Tahlia

Her knitted jumper had been drawn up around her fingers, hanging loosely off her right shoulder, as she stood in the doorway. Her weight was on her left leg, her hips slightly cocked, and she reached up her right hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Playing with the frayed edge around her fingertips, she watched him leave. A shuddering breath was drawn, rocking her upper body slightly.

The revving of the motorcycle engine broke the still morning air, the crisp, dewy blades of grass not seeming as pure as before.

I wonder if he’ll call.

He backed down the drive, and she raised her hand to wave goodbye; he raced down the street without a second glance. She tasted her dread in her mouth, turning her tastebuds fuzzy and the roof of her mouth as dry as parchment.

There goes my virginity.

She looked at herself in the mirror in the hall after shutting the door. She headed up the stairs, the vision of herself with watery eyes and a red nose tip burned in her brain.