She makes her way to the bathroom, fresh from a boy’s bed. Feeling a little tired, yet energized. She opened the door and locked herself in. She looked at the mirror to fix her messed up, tangled hair. Two seconds in, she whispered in shock under her breath, “Fuck!”. Her eyes widened and her jaw hit the floor. She stood in silence as she stares at not one, not two, not three, but four love bites. “Fuck!”.
“Why did I cut my hair short??”, she thought to herself in regret while combing her hair down to her neck with her fingers to see how much of it could cover the fresh, burgundy bruises. She combed and combed as if it would make her hair grow longer right then and there. No luck. Her locks couldn’t even cover the tiniest and faintest one right under her jawline. “Fuck”.
She steps out of the bathroom, with nothing but shock and regret written all over her face. He asked her what’s wrong as she pointed to her neck as she tried not to be angry, although it was a little too late. But of course, she tried her best not to show it. She knew she couldn’t blame him. Because boys could never be blamed. Even if it was his teeth and his lips that caused broken blood vessels on her neck, she couldn’t get angry. She couldn’t get angry because she could already hear people’s voices asking her “Well, why did you let him?”. She already knows all too well that society loves to stick up for the boys.
She rushed home and entered her house, thanking the heavens that no one was up as she arrived, as she had nothing on her to wrap around her neck. She rushed to her room and turned on the lights, stood in front of the mirror and once again, “Fuck!”.
She grabbed her phone to ask Dr. Google for quick, emergency remedies to make them disappear. She tried everything. Rubbing alcohol, a frozen spoon, the cap of a lipstick. But as she already knew it the moment she laid her eyes on her battered neck, nothing worked to make them go away. She took a deep breath as she accepted the fact that scarves, turtle necks, and concealer are going to be her best friends for the week.
“Never again”, she whispered to herself before she allowed herself to fall asleep.
He stumbled into his room, feeling a little drunk and whole lot accomplished. He tossed his shirt and kicked his jeans off as he walked towards the bathroom. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror and realized it looks like someone hit him with a baseball bat in the neck. He laughed and went to bed.