I continued spitting to try to get the taste of Roger out of my mouth. I remembered spitting when he’d drop me off at school. I’d spit the entire way to the bathroom and sometimes I’d throw up in there. I closed my eyes as I recalled having my toothbrush and some toothpaste in a plastic bag in my backpack (spit). High school started just after seven in the morning and Roger would leave for work by six thirty. Since I was the only one of their foster kids in high school, Roger would take me (spit). Too much was rushing into my mind, and I couldn’t stop it.
The truck (spit). Roger’s aggressive hand on my neck and head. Fuck, the threats.Tell anyone and you’ll go right back to the state’s facility.I reached around to put my hand on the back of my head and made sure I really didn’t feel his hand. I was surprised to find that the back of my hair was damp. I hated the way he’d touched my head.
It was more difficult now to gather much saliva and to spit. My mouth felt dry. My tongue glided over my lips, and I instantly frowned. I had swollen cock-sucking lips.
I hated myself for liking what I had done in that room with Finn and whoever the fuck the man was. Everything had been fine until I tasted the pre-cum.
I couldn’t do this. Any of it.
But Finn and that man had been nice. They weren’t mean or…or like Roger.
What the fuck is wrong with me?I angrily hit the side of the planter with my fist. How the fuck did someone forget that kind of shit for so long and then it just blindsided them?
I gathered a small amount of saliva again and spit. The worst had been when I’d have to go to class knowing what was in my stomach. I’d get in trouble in class for chewing gum. But I was desperate to get the taste out of my mouth.
I stared down at the wet spots I made on the brick, hoping to replace the current image in my mind with anything else.
“Are you all right?” a voice asked. I quickly turned my head to see who was near me. It was the guy from the hallway by the orchestra. He held a handkerchief out for me to take. I couldn’t even formulate words and just stared at him as though I were an idiot. I looked down at the ground again. I couldn’t look at anyone right now, especially someone who was trying to be nice to me. I felt embarrassed. “I apologize for startling you,” he said.
Pull it together!
I took the handkerchief from him and held it against my mouth. As I tried to quickly swallow, memories of doing this exact thing in the truck barreled me over. I had to keep it together, though, because this guy could mistake my reaction as being rude. He could tell Atlas, or someone else, and then they might not even let me in this school. Not that I could handle it anyhow.
“Th-thank you.” I hated the way my voice shook when I spoke.
“Are you all right?” he asked again.
“Yes. Yes, I am. Th-thank you.”Look at him!I raised my eyes and briefly looked at him. I glanced at the house to make sure no one else had noticed me and then looked back down at the brick pavers. I needed to try to make things appear okay so I didn’t come across as being rude. “I…um… I’m s-sorry for dis-rupting you or kee-keeping you f-from s-s-something.”
“You aren’t disrupting me or keeping me from anything. I came outside for some air and noticed you over here. I thought you might be sick or hurt,” he said. I looked at him and could feel myself unraveling at his words.
What? Why the fuck would you care if I were? You don’t know me. I’m nothing to you. Why would you give a fuck if I were sick or hurt? No one ever gave a fuck!
The worst part about it was the look in his eyes. He looked at me like he cared. I thought it was care at least. It reminded me a little of the way Atlas looked at me when I spoke. Atlas cared, but I had no idea why anyone cared about me. I felt like I was on the verge of crying, and I hadn’t cried in years. The first and last time I remembered crying was because of Roger.
“Are you sick or hurt?” he asked me again.
“I’m f-fine. Th-thank you,” I lied. Even I knew I didn’t sound very convincing. I had to try to show this guy I was fine and not being rude. Tomorrow I’d talk to Atlas and tell him I couldn’t go through with this. “I had a bad headache and needed some cool, fresh air.”
There.
Headaches are a common thing. Some people even had debilitating headaches. Pam had bad headaches. She’d get migraines. I quickly thought back to some of those times. She’d go to her room, close the door, and rest. And Roger would have to go to the grocery store because she didn’t feel well. I’d sometimes have to go to help. I’d hold the bags in the front seat that had the delicate things in them, like chips or loaves of bread. Then the bread would get wrecked and squished, or the chips would crumble. I swallowed hard and could feel myself shaking.
“Yes. I’d say that was one hell of a headache to have you sweating, shaking, and spitting like that.”
My stomach dropped and ached a little more as I feared he’d call me on my bullshit.
“I…I thought I might get sick to my stomach.” Vomiting still wasn’t out of the question.
“May I help you off the ground? You can’t be comfortable leaning awkwardly like that against a cement planter box.”
Why did he give a fuck?
Don’t come off as being rude!
“Oh, um…” I didn’t want to be touched by anyone right now. I pushed off the ground and brushed myself off. “I got it. Thