coulda woulda shoulda

6/13/18 // Not exactly a story but I didn't really know what else to label it as. I wrote it kind of in a hurry so it's messy but whatever.

midnight rain mingles lightly with the blood smudging my knees and the fresh coppery scent makes me feel more alive than I really am

when he reaches for me, this time I shy away.

why, he asks

but it's not a question, it's a reprimand

I push myself up with weak arms and immediately double over

my hair is flirting with dirty puddles and my lips are wide open - this time to expel, not begrudgingly allow in

my stomach muscles contract and my dirty nails dig into my thighs

a lone strand of spit dangles from my mouth, but nothing else will come

it's that kind of night

avoiding his eye contact I pull my pants on where they hang loosely on my hips

he stands there in silence, watching

my hands scoop up a jacket (mine?) and the remaining shreds of my dignity

I don't know what it is, but there's something terrifying about the way he stands - leaning ever so slightly forward, tingling with potential energy, as if he wants to either help me or hurt me

I won't stay around long enough to find out which

the soles of my shoes cry out as they pound the concrete

is it my imagination or is he calling after me?

the surrounding void of the pre-dawn streets suck me in and I forget

he's nothing to me now, as I'm sure I am to him

the weak lights pooling on the streets run their translucent yellow fingers over my bruises and i shiver in response. I'm tired of being touched.

I'm just tired.

Author's Note

I know the grammar and lack of punctuation and capitalization is a mess, I didn't feel like fixing it.