kcantor94
She's experienced alright. All those other men were for practice, and she—no. This is just me trying to make sense of all this. I love her. I'd hate to see her beauty and talent go to waste on these pigs. When I finally come home, she'll be mine again.
She placed the cup in the dishwasher and proceeded to the radio. She, in her long, A-line skirt and her cream colored turtleneck sweater, danced to Elvis.
He placed his hand upon her skirt. She swatted it away in an attempt to tease him. She bat her long, thick, mascara laded eyes and took his hands in hers.
She asked for 10 minutes while she drank her tea from one of the cups of the mismatched tea set her mother gave her for her 18th birthday. She couldn't have 10 minutes. She needed to leave.
Amount. Too much. Too little. No balance. Out of control. No patience. Can't think. Don't stop. Shoot me. Shoot me please. No amount of anything deserves this. I can't think. I'm finished.
I rode in the barrel as a child. I slid in. My slender body curling into a ball. That's when he pushed it. I rolled. Beaten, I slid out like a snake. Bruised, my eyes were tearful, but I couldn't help but smile.