years, alright? Then I can get out of here and it’ll be done.” I pulled on my shoes and stood up. I shoved my swimsuit and the extra bag I had and walked out of the locker room, Erica on my heels.

                “Maybe not.” She knew it was true, but she didn’t want me with him. I guess I should’ve felt cared about or something, but I didn’t. I just felt like she was trying too hard, and I knew what happened when people tried to hard about him.

                He will never touch her. I won’t let him.

                “It’s done, ok? It happened.”

                “But it will keep happening, won’t it?” It wasn’t really a question; she already knew the answer, so I didn’t reply.

                When we got to my locker I opened it and put the bag inside before shutting it closed and locking it. When I turned around she was just looking at me with those sad, hurt eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “You’d try and do something about it.” I said quietly.

                “Has he ever broken anything?”

                I hesitated before whispering, “Couple cracked ribs ever now and then. Nothing too serious. Doesn’t want people to know. They’ve been blamed on falls and all sorts of things.”

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