I was sixteen, and my girlfriend was maybe five years older me. Living at my parents, theirs a phone near the bottom of their stairs, for emergencies and intentionally, placed so everyone could hear.

The night before, very quietly, "We need to talk, in-person". We paused in the conversation, in the middle of the bridge on the estate. Me on the way to school and were she dressed a red for work after being out all night.

We need talk in person "I don't know how to tell you this, you gave my chlamydia", "you better get checked, and the doctor said you had gave it to me".

Unwashed was ordinary and second-hand clothes. I avoided "I'm ok; my mum sorted it". Her mother bought smells of the food coming upstairs, with cold *** cheeks on the bathroom floor, with the door locked. My girlfriend, next lying down next to me, only kissed "I think my mum’s coming" repeatedly until the food was ready.  

Very quietly, I nodded my head, held down by books weighing heavy on my shoulders. Crossing the bridge, the wind blew in my face while cars piled on and passed bye.
Leaning toward, I then sat at the back of the class; friends were gurning on ecstasy. If you showed promise, you gained access to the library for free, especially during lunch.
I stay with the boys that stole the money, but thinking of the library, I thought I didn't know chlamydia (a noun) was or why or "no more kissing".

The next day, alone waking to school while the cars continued below, I then joined the back of the class. My first girlfriend, I had given her an STI ?? naively as a ******.

I lost my self in that room at sixteen. I'm now surrounded by different books that have weighed on me during many years. She was never my first girlfriend, but the first with an imagination. I was poor.