Rooftop

Her ankle curls possessively around his foot, her body molded to
his side, as his arm rests loosely around her shoulders.

Slut.

Above our heads, a plane screams through the 2 am sky.

Through the defeaning noise , I hear my heart in my lungs and wonder
why the hell I'm here.

Why am I here?

I could have been at home. In bed. Warm, safe and asleep.I could have been so much happier if I hadn't come.

But if I hadn't come, I would never have known. And it's the not knowing that kills me the most.

So now I'm sitting here, irony of all irony, right across from their disgusting display of so called affection.

It's just so slutty the way she throws herself at him.

It's not like I care or anything.

It was over the moment he got on that plane. Or maybe it never really began.

And now he's back again, fingers are trailing down her waist, and I'm sure she's a slut.

It's not like she's falling out of her clothes or anything, she's in jeans and a black pullover. And her makeup's not even that heavy, just some eyeliner and lip gloss. Like me.

But its just the way she acts, the way she smiles, it makes me positive she's a whore.

On either side of me there are two drunk boys competing for my attention.

They're funny and I'm flirting back, but only when I know he's watching me.

It's just his eyes. He has these red brown eyes that penetrate my plastic mask of I-don't-give-a-fuck, he knows I do, but it's not like I care anymore.

It's the way her ankle curls around his foot.

He's leaving in the morning, for God's sake!
And he's only known her for two weeks. You can't fall for someone in two weeks!

Even though I fell for him in one night...

I pull my thin jacket closer and curse myself for the tight jeans and the little top I'd chosen to wear.

I thought it would please him.

My teeth are chattering and my nose feels like it's about to fall off.

I wish I could leave, but he's my ride home.
Have to wait for him to drive her home first, have to watch him kiss her goodbye,

Why am I still here?

and then only then are we alone again. He's drunk, we're singing along to the Beatles.

He tells me I'm so cool to hang out with, and I think "You really have no idea, do you?"

I remember her eyes and the way they shone when she looked at him.

Ultimately, she's a slut because he chose to be with her, not me.