Jiara Laine Montano

Victor Tirona
Sir Victor Bautista
En12 R69
27 April 2016
Call her a slut
Just call me a slut already, just get it over already.
His head was locked between the assholes arms; I dont even want to
remember his name. Fucking asshole. NO, Oliver kept saying. He
continues to be dragged across the gray brick pavement that seemed to
go on for miles. As his face brushed against the ground, the moss
peeping through the gaps of the blocks painted the edges of his trousers
with dirt. Bruises slowly stained his deathly pale face. The cheers of the
crowd swept through the alley, demanding entertainment for an
otherwise boring day in school.
Why wouldnt he just say it.
Come on, call her a slut
Just call me a slut! Do it. Just call me a woman whose legs are open like
7/11. Make a joke about me. Comeon, call me a woman that guys can
park their cars in anytime. Do it. Do it. Do it!
I look at Oliver straight in the eyes. He looked at me, eyes stricken with
worry, his body bent over by the brute force of the crowds cheers and
the assholes clenched fist. I didnt need his pity. All guys are the same,

hed leave me as soon as it was most convenient for him. Hes gonna say
Im a slut. I just have to wait. I looked at him again.
Why does he have that look in his eyes? Where was the pity, the guilt, the
anger for putting him in this position?
Call her a slut! the asshole screamed.
He continues to look at me. I felt something brushing my insides with
warmth. A warmth that spread throughout my body like an orange
acrylic, spreading through the clouds, filling the morning sky with warm
variations of merigold. The white of his eyes were now stained with the
hue of blood. I felt my cheeks rosen. Maybe, just maybe. I took the
chance.
Dont be an asshole
The next thing I remember; he was lying on the rough pavement; his
back against the wall facing me. The red in his eyes were now leaking,
dripping down his nose.
Are you going to stand up? I asked him, grinning.
Oh yeah, definitely he replied, stuttering and mumbling over his words.
Happiness pulled the corner of my lips as I saw him stumble on his feet,
his blood staining the plain gray pavement with a sultry scarlet. I
watched as my reflection glimmered in the drops of his glossy blood.
Never, after that moment, did I ever see the world in black and white, my
palette had been painted with the lights and darks of his pale white skin,
the streaks of brown in his messy brown hair, and the hue of velvet

passion leaking from his eyes and staining the deepest cones of my
retinas. I never saw gray again.