exposition of a true story
His face meets hers and she hits him like she’s never hit anyone before because she never has.
As the credits roll, I consider all the things I could say. I would have told her that anyone who steals your phone and holds it hostage in his filthy closet-sized room so that he can get a kiss or something more does not deserve your Biology help, that he does not offer friendship, that he needs to be dealt with, that he does not need to be her problem. But she wanted to help him. I hate to even say it was me. I shudder to think we are the same people. In turn, I hate to even say his name. I am two years older now, and I loathe the sound of it. I never really and truly hated a person in my life, and I never cringed away from anyone until him. It was horrendous. Shame, worse than guilt, is what I felt.
