First Date
(My touch narrative for my creative writing
class...)
Thump, thump, thump. His cute smile popped through my
window. My stomach turned. I was hesitant. He
complimented me and pulled me into a friendly hug. Maybe he
was different.
I remember the time hands forced open my door, a voice rose with
anger. Clenched fists pulled at my hair. Make-up ran
down my face.
He smiled and opened my door. He was nervous. It was
his first night out with the mysterious girl with a broken arm and
too many bruises to count.
His hands were gentle and soft. They fit perfectly with
mine. I was nervous too, but I had learned very well to hide
it.
The sunset and the temperature dropped. Goosebumps covered my
body. His hands carefully rubbed my arms. It sent a
shivering chill up my spine. He wasn’t going to hurt
me.
He walked me to my front door and brushed the hair from my
face. His hands were smooth and gentle. He smiled down
at me. He ran his finger over an ugly bruise I was obviously
trying to hide. He slowly kissed it lightly and said,
“Everything is going to be alright.”
It was the first time I felt safe, but it wouldn’t last for
long.
