Ralph

"You wouldn't even kiss me last year," I mutter, my mouth pressed to his cheeks. His hands fumble with the snaps to my shirt, rip them off. "I had bigger boobs then, too"
"Yeah, but you didn't have this last year," he says, gesturing to my stomach. I giggle, and his mouth hits mine again, hard. My arms are tingling; I don't remember drinking that much.
"Let's go my room," he murmurs, lips sliding down my neck, and I nod, trace his back with my fingernails. We stumble past the door, hit the wall, fall onto the bed. He moves onto me, touches my breasts, my thighs. It's too dark to see.
"Blow me," he says, and I shake my head in response.
"Come on," he eggs, kissing quickly down my chest. I say no again, memory dripping between the cracks of my foggy mind like water through a leaky ceiling.
"You have a girlfriend," I say, and the words punctuate the sickness growing in my belly.
"Don't worry about her," he says, tries to push my head down.
"You have a girlfriend."