Ugh that walking pimple Mike Newton decided to provoke me again. I walked into the biology lab to find him sitting atop my workspace on the bench, pressing his filthy, clammy buttocks into the tabletop. I fairly gagged in disgust and rage.
He was talking to MY Bella! The audacity! His mind was brimming with bawdy fantasies of her in various states of undress and I could not help the low growl which emanated from my chest.
Mike scuttled away instinctively, like the cockroach he is, and Bella turned to me quizzically, having clearly noticed the sound. I skillfully covered it up with a pretense of a coughing fit as I took my seat.
Before I could register what I had done I covered my mouth and found myself engulfed in an indescribably putrid stench. I had placed my palms on the bench when I sat down, and I realised in abject horror that they were now touching my face, slick with the most filthy moisture.
I had to endure a torturous hour with Mike Newton's butt sweat condensing upon my fingers and my upper lip. I heaved repeatedly throughout the lesson as my mind played out bloodbath after bloodbath. No agony wrought out on Newton could ever equal mine in those long minutes. Even Bella's beautiful visage did little to soothe my torment.
After class, with some difficulty I manoeuvred my belongings into my bag using my elbows and wrists, taking care not to let my putrid fingers touch any of my possessions. I managed to locate Alice before the next period, who recoiled in horror as I relayed the story. She agreed to drive my Volvo home, leaving me free to deal with the problem, er... at hand.
Esme agreed to help me, though only if I vowed I would not harm Mike. Desperate as I was, I recklessly promised her without hesitation, then begged Esme to flay the skin from my hands. She insisted that was overkill, so we settled for three hours of boiling my hands and face in bleach. It stung very badly, but 'twas nothing compared to the stinging of my dignity.
I shall never feel clean again. I cannot bear to touch Bella's sacred shirt lest I taint it. My ears feel weird and This is such utter misery.
I shall decamp for Volterra as soon as I have gutted Mike Newton like the rancid, slimy bottom feeder he is. Esme will understand, surely. It is the only way.
A/N: Please leave a review! Poor Edward, a fate far worse than death. Lucky that bleach doesn't work on vampire hair. What would you do to soothe Edward's frayed nerves?