Her hands shake by her sides, clenched into fists as she holds back a scream... or a punch.

They just keep taunting her, laughing and labeling like she's a piece of meat to be packaged, or a can of soup waiting for the label that will be there for the customer's convenience.

"Emo whore," one shouts.

"Cutterslut," another says.

"Hey, if I give you a buck, how much'll you do for me?!"

Everybody laughs. Everybody thinks that last comment is so hilarious. Every face is covered with laughter- and the ones that aren't are leaking disgust. Only not at the ones laughing, at her.

And the one person that looks sad- not amused, not disgusted- does nothing.

And that's what hurts the most.

She throws quite a few vulgar phrases out, then walks- slowly, unhurried, unrushed- to her truck, slides in, starts it, and drives on down the road.

She stops where she knows no one- not even that one person- will find her, and puts her car in park. Her head lands hard on the steering wheel and the sobs rush in waves through her body, shaking her thin, curvy frame. Pain travels through her. She can't seem to lock it away this time. Why was she so weak? So stupid?

How could she have ever thought he could love her?