We sat on your bed still covered in batman prints, and you said three simple words.
Truth or Dare
I said dare, and I kissed you, but you were shaking, so I pulled away and you pulled me closer and kissed me a little steadier. You said dare, so I said take your belt off, and you did, and undid your jeans. We kissed some more, and my sweater was pulled and torn and taken off, and you were kissing my neck when I said got brave and said Truth, and you stopped, and stared past me.
You asked if I loved you, and I’m a liar so I said no. You said you didn’t love me either. You buttoned your jeans found a pin for my sweater. I found your mother’s compact and covered the bruises I’d left on your neck. We laid on your bed and double pinkie promised we would forget this ever happened, then laughed and said that wasn’t likely. Your mom came in the front door as I ran out the back, and I haven’t played truth or dare since. I wonder if you still have Batman on your sheets. I wonder if you kept our pinkie promise.