Wait.

I stood, face flushed, knees locked, breath held. The light flickered above my head, the yellow turning dark and then blinking back to it's dim power, going unnoticed. I swallowed hard, and could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Surely, I was merely dreaming. Pink lines don't happen to girls like me. Pink lines never happen this way. Pink lines are for girls who don't get names. The kind of girls who drink until they no longer recognize themselves, girls who kiss boys far older than them. I'm not like that. I'm not like that at all. It was just that one time, the first time with the blue eyed wonder.

My skin suddenly burned, ached, even. I could remember his kisses, hot and sloppy down the side of my throat. My body trembled at the chills shooting down my spine and back. Yes, this is just a dream. This has to be a nightmare. There's no way in hell that I would ever get pink lines. I just need to wake up. I look at myself in the mirror, at my freckled face with my crooked nose and thick, pale lips. In less than a second, my left hand raises and strikes my cheek, leaving a pink imprint in it's wake. My skin tingles and burns, but it wasn't hard enough to wake up. I repeat the slap. Once, twice, three times more. Still no success. It's almost like I am no longer in control of myself. My hands reach up, encircle my thin neck, gripping tightly, tighter. I can't breathe, my head is in a panic, and my vision grows foggy. My face begins to turn blue and I release my throat to coughing and retching. What is wrong with me? Why isn't this nightmare over? Why won't these pink lines go away?