Don't blame me, I don't plan this shit.
Soz it has taken me several short lifetimes to get round to writing this. I've been very busy being sad.
And nothing really happens in this chapter. And it's shite.
Shit goes down next chapter though. I know this because I've already written it.
Thanks for the comments and that.
Goodnight.
(ALSO, I realised the other day that I have nEVER written like ANYTHING in the 3rd person. So if anyone has any one-shot suggestions, (like an entire plot, I'm especially shite at thinking up plots) that's great cos I need to practice that 3rd person shite. PM me or leave a comment idk)
Chapter 9
The sound of the bell. Children shouting in the corridors. Kettle boiling in the staffroom. Just another school day morning. I'm sitting in the staffroom, waiting a little less than patiently for Michael to arrive. Because he's late this morning. And the teachers seem to be taking it in turns to fire filthy looks at the back of my head. They already don't like me, I know they don't. I don't care. And I pretend that I don't feel them though, and straighten my back a little as I ruffle my stack of textbook order forms nonchalantly. And then glance at the time. And sigh again. Where is Michael? I hate this waiting around, doing nothing at all. I can feel my eyes beginning to sag already as I skim over the same form for the tenth time. Bored and tired and bored and tired and stressed. Who does Michael think he is, leaving me waiting like this? Doesn't he know that I have a hundred other things I should be doing? And then, all of a sudden, I'm bored of waiting for him. Getting up, brushing minute specks of dust from my tight leather skirt, and picking up my briefcase. Shaking my hair over my shoulders as I swing around.
"Is our glorious leader not gracing us with his presence this morning?" Grantly shakes his head and never raises his bloodshot eyes from his newspaper.
"Haven't you got a class to teach Grantly?" I spit over my shoulder. I'm really not in the mood for his complaining this morning.
"It's more like babysitting with those children, they show no interest whatsoever in-" I don't bother waiting around to hear the end of his sentence. I leave the staffroom door to slam shut behind me.
And as I walk through the unnervingly quiet corridors, I realise that I like the school. I like the way it feels. On the surface, it's perfect. Still smelling of paint, everything squeaky clean. Brand new, like the uniforms the kids are wearing. Everything just so. Just how I wanted it to be. My vision, suddenly a reality. And I'm good at it, I know I am. I'm good at running the school, funding the school. Just how I thought I would be. I've never once doubted that.
"Hey Lorraine" She's smiling at me. Sian. Her eyes cool, steady, glancing over me. I think her eyes narrow a fraction as she skims over my tight black leather skirt. Black lace top. My bottom lip clutched between my teeth as I frown.
"Do you know where Michael is, he was supposed to be meeting me and he's not picking up his goddamn fucking phone." I cut straight to the point. I've never been very good with small talk, and right now, this is no exception.
"No, I'm sorry." She murmurs. For a second I'm worried that she's shocked by my language, but then she smiles gently at me, raising one eyebrow. "Not having a good morning?"
"Oh, okay, I'm okay. I'd be a damn sight better if Michael would-"
"Not be Michael?" She laughs a little as she speaks. "Have you tried his office yet?"
"He said the staffroom-"
"He'll have forgotten. You know men, they can't remember anything unless they're being permanently reminded." She rolls her eyes.
"Yeah, I know," I try to smile. An exasperated, tired smile, mirroring the grin spread across her cheeks. My palms feel hot. My throat feels a little dry. I wonder, in an oddly detached way, if I'm ill. "Thanks Sian" I murmur as she walks quickly away. I'm pulling my phone from my pocket and frowning as I pretend to read through a message. I can hear her heels retreating down the corridor. And I realise that I'm breathing deeply, as though I've been running. In through my nose, out through my trembling lips. Letting my suddenly hammering heartbeat slow a little. Nearly at its normal speed. Nearly normal...And suddenly I turn to follow her. Slipping my phone back into my pocket. My voice a cheap imitation of my normally oh-so-casual drawl. "Hold on, in fact, I don't need Michael, you'll know-"
"I should get to registration, my year 10s will be running wild-" She pauses, turning to look at me, rolling her eyes, shaking her head a little.
"I'm sure they can live without the riot police for a minute." She grins as I speak. And I feel as though I've just gulped back a mouthful of burning coffee, igniting little fiery butterflies in my stomach. Because...because...I don't know why. But they make me feel hot, uncomfortable. So I just bite them away. "Here, does this order of textbooks for the labs look okay? I was going to ask Michael, but-" I fish the paperwork from my briefcase. She looks at it, dark eyes blurring as she skims over the figures.
"Yeah, that looks good, I'd get fewer A2 books here-" she points to it, her eyes flickering from the paper up to my face, seeking my approval. "And maybe ten more for the GCSE classes, because some kids will lose them." She grins as she passes the order forms back to me.
"Thank you, I'm glad I checked now." I murmur, and I muster a smile. My shoulders falling a little. But I'm internally screaming at myself. I feel as though the bottom has been kicked out of my sparkly little world. How could I not know that? How could I be so stupid? Of course I should factor in some spares, of course kids will lose them, of course..."Thanks Sian" I say, still smiling. It takes more than just a little effort. But I think she sees straight through it. God, I hate those women who can read me like a book.
