Davidson Boy

By: Makayla Berry

His large, rough hand lingered upon the surface of my thigh

I wasn’t nervous.

Hardly even shy.

A strange thought skidded across my mind.

If he were any other, my heart would be leaping out of my chest.

The nameless, faceless guests in the cold, damp basement decided to head home.

They gave a look as if to tell me they knew something I had not.

 

His calloused hand grasped my own, and pulled me up the stairs.

Everything was dark.

The kind of dark a child’s bedroom with monsters lurking in the shadows would be.

Upon entering his room, there was a dim glowing light coming from the small square box perched on top of  an old coffee table.

As we entered, I could see and observe his forgotten face.

 

Laugh lines had carved their way into the sides of his mouth.

He no longer looked like the bright eyed kid I used to know.

The toothy grinned boy who used to chase me around the block with a laugh had gone.

 

Rusty blond hair fell around his face and neck.

He had the stature of a biker.

Also the pride and cockiness of one.

The smell of cigarettes, booze, and cheap cologne emanated from his skin.

 

My hands started shaking.

My heart felt as if it would jump up and out of my throat at any moment.

 

Idiotically, I decided against saying aloud everything I was thinking.

He engulfed me with such force and disregard, I couldn’t wrap my head around the circumstance.

The stale, acidic breath seeped into my lungs.

Suffocating me.

I’d never felt more expendable than I had then.

 

After all was endured, I was tossed aside.

Like how people throw sheets aside when they wake up in the morning.

I had been robbed.

Robbed of some sort of forgotten moral.

Walking out into the darkly lit, cold-tiled bathroom, I sat myself upon the porcelain seat.

All at once, large salty tears spilt from my eyes and down my flushed cheeks.

Starting to wipe them away, I paused.

Something didn’t feel right.

Startled to feel a warm wet something making it’s way down my leg, I peered down to find a crimson red stream trickling down my bruised skin and frantically rose up.

I hurriedly cleaned off the evidence of the previous acts of brutality and made my way back down the dark, empty hall and into the dim, cluttered room.

 

His body was haphazardly sprawled across the bed.

Consistent, obnoxious snores arose from the back of his throat.

I squinted my tired eyes and scanned the floor for my clothes.

I found my jeans first.

Sweater second.

And I left.

 

I left behind my false hopes.

My soft nature.

All the low expectations.

Never again will I devalue myself to satisfy the worst kinds of beings.

Never again.