Drink

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A walk in the woods always helps to relax me. Familiar paths glow in the pale moonlight, and fresh pine floods my system. The leaves grow restless as a cool breeze sweeps the area. It's a soft melody playing on top of the steady rhythms of my footsteps on the trail covered with a blanket of moss. The old, wooden swing set creaks as it sways in wind, begging me to give it attention. I don't.

We had a fight. What choice did I have? She knew I didn't want to be there. The music was too loud. The people were too close. A blend of booze and smoke replaced the air. It made my stomach churn. She gave me a drink - was it supposed to taste like that?

It wasn't supposed to make the ground sway beneath my feet.

"Help me," I pleaded. "There was something in my drink."

She threw her head back, laughing, and handed me another cup. "Of course there was, silly, it's called alcohol. You're such a lightweight."

This drink tasted funny, too.
That was the last thing I remember.

I wasn't supposed to wake up the next morning in a bed I didn't recognize with a boy I didn't know.
He wasn't supposed to pass her ten dollars in the hallway.
She wasn't supposed to tell me it was my fault and act like nothing ever happened while the whispers trailed me like my shadow.

My best friend wasn't supposed to ruin me.
She did.
I returned the favour.

A walk in the woods always helps to relax me. The fact I'm carrying a body behind me should be irrelevant.


TheMightyBookworm

July 1, 2018

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