Personal Narrative

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My seventeen-year-old self was fond of lipgloss and romantic comedies, and a class trip to the south of France was everything the romantic in me lived for. My roommate was a friend I had since freshman year, and it was our responsibility to always make sure the other was safe.
One week into our trip, I made the mistake of not taking her to bathroom with me and upon my return, I discovered that she had gotten on the back of a motorcycle with someone we barely knew. Just as I began to realize what could potentially happen, it began to rain. I was engulfed by people I had never seen before, running in circles hoping to find someone I knew when the biker appeared before me. "I'm so sorry," was all he said. Almost aggressively silent, I forced
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