This, as you can tell, is part six of an ongoing short story. Please start reading from part one for context. Thank you.

This is horrible. I can’t believe I was a part of that. It doesn’t matter. Just forget about it. It never happened. I should just keep walking. The pain in my head is getting worse now. It’s pretty awful. Now that I think of it, the best course of action would have been to just stay at the party. Could have left with everyone while making polite conversation and smoking cigarretes. It wouldn’t have been so lonely. I wouldn’t have been molested by a teenager. I’m going to go ahead and say that I made the wrong decision. That’s fair enough I guess.

Hey, but I actually did not do anything wrong. Wait. I can’t be standing and thinking about something as serious as this. I need to sit on this, surprisingly convenient, bench here. Ah, there it is. Sitting is so much better than standing. Oh, there’s a cigarette in my pocket. Just what I need right now. And here are the matches. Oh just one left, that’s lucky. Interesting piece of trivia about matches, they were actually invented after lighters. I think I read that somewhere this morning. I guess you learn something new every day.

This cigarette is really nice. I’m glad I found it. Anyway, whatever happened wasn’t really my fault. I mean, in all fairness, I was molested by her. I asked her to stop but she wouldn’t. She clearly looked older than her age. It wasn’t like I was attracted to her. I shouldn’t have to justify this shit to myself. I did nothing wrong. None of this ever happened. I just left the party and have been walking home since. And now I’m enjoying this smooth, double filtered cigarette while sitting on this bench. Feels nice. Not really. Feels horrible. I now have to live with the knowledge that I was once molested by a special needs child. Not that the special needs part makes it any worse. It’s equally bad even if it’s a normal child. And I don’t mean to say that children with special needs aren’t normal, I was just saying…Ah, fuck it. All of these things are just in my head. I don’t have to censor and sanitize my thoughts. Or do I? Is that the difference between good and bad people? Woah, that just wrinkled my brain. I shouldn’t think too much about it.

I can’t really help myself from thinking about this shit though. I don’t know if I will ever be able to smile or laugh again. I just hope I don’t constantly think about this one incident till I die. Maybe I should kill myself. But then again, why? I once saw a ted talk where this asshole with a hat said that sexual harassment victims are survivors and should never think any lower of themselves. I should probably do the same.

If only I could laugh again. I’m plagued with depression now. Even the cigarette is about to get over. Oh fuck, there’s that homeless guy who was bothering that other hooker. He’s approaching the bench. I should just get up. He’s sitting right next to me. I’ve had enough shit for tonight. But maybe he’ll try to tickle me too. The same way he tickled that hooker. That might just make me laugh. But I’m going to take a judgement call here and refuse to be tickled by a dirty hobo. Just doesn’t seem right. His hands are coming towards me. I shpuld just slap him. Yup. That was hard enough. “Get your life together, you fucking idiot. Stop trying to tickle people. It’s not nice”. And now he’s crying. Fuck this. I’ve gotta keep walking home. It’d be great if my head wouldn’t ache this bad though.

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