She ran to the garage and pulled all the buckets of old paint she could hold. She stuffed an old brush into her pocket and ran to her fence outside. The words painted there. Lies about who she was and what she had done and what she could do for boys. She was seething! Angry tears boiled from her eyes. She popped open several dried out cans until she opened a can of red paint still fluid. It was the color of their front door. She stirred with her brush until the color evened out and she threw the paint at the fence. That was a date she’d regretted immediately. She didn’t get asked out much and he didn’t seem crazy but he certainly had his own expectations of how a date should go. She walked home last night. Creep. Maybe someone paint the truth on his fence. She wasn’t the one who should be labeled for public consumption. He was. People needed to know what prick he was. Other girls needed to know to NEVER go out with him.
She could still feel his fingers like scars on her skin. They took a walk through the park. He knew all the quiet forgotten corners. She wished she’d kicked him in the balls. He was so strong. She thought she was strong, but she wasn’t strong enough or she would have beaten the crap out of him. He’d grabbed her like she was a thing. Her body was just an instrument of pleasure that he could play for himself. She’d slammed her heal into his foot hard and shoved him into the bushes and made a run for it. He left his burning slime all over her. People needed to know who he really was. They were about to. She finished slapping paint over his accusations. The fence blurred. She wouldn’t let him keep hurting her like this.
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