The Taste of Yellow Paint Chips

fourteen; sabrina

          "What the fuck?"

          "Thank you for ruining my life!"

          "Sabrina-"

          "No!" She wags her finger in Connor's face, her body tense with an immense amount of anger, "Don't 'Sabrina' me, asshole. This is all of your fault! What? Your hand wasn't enough for you? You just had to throw that goddamn party!"

          The area on Connor's face where Sabrina slapped him floods with color, burning red as his grip on the door handle loosens in shock. As Sabrina finishes screeching at him to catch her breath, Connor stands appalled at the fact that Sabrina, his closest friend, was so vexed by him that she hit him. 

          "You smoked weed at my party."

          "No, I didn't. What does that have to do with anything?'

          "You smoked weed. I smelled it on you."

          "Connor, no I fucking didn't. I came to your party sober."

          He pushes even further, "But how do you know? We could've fucked because you were high off your ass on marijuana."

          "I would remember if I smoked weed at your party! I don't get high recklessly. Do you think I'm a mindless junkie?"

          "So, you remember taking LSD in my bathroom?"

          It falls uncomfortably silent.

          Her fire dwindles, "Who told you that?"

          "No one told me. I remember the party, Sabrina. You promised Lisa you quit months ago."

          "Don't turn this around on me! You stripped me naked and raped me after getting me drunk all night long. You did this."

          "Sabrina, you remember the night just as well as I do. I was just making sure you didn't overdose. Yes, I was drunk but I wasn't drunk enough to hurt you."

          "Bullshit! I remember bits and pieces from the night but, for the life of me, I can't remember what you did to my body and that scares the shit out of me!"

          "I'm sorry for having sex with you without your sober consent. We both weren't in the right state of mind to be making those types of decisions and for that, I am truly sorry. I didn't rape you, but I wish I could take it back."

          Her voice is thick with manic desperation, "How am I supposed to know that, Connor?"

          Hot tears spill swell in Sabrina's eyes and, for a moment, Connor stops seeing her as the angry, rude teenager standing on this porch. He sees her as his lost, lonely best friend that needs just as much help, if not more, as he does.

          But then she puffs her chest, straightens her back, and furiously wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, seething as she looks back up at Connor, "You said you'd only fuck me if I was drunk!"

          "I said that because I see you as my sister. I don't want to fuck you! Four years ago, I came here and I knew nobody and then you broke up with Dylan H. and then suddenly I had to protect you. Not as a boyfriend, but as your friend."

          "Oh, shut up. I am not yours to protect. You did it because I wouldn't let you fuck me while I'm sober. Just like you said in the video. You'll only fuck me if I'm drunk. You're a fucking pervert."

          "I am not!" Connor vowed he wouldn't become one of those guys in high school that take what they want from girls without any regard of their feelings. He wasn't one of them.

          "Yes, you are. No wonder your parents are never home. I wouldn't want to be around you either."

          "Shut the fuck up!" For the first time, Connor raises his voice at Sabrina. In his plain white t-shirt and worn grey sweatpants, he stands on his porch fuming. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrow, and his cheeks turn red, not just from the cold. Although it only lasts a few seconds and he deflates like a balloon with a hole in it, Connor ditched the passive act for a more abrasive side and it felt damn good. 

          "Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. My parents love me! And I didn't rape you. I'm not a pervert! You need help, and I want to be there for you when you get it. But I can't do that if you keep pushing me away."

          Her dark brown eyes narrow in animosity while her fists clench at her sides. Her demeanor gives new meaning to the crazy latina stereotype. She looks like the woman her mother raised her to be; a strong, independent force of nature that was not to be fucked with.

          And she doesn't need Connor's help. She doesn't need help from anyone. She could stop smoking and getting high whenever she wanted to and fuck Connor for thinking she couldn't. She isn't fragile. Connor took advantage of her and it had nothing to do with the drugs. He is just stupid and mindless and a fucking asshole.

          Connor reaches out to take her fist in his own hand, but as if his fingers are ice, Sabrina snatches her hand out of Connor's reach, "I don't need your help or your pity, Connor. You fucking ruined my life, and I will never forgive you for that."

          Just as the wind blows, Sabrina walks off of Connor's porch and out of his life, airily and weightless, wiping furiously at her eyes. She climbs into her car, slams the door shut, and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. With a deep, shaky breath, she begins to scream.

          Connor retreats back into his house with just a glance behind his back. He quietly shuts the door to his bedroom and crawls into his bed. For the rest of the night, he doesn't make a single sound.