School days
Chapter 3.
This only time.
The library was one of those places in the school that could make Pamela forget for a moment that she wanted to get out of that dump. It was not particularly special, it had a couple of sofas that seemed to have more time there than the books per say but the air conditioner always worked and it had a good collection about botanic. And that was more than what she needed to feel comfortable and absorbed in her own thoughts.
This time, however, Pamela didn't have her thoughts on any special plant from South America and she certainly was not gritting her teeth at the list of extinct specimens from a book. This time her thoughts were an untangled being of desperation and nervousness caused by Harleen's sweet voice.
Harley was sitting next to her on the old furniture in the empty library. Pamela had bandaged her ankle after the incident at the gym and they had gotten there because the beautiful acrobat had refused to go home without trying to open Pamela's mind to the beautiful knowledge of psychopathologies. That is why she was softly reading to her about a young artist who used to cut women's bodies in Hollywood to make pieces of art, instead of heading home as Pamela had suggested her to do.
Her voice was sweet, like syrup from a flower's stem, while her eyes moved from side to side of the textbook. She did not notice that Pamela's attention was not on the story and neither did she notice that that her redhead friend was biting her bottom lip to the point of harming it with visible crimson marks. And mayhap it was her passion and focus for the reading what made Pamela feel that this time, just this time, it was particularly too painful to not stab her with a kiss.
"And so we can see that it was egomania and a lack of empathy what characterized this kind of psychopath instead of external traumas as it was thought before. Thus it became one of the strongest samples that allowed Neurobiology to have a first step into…" the blonde one spoke. Pamela sighed.
The pair of blue eyes looked up from the yellow pages and directly to her. Those blue eyes were like a pair of lamps used in an interrogation- they seemed to go through Pamela's soul and question the deepest secret in her coward soul.
The accused one averted the gaze and pretended to look into the book.
"Is it rather boring, Red?" Harley asked as she leaned on the other's shoulder and pouted.
Pamela held her breath before answering "It isn't my strongest subject for a reason, dandelion- her voice came sharp and dry".
Harley couldn't avoid huffing to this comment while she closed the book and put the heavy textbook away. She leaned against her friend again and started playing with her hair.
"I can't see why you dun like it, Red. Brains are kinda cool" Harleen stated as her delicate fingers caressed the red curls, making Pamela's body stiff.
"I don't know, sweet pea, it just isn't my thing. All those analyzes, all those theories seem to rotate around the same thing. Human kind is garbage and evil. End of the story. Even if psychology and psychiatry look for a way out, there is nothing that changes that. They are impure little rats and that is all. I do not see why to continue reading about it instead of trying to solve problems that actually have a solution" Pamela said as her fingers dared to touch Harley's arm.
Harley did not say anything for the second that Pamela's fingertips caressed her skin but then, after Pamela took those fingers away, she spoke energetically.
"It ain't true that all humans are rats and that there is no way out, Pamy-lamb" Harley stated as she abruptly got off Pamela's shoulder and looked at her.
"How do you know that?" Pamela asked seriously with practiced stoicism.
"Because you ain't like that" Harleen said frowning. Pamela bit her bottom lip again and Harley's looked directly at the marks but she didn't comment about them.
"Aren't I?" Pamela argued and gaze finally locked with the blue one. That was the moment when she knew that she wouldn't be able to go back from what she was about to do. That was the moment when she started an unconscious count down.
3.
Harley closed her legs nervous and she licked her own lips because they had gotten dry after reading so long.
2.
Harley caressed her hand and her fingers drew imaginary lines that connected her freckles.
"Of course not! Look at you all a green-doll trying to save the world. It ain't like you got no brains like any other student here, and you are sweet…now I know you don't like it that I say you're sweet…but… you are and…you make it all better for me when pu…"
1.
Pamela cut her sharply. She cupped Harley's face into her hands and kissed her as she had never kissed anybody before.
This kiss did not taste like nothing. This kiss did not feel like an illusion and she did not give it because she felt that it was expected from her to do it. This time, and this time only, she did not have any thoughts in her head when she touched Harley's lips in a single and unstoppable movement.
And it was different.
She felt that her body stopped working consciously, she felt that for a long time she had been living a life colored with only grey patterns and now rainbow shades were filling her from the inside of her guts and out. The taste was inexistent but at the same time Pamela knew that she had never tasted something as pure and refreshing as Harley's saliva.
It was clumsy at first but then it lost control with the pace of the other and the redhead felt she was losing it when Harley put her fingers on her neck and brought her closer to make the kiss deeper and passionate because, as Pamela always thought, Harley was no infantilized teen that played around to be taught or told what things to do. Harley knew exactly what she wanted even if it never occurred to her that she wanted it.
A moment later they separated and Harley looked at her with wide opened eyes.
She bit her lip. She stood up. She left.
Pamela stayed on the sofa with her hair turned into a mess and her heart beating out of control. She could feel her cheeks going pink and burning, a reaction that she always thought over-romanticized on books. A sense of unreliable daydream. An overrated illusion presented on movies to raise expectations on impatient virgins.
Now that description of dopamine and endorphin running through her veins with the rapid addiction of a drug seemed to fit her like a glove. And for this time Pamela did not regret a thing.
To be continued.