Everyone was shooting dirty looks at me today. Your friends whispering ungodly things about me in my ear.

I don't know why.

But maybe it was about the rumours you kept telling everyone about me sleeping with older men.

You must've seen my mum's one night stand leave our house this morning.

Like that day you turned away from me, just like everyone else did – where it all started, where all this ache boils down to.

I wanted to tell you that it's not what it seemed, that I'm not like that, that I was pushed down, that I was crying — but you wouldn't listen. You refused to.

Instead, you looked at me like I'm dirty and treated me like I'm nothing.

You hate me because I'm dirty, right?

As I look at myself, after that day, last night — I'm beginning to see what you saw that day.

I hate myself too.