9:42 a.m.
Hyde sat in his stuffy, overcrowded Math class, staring out a window that should be opened; unfortunately he stared through glass. The teacher was sweating just as much as everyone else, but was too involved in proofs to walk over and open a freaking window. Hyde hardly noticed the beads of sweat forming on his own face. The only moisture he felt was stuck to the spot where Jackie had kissed him. He had seriously considered leaving the light pink lipstick mark on his cheek before mentally kicking himself and rubbing it off.
Pleased as he was, Hyde was confused. Jackie had never seemed interested in anything other than shitty disco music and nail polish, let alone sleaze ball Steven Hyde, who spent his afternoons getting high and attempting to steal beer from Eric's father. Hyde wasn't sure if this development was good or bad. He thought about Jackie, and how she calmed him down, and had clung to him ever since he spent a night in jail for her. He thought of how she'd come clean to the Foreman's and kept him in the house. He thought of her walking toward him in a white dress.
He thought of his parents and how his family had turned out, and realized that he should stick to easy biker girls like Chrissie, who were here to screw one night, and gone in the morning; realized that a relationship was just not meant for him. But there was still that feeling, that unexplainable notion that Jackie, whom he'd hated for so long, was different. That she could be the one to save him.
Hyde shook the mushy thoughts from his head and grunted audibly, pulling at his black t-shirt. He felt as though he was already burning in hell.
"What is it Steven?" Hyde winced at the name.
"Can you please open a window? I'm dying," Hyde replied, glaring at the teacher through the glasses he refused to take off.
"I understand that it's hot Steven, but we're in the middle of a lesson. Now please, take out your notebook and try to concentrate," said the plump man conducting the class.
"Concentrate? I'm sweating my nuts off and you're telling me to concentrate. Jonny over there is turning into steamed broccoli and I'm about to have an aneurism, all because you can't take a second out of your pathetic excuse for a lesson plan and crack a fucking WINDOW?! Is THAT what you're TELLING ME!?" Hyde was standing now, nostrils flaring, still aggravated by his own thoughts. The teacher's face turned bright red. He was not about to let some burn out disrupt his class and make him look like he had no control. He marched over to Hyde and seized him by his Rolling Stones t-shirt, and glaring into his piercing blue eyes.
"I will not have you disrupting my classroom Mr. Hyde!" he exclaimed shaking Hyde back and forth. "Now listen to me! You may resume you seat and pay attention without another SNIFFLE of a noise, or you can report to the detention office. I have no preference, and it certainly will make no difference in YOUR education, or lack thereof!"
"Right, because I'll never go anywhere or do anything and I'll never fucking be ANYTHING to ANYONE in this world right Mr. Lawrence? All I'll ever be good for is a drink and a fuck, RIGHT, Mr. Lawrence? Trust me, I've heard this all before. Hit me with your best shot," screamed Hyde. Lawrence's eyes widened and he let Hyde go with a final shake, causing Hyde's glasses to clatter to the ground. No more Mr. Hyde; Dr. Jeckle has entered the building.
Hyde retrieved his glasses and stormed out of the room, heading to the nearest bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and locked himself in a stall, resting on the lid of the toilet. The small cubicle spun, and Hyde's thoughts flashed back to a different time, to a situation all too similar.
"Come here boy, and bring me a rum and coke," commanded the husky voice from the living room. A fourteen year old boy (just turned yesterday) stood in the kitchen filling a glass two thirds of the way with rum, the other third with cola. He plopped six ice cubes into the glass as an afterthought before limping into the kitchen and handing his father the drink. The scruffy, dirty man chugged half of it as Hyde stood and watched. His father said nothing as he drank, but Hyde knew he was not yet dismissed.
"I'll tell you something boy, you may be dumb as a post, but you can make a drink," belched his father. Hyde was shocked at the compliment or the closest thing he'd ever heard to one from his father.
"Yep, you'll sure as hell never be anything, but there are two things you're good at. Making a drink and getting fucked."
At this, Hyde shivered, and he knew this night was far from over. His mother would be out shopping for another hour or two, and Steven and his father were alone in the house.
"Shit, if you didn't have a dick I'd be sure you were a girl, by how tight that ass of yours is. Matter of fact head on into the room and I'll be in in a minute." Hyde obeyed as gentle quiet tears rolled down his cheeks. Not like mom would care anymore if she knew. She wasn't the fighter she used to be.
Hyde heard a belt buckle come undone and felt it fasten around one of his wrists and the according bed post. The action was repeated with his own belt and the other wrist and post. Hyde kept his eyes closed, and pretended not to feel his boxers being removed, or his father's lips on his neck. He whimpered softly, but he knew no one could save him. Never.
Steven lifted the toilet seat and vomited heavily into it. He supposed it was lucky that he was in a bathroom; however a simple trash can would have sufficed.
Hot tears spilled silently down his face, a skill he'd mastered many years ago. He wiped his mouth and rinsed it in the sink, drying his eyes with the back of his hand.
Then he pulled out his pocket knife and added two deep slashes to the row of faded white lines on his left calf, and sighed.
"I want Jackie," he sniffled.