Aftertaste, noun
Af·ter·taste
: persistence of a sensation (as of flavor or an emotion) after the stimulating agent or experience has gone
There was once a time she was running away from her life, from people, from everything and everyone; running a...
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I text June on my way to the university. She hasn't answered any of my texts since Friday and I'm getting really worried now.
Alexander and I don't have the same classes now, so we part our ways in front of my classroom. Hopefully, June is going to be here today because I share this class with her.
When I enter the room, my eyes search all the faces, looking for June, but she's not here. I check my phone again just in case I missed her texts, but there are none. I can't call her friends, either, because I don't have their numbers.
I sit in the front row, taking my books out.
"Hey," comes a rushed voice from my right.
My head immediately snaps up, the relief flooding through my body. "June! Hey." She's looking away from me, her hair framing her face, busy taking the books out. "I haven't heard from you since Friday. Did you get my texts?"
"Ah, shoot," she says, still not looking at me. "I actually lost my phone on Friday and I still haven't got a new one."
She smooths down her hair, making sure it's in place before she finally turns and looks at me. She's wearing makeup today but I can see how tired her eyes look.
"Are you okay?" I ask her.
She gives me a cheerful smile. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"
Her hair is framing her face on both sides and it looks like she's trying to hide. A bad feeling settles in my stomach.
One of her books suddenly falls on the floor and she flinches. "Damn," she mutters, leaning down and putting it back up. When she looks at me again, the hair on her right side of her face moves, revealing her face and I gasp.
"June! What happened to your face?"
Her smile immediately slips and she puts her hair back in place, holding it there.
I can see the bruises, even though she tried to cover them with make-up.
"I was attacked," she says quietly, nervously looking around.
"What? When? By whom?" My heart is racing and my thoughts are running wild in my head.
"After the party on Friday. I was waiting outside to go home and someone attacked me." Her shoulders slump forward.
I don't know what to say. "You were alone?" Where were her friends?
"Yes. my friends went home before me because I thought my ride would come minutes after they left but it took a little longer and, well ..."
"Oh, my God." I swallow the bile that formed in my throat, feeling chills running down my body. I immediately feel guilty for some reason because I didn't stay longer.
"Did you go to the police? Did they find the person?"
"Yes and no. There were two of them and both got away. I don't know what the point was, though. They didn't take anything from me, they just attacked me and threw a few punches at me."
