I slowly pull up my pants, not wanting to look him in the eyes. The room is silent, a loud silence, a silence that’s screaming at me and making my brain want to explode. So many thoughts scrambling to be formed into words, but nothing fitting together.

Say something, anything.

Nothing comes out, it’s as if he’s turned off my brain.

“Well my parents are probably going to come home soon,” he sighs awkwardly, trying to fix his sweaty chestnut colored hair.

Say something.

“I should probably take you home,” he mentions hinting that he’s kicking me out.

I nod my head, quickly picking up my clothes and shoving them in my backpack before throwing my oversized sweatshirt over my bra as fast as I could. I open his bedroom door, taking one more look at the sinful bedroom; the room was covered in posters hiding dark grey walls, lights dimmed and shining a yellow-green tint. And the bed. The sheets tangled together like clothes in a dryer. The pillows breathe out the shape of my head, as if I was never there.

“Okay let's go,” he mumbles, pulling on his old black converses before walking out of his room.

He turns sharply, now directly in front of me.

“By the way… that was more of a one time thing,” he adds his eyes grazing down at me with a sense of power.
Making me realize that he’s a memory that I would have forever and I’m another high five from his buddies.
He turns back around grabbing his keys from his dresser before our untied shoes hit the wooden floor, hiding prints of different used shoes that were no different to mine.

I follow close behind him, still not saying a word. Feeling shame and dread throughout my not-so innocent body. The floorboards creak through the quiet house, yelling at me, with each step. I felt the house cling to me, making sure I was aware of what I did. “S**T.” The floor creaks making my breathing shaky. I close my mouth hiding from the house that knew everything. “W**RE.” The marked up floor speaks one last time as the dark sin filled house reached out for me. I swallow the lump in my throat, eyes stinging like lemon juice in a open wound. My lemon filled eyes look up to his back. His flannel falls loosely covering his scrawny boned structure. He walks with confidence, feeling proud of what he achieved, that he got what he wanted. We walk to the car not saying another word.