This is supposedly part deux of Look But Don’t Touch but I wrote it during biology and I didn’t exactly have Look But Don’t Touch on hand so it doesn’t quite have the same feel. It still stands as a piece in it’s own right, though.

Footsteps. Increasing in pace at the same time as mine. I don’t need to look back to know who it is. Only one person would follow me home.

The blood still pounds in my ear drums, and I can still hear the heavy bass 3 streets away from the party. I’m swaying slightly from the alcohol, and all I want to do is curl up and die. But the ever present footsteps are getting louder.

Stupid party, stupid me, stupid you.

I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve known you’d be there, you’d get drunk, and you’d fuck around. I’ve still got the marks from last time. So. fucking. stupid. Goddamn.

The thing is, though, you’re the one who should’ve let it go. It’s been 2 months and every time I wanted to go back I remembered what you did and that bile rose up in my throat. I didn’t tell anyone, so why won’t you leave me alone?

We both know you didn’t love me.

And that’s when I break into a run, because I can just about feel your breath on my neck..

You’re breaking my heart, even as your fingers scrape my shoulders and you hold me back.

“Fuck you.” I scream. You punch me. I knew that was coming, and I pull away to lessen the impact. The last thing I see before I black out are the tears on your face.

Wait, what?



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3 responses to “Footsteps

  1. Sparkle

    Great work, must have been a disastrous party.

  2. Frenchie

    I actually want to read more. I find your writing pretty emotional, that helps get in the shoes of the character. Please, miss, can I have some more?

  3. Imi

    I watched you write this Emsie… I didnt know you posted them online..?

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