Hear Me

Stephen tells me he's missed me.

The lies just keep coming.

I snort in response.

I'd go home, but he'd follow me.

He asks me why I hate him.

A very surprising question.

I stop and look over at him.

Of course, he doesn't know.

I run my free hand through my dark, loose curls and continue walking.

I don't want to talk about it.

He asks me what my problem is.

My problem?

I stop and turn to face him.

If looks could kill he's be dying over and over again.

I snap at him.

It was only a matter of time.

I tell him how I clearly remember him calling me a whore and saying that he never hangs around girls like me.

I'm not a whore.

Everyone just judged too quickly.