He has ruined me.
“I was a virgin, you asshole!” I say before the tears start to fall. “You are the only one I’ve been with. I didn’t give you anything. ”
Except my heart.
And then I take off running.
Juliette
I’m barely past the parking lot when I realize that I don’t have my coin purse which is usually attached to my bookbag by a small silver keyring.
It’s odd that I don’t have it, and I can’t find it anywhere which is not a good thing, because my entire life is in there: my student ID, twenty-three dollars that my dad gave me this morning, and my driver’s license.
I sit on the edge of the curb and rummage through my bag. Maybe I forgot and dropped it inside. Maybe it’s buried down below with my assortment of ballpoint pens and tampons.
Crapola.
It’s not here.
I can’t believe this, but I’m going to have to turn around and head back to school to find it. As I very slowly make my way back towards the building, I finally remember what I did with it.
I actually detached my change purse from my bag and dropped it off at my locker in between classes. I didn’t recall what I’d done at first, because I’ve been like a zombie the entire day. Hell, I’m still a zombie.
I’m only a few steps away from the main entrance when I hear a commotion brewing. I’d hoped that the crowd had dispersed after our little show was over but no such luck. As I approach, it’s almost like a scene out of a primetime teen drama.
The same crowd of students who overhead my conversation with David, are still gathered around the base of the front steps. Several of them turn their heads and stare at me with condemnatory faces as I approach. It isn't until one brave soul (a guy from my study hall) approaches me that I finally discover what’s going on.
“David was just beaten up. He's behind the school and he looks kind of bad.”
"What?! Show me."
It only takes me a few seconds to jog around to the back of the school, and that's when I see him. Sprawled out on his back, with a bloody eye, and clutching his side as if he’s in severe pain.
A few of his teammates are standing around him, but I manage to push my way through the circle with a few curtexcuse me'sandpardon me’s, and I almost clutch my pearls once I see his battered face.
His lip is split and his left eye seems to be already turning purple and puffy. After I release a small gasp, horrified by what I see, I bend down and gently touched the side of his face. I may hate him, but I’m still a human being capable of empathy.
"Did anyone call the paramedics?” I ask any and everyone standing around.
“We did,” one of his teammates confirms.
“David…David, can you hear me?" I ask with slight urgency. His eyes are closed and he’s not moving much.
I check his pockets and notice that his wallet, keys, and several folded twenty dollar bills are still there, so this isn't some sort of robbery. Not that I actually thought that he'd been robbed on our quiet, suburban campus, but now I’m really baffled, because that means that he has been targeted.
Did one of his friends do this?
I look back up at the five large bodies standing around me. All of them play football with David, and I suspect that at least one of them was probably in that closet watching me have sex.
“Why are you all just standing here?” I ask. “Did one of you do this to him? Do you know who did?”
Nothing.
No one says a word.
They all just stare at me with these blank expressions on their faces.
“David, can you open your eyes?”
