I can't seem to stop glaring right back at him, my left eye twitching at the way she tries to control him. I don't like her hands on him. No one deserves to be handled or touched without consent first. It is completely noticeable that he doesn't want to go with her. Why isn’t he stopping Mrs. Sullivan? Is he going to fuck that twat?! That alone has me stepping towards him just as he reaches the classroom doorway, but Evan stops me.
“Are you nuts? Let's get the hell out of here before he decides to kill us!” Evan's voice goes high pitched, like he’s going through puberty, as he shoves me along with his shoulder bumping against mine so he's not touching me with his hands.
I almost regret wearing the sundress with the noodle straps that leaves my shoulders bare, I feel completely out in the open like my shield of armor is gone. My scars and tattoos on display. Why did I think it was a good idea to do this? I stood in front of the mirror after changing into the dress and thought it was fine to start doing normal things I've never been able to do. I’ve only made myself a target because now people are staring at me. It's either with hate, burning jealousy, or lust sweeping up and down my body. I wish I could hunch my shoulders, let my hair fall in front of my face to hide, but that's not who I am anymore.
“You better be going to class, little bitch!” Dalton shouts, his voice echoing around the hall as people turn to stare at me, just before he disappears inside her classroom.
I don't like that fucking teacher. Just because she's going through a midlife crisis and is getting old, doesn't mean she gets to prey on anyone younger than her. A predator who shouldn’t be around kids. She makes me want to bash her head into her dry erase board, repeatedly. My cheeks turn red at the attention of people staring at me, but I hold my head high as Evan and I start walking towards our class after a few seconds of just standing there.
“He wasn't going to kill you. Probably just me. Or at least do something to make me wish I was dead,” I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest as we dodge out of the way of students rushing to class before the bell rings.
I hate the way my breathing picks up without my control every time I'm in a crowded place. The way I can't have eyes in the back of my head, or how I constantly have to have my guard up. One day I hope that my heart won't race, and my palms won't grow clammy, when a stranger stands too close to me. Even with my new friend, I feel like I can't relax, that my body is a tight string ready to snap.
“If you weren't one of the coolest chicks ever, I would probably be hightailing it out of here before one of those four douchebags eats me alive for just talking to you.” He snorts at his own joke, gripping the straps of his leather bag as he walks nervously beside me.
I'm not so sure that he will stick around. I don't want him to get into harm's way either. I really hope the guys leave him alone and don't do anything just because he talks to me. Hell, they threw a fit and told on me to Franco just because I was in another guy's car. My life has been threatened enough times.
“I'm hardly cool. I’m probably the most boring person you'll ever meet. What class are you heading to?” I change the subject, not knowing if he's going to ask me anything personal.
I can't answer anything he would be curious about. Why I have so many tattoos. How I came to know the guys after only just starting here. Nothing about my past can be brought up. I'll make sure I protect the innocent, even from myself.
“AP chemistry. Do you, um...want to meet for lunch? I mean you don't have to but if you want to uh… you know, hang out?” he asks slowly, like it’s forbidden to even ask me and he nearly trips over his Converse sneakers as he fumbles with his words.
“I'd like that. You can give me all the deets about who's who around here too. This is my class, I'll look for you in the cafeteria!” I wait in the doorway with my arms crossed in amusement as he shuffles on his feet, looking nervous.
"For sure! I'll put some flashcards together on topics we can talk about…” Evan trails off and stares at me in horror, his cheeks a bright red.
“I totally love flashcards,” I chuckle as he quickly nods his head and spins on his heels, walking with his head down as he mutters to himself.
I watch him make his way down the hallway as kids walk into him as if he’s not really there. I glance at their faces, remembering them for sometime later, and slowly make my way into my classroom, noticing seats already filling up.
If I'm going to come out on the other side unscathed, I have to gather as much information as possible.
Biting my lip to stop laughing at the ridiculousness of high school drama when my whole life has been a soap opera. I scan the rows of seats to find an empty chair. I spot one in the back left corner with no other desks behind it, so I don’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up on me. Old habits die hard. My eyes connect with a girl in the front row, her glare makes me stop for a second to figure out what her problem is, but then it clicks. It’s the stuck up bitch who thought I needed a refresher yesterday by dumping her drink all over me. Real classy.
Paris.
The chick who follows Logan around like a dog after a bone. That bone would be his penis. It's not hers... I don't know where that possessive thought came from. I make my way through the desks, glaring at Paris as I pass her and give her the bird. She sticks her leg out at the last second, trying to trip me but I expected something like that from her, so I just skip over her outstretched leg and calmly walk towards the last desk.
“Stupid cunt,” she mutters under her breath and leans towards her friend to the right, whispering in her ear as she flips her hair while staring at me the whole time.
“Logan likes my cunt,” I respond back, for only her to hear, and I’m enjoying the way her face turns a blotchy red.
What are we? In second grade? If she ever saw half the stuff I've seen, she'd be admitted to a mental hospital and wouldn't be trying as hard to gain attention from everyone. I can stomach a lot now, after years of practice, but she wouldn’t make it one day in my shoes.
The moment I sit down, I know I’ve made a mistake by not checking the seat first. Something squishy is under my ass, instantly soaking through my dress and making me shiver at the disgusting feeling. I hiss out a breath as I slide out of the seat and twist to look down at the clear, slimy jelly-like substance covering my butt.
With a curled lip, I leisurely glance up to see Paris holding up something in her hands with a satisfied grin on her smug face. My eyes zoom in on the lubrication packets being held up for everyone to see.
“Figured a whore like yourself would need some help with that used pussy,” Paris sneers, her expression satisfied as if she won whatever game she’s trying to play.
I ignore the laughter from the other students as I calmly walk towards her with my facial expression blank, so she can’t guess what I’m thinking. I stare down at her without saying anything for a long minute until I slam my palms on her desk and lean forward just inches from her face which has her slightly drawing back from me with uncertainty in her gaze.
“I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need any lube to get wet. I can understand for a dried up bitch like yourself needing the help, that would explain why you carry them around.” My lips curl in a smirk and I straighten to walk out of the classroom like I don’t have a care in the world, even though everyone is staring at my white dress that's decorated with globs of lube on my ass.
The final bell rings loudly as I stomp down the halls in anger, muttering to myself and almost colliding with a teacher turning the corner. He steps out of my way, looking like he was about to say something but must have seen something on my face that has his jaw snapping closed because he lets me pass without a word. Maybe the tube was a sign not to get comfortable in front of others by wearing this damn dress. I head towards the gym at the last second, instead of going to the bathroom to try to get the jelly off, arguing with myself the whole way, knowing I have a pair of shorts and shirt in the locker room.
This is why I hate trying to blend in because no matter how hard I try to be invisible, someone is going to notice the broken girl and make her into a target. I think people can see right through me, smell me coming a mile away... maybe that’s why the world is so cruel to me.
