I needed a hit or a fix. The same old pattern. It’s like picking a scab. We were barely in your car five minutes, you pulled into a quiet lane in the darkness. I don’t remember what you said to me, other than that you wanted to touch my body. I got between your legs. You ripped at my hair, with your fist. I sat on your lap and I slid you in and out.
I saw my reflection in the rear window, pale and dark eyed. A ghost of a girl about to blow into the wind.
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