FRAGMENTS

SLUT I

Mature Content.

TW: Sexual Abuse.

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"Define SLUT"

Amanda is a slut.

At least that's what everyone says.

"She probably opens her legs more often than a prostitute does."

"Look at her clothes. No wonder she gets laid so often."

Walking through the campus of her college, she can't help but overhear the vile words, said in loud audible voices. As if it doesn't matter if she hears them. And why would it matter, she shouldn't care. Right? Doesn't it come with the slut package? To hardly give a shit for anything which is not sex? Rolling her eyes out of habit, she continues walking, her thick skin allowing none of it to get to her.

At least that is what she convinces herself.

You see, Amanda is a slut. A girl who likes to have sex. A girl who likes to explore, to have fun, to have sex.

Walking into the ladies room, she spots two girls, talking so casually and goofily that she can't help but envy them. When they notice Amanda walk in, they pause and both smile at her politely. Amanda smiles back and turns to look in the mirror.

"You know," one of the girls speaks up, "Your skirt is to die for. It's really cute."

Amanda turns back to them and notices the blonde smiling at her. Nodding happily, she looks down to the skirt in appreciation. It's a snakeskin printed mini skirt, her best skirt. Her favourite one. A gift her younger sister had given her on her 21st birthday, hiding it from their mother, careful not to show the piece of clothing their mother would so surely disapprove of. Her sister had seen Amanda eye the skirt in a store, that is why she had used all her saving from her part-time job to buy it.

She looks back at them and pulls a genuine bright smile on her face, "Thanks!"

The girl nods and turns back to the mirror. Amanda does the same, and a few seconds later, the girls exit the room, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

She adjusts her top and pats her hair down. She likes to look hot, her outer appearance aiding her to display the confidence she so desperately wishes she had. Retouching her lip gloss, she takes one last look at herself and walks out.

And immediately, she bumps into someone.

Looking up, she comes face to face with an extremely good looking guy. The guy looks like her senior, a year older to her. His tall frame is only a little higher than her own, Amanda standing at a height of 5'8. His soft dirty blonde hair is shining under the harsh ceiling lights. His face is a little tanned, teeth straight and eyes the deepest shade of the ocean.

She smirks as his eyes slowly rake over her body. His eyes linger for a second at her chest, eyes filling with lust. Amanda clears her throat, and he looks up into her eyes, noticing her smirk and pulling a smirk of his own.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

"You're in quite a hurry to know," she teases. He smiles and leans ahead. It doesn't matter if they're in a busy college campus, she figures it's no harm for a quickie, pulling him through the doors and right inside. 

Luckily, the ladies room is empty, and Amanda takes her sweet time to lock the door and turn to him. In a swift motion, he greedily smashes his lips against hers and grabs her ass with both his hands, lifting her up so that she straddles him. Amanda lets out a moan, pushing her hands through his hair and her lower body into his. He groans into her mouth and lets her down, one of his now free hand squeezing her boobs through her top. He pulls the top down in one swift motion, freeing her of the constricting material. Bringing his mouth to her perked nipples, he licks the buds and sucks on them, eliciting yet another loud moan from her. Her own hand makes its way to his sweatpants, pulling the elastic ahead and diving in, grabbing his throbbing member in her hand.

The minute her hand reaches him though, he turns aggressive, pushing her against the wall with force bigger than she expected. He hastily gathers her skirt around her waist and pushes her panties aside. Amanda doesn't like the way he's treating her, how his hands are making her feel like a rag doll, so she says no. He doesn't hear her, she assumes, so she says no again, a little louder this time.

He still doesn't stop.

"STOP!" she screams this time, pushing him away.

This time, he acknowledges the word, a sinister look making its way to his eyes.

"Why should I?"

"Because this," she gestures between the two of them, "is over," Amanda says. Instead of backing off, he takes a step towards her, a dangerous slow step like a predator stalking his prey.

"You're a little slut. You don't get to decide," he sneers. He tries to push her again, but this time Amanda is ready, dodging the attack.

"You whore. Don't lie and say that you didn't like it. Your dirty moans were enough of an answer for me. Stop playing around, and fucking satisfy me."

A chill runs down her spine, finally registering the situation she is trapped in. He takes 2 more steps towards her, and she takes a deep breath and does what she does the best.

She kicks him in his guts.

Stumbling back by the force of the kick, he lets out a groan and looks up at her. He struggles to stand upright, hunched over slightly, trying to catch his breath and raises his head slowly.

"YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS, WHORE!" he shouts and charges towards her with double the force he was using before. She dodges it yet again, this time planting her feet into the ground firmly and closing her hands into fists. She swings her arm back and lands a punch to his face. He stumbles, and she takes this opportunity to grab him by the shoulder and raise her knee, kneeing him straight into the place where the sun doesn't shine. He doubles over in pain, a string of curses flowing out of him. When he looks up at her this time, he doesn't make any move towards her.

Scoffing darkly, he spats out the words that hit her straight to her soul, "You're a fucking whore, you slut. You don't deserve shit. Go rot in hell," and walks straight out the door.

She stands rooted to her place for what seemed like hours, although in reality, they were mere minutes. Finally, she takes a deep breath, she walks to the mirror. Adjusting her clothes, patting her hair down, retouching her lip gloss, but not once looking into the mirror.

Soon, the silence around her becomes deafening, the walls start closing around her as she struggles to breathe. So, she sings. She hums the song she sang to her little sister ever since she was 3 and her sister was a tiny baby. She hums the song like her life depends on it, and it probably does. Finally gaining enough courage to look back into her reflection, she notices that she looks fine.

Hot, even.

But just because she looks fine, doesn't mean she is, right?

After all, physical injury shows, but who asks about the mental wounds? 

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