"You're doing a really great job here." She looks up as she speaks gently, and she's taking a step closer to me, jerking her head a little. Indicating not just the textbook order, but the whole school. "You know that, right?" She raises an eyebrow, and reaches out to touch my arm. And my body tenses a little, my muscles tightening nervously, ready for that tiny glimpse of contact. My heart skipping a beat. Uncomfortable, jumping palpitations. But her palm doesn't ever quite collide with the thick lace of my top. Because...
"Of course she knows it, nobody has a bigger ego than Lorraine Donnegan." Michael's voice is loud, and he strides down the corridor towards us.
"I was looking for you" I frown, turning to him. Something within me feels as though it's lost in a roaring, terrifying freefall. And Sian is still right beside me.
"I'm here now." He spreads his hands out in front of him. Smiling that ridiculous smug smile. I roll my eyes, glancing at Sian. Hoping to exchange an exasperated, tired glance. But she's looking at him as though he's something miraculous. I cross my arms across my chest.
"I don't need you now." I sigh, my voice perhaps a little too abrupt, and I turn back to Sian, smiling again. "Thanks for the help, I'll let you get back to your year 10s"
"See you later" she grins. I don't reply. I just nod, and smile right back.
I can't sleep. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to sleep again. Every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is her. Kissing her. The way she held my hand. The way the invisible hairs on the back of my neck prickled as she looked at me. And the same scenes spin round and round my head. Dizzyingly fast, scarily repetitive. Always accompanied by the same churning, shame-filled sickness in my stomach. The same painful burning in my chest. Making it hard for me to breathe, harder for me to move. So I lay there in the darkness. Her name. Her face. Her eyes. Her smile. Her oddly breathless, exhilarated laugh that cuts up her throat and makes her toss her head back. I've never really thought about what it would be like to lose my mind. But this feels as though I could be.
I practically fall out of bed. And fumble blindly around in the dark for in my school bag. Looking for my cigarettes. My mum would kill me if she found me doing this. My little sister would just look at me, her vacant eyes wide open in something blank that could perhaps be translated as shock. If me smoking would shock them, I don't even dare to imagine what they'd think of me if they could read my mind right now. If my mum could somehow know...somehow...know.
I realise that I'm curled into a ball, shaking on my bedroom floor. I run a trembling hand through my rough blonde curls, a little greasy perhaps, but I'm raking it away from my face.
Maybe I just need to relax. I just need to think of anything, anything but her. So I quickly pull my bag open. The thin packet of tobacco. The thin plastic lighter. The impossibly thin cigarette papers. And I don't bother with a filter. My hands shake a little as I pinch the tobacco, and I roll a cigarette. And I lick along the paper. And I take a deep breath in. Attempting to steady myself. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger. Ignoring my shaking hands.
I open the window. Letting the freezing cold night air crowd into the room. And I perch on the windowsill, tugging my knees up to my chin. I cup the lighter in my hand, holding a cigarette between my teeth. Lighting up. Breathing in. And the scent of smoke, the taste, the delicious, sickening warmth as the burning smoke fills my mouth, it all reminds me of her. I pull the thin cigarette from between my teeth, and I breathe out.
And I close my eyes. And suddenly, she's everywhere. And she's heartstoppingly beautiful. I know she is. All the boys, they all know that she's beautiful too. That's why they like her so much. Everyone knows she's beautiful. So it's...it's okay for me to think so too. She's beautiful. It's just a fact. I shrink into the shadows, uncurling one leg and swinging my foot against the rough brick of the wall. And I'm breathing out smoke. And breathing in clear, cold night air. Remembering the way she watched me. I can remember it almost perfectly. Photographic quality, crystal sharp. There's no hunger in her face. No affection. Nothing at all. Her eyes are oddly blank. Emotionless.
I wonder now what she sees when she looks at me. Can she read something, anything in my eyes? Are all my thoughts delicately threaded through my palest blue irises? The thought makes me feel hot and cold all over, crawling over my flesh. I take another drag. And hold the smoke in my chest for a little longer.
I shouldn't be feeling like this.
We kissed.
This is so, so wrong.
We kissed.
She's my best friend.
We kissed.
Oscar. What about Oscar?
We kissed.
She likes boys.
We kissed.
I like...boys...
We kissed. That's the cold, horrible reality of it. I breathe out. Exhale. It's so easy. Hot smoke. And that kiss, it was hot too. And it was beautiful and I could feel her breathing and her hand was on my waist and it set my tiny little world on fire. Yes, we kissed, and I...I undoubtedly liked it. And I'm suddenly almost certain that I'd like to do it again.
I rest my head back against the window-frame. I try to register this. I try to understand that I liked it. We kissed and I liked it and now...and now... and now I mostly just hate myself. I take a long drag. To steady my shaking, crumbling thoughts. Breathing out curl after curl of smoke. Watching it hover for an instant in the air. Not quite real, fading away so fast. Wispy, tiny tendrils just lapping from my lips now. I flick away the ash from my cigarette. It burns as it falls back into the darkness.
And as it falls, the darkness seems to open up, and close in around it. Swallowing it back into dark infinity.
And suddenly I'm crying helplessly. And I choke back a quiet sob. Holding the back of my hand against my mouth, cigarette still trailing from between my first and middle fingers. My lips colliding too fast with my own skin. And I bite down. Hard. So hard it brings yet more tears springing to my already sodden eyes. Chocking, fighting against my tears. Silent. Leaving a hot red imprint of my own teeth in my flesh.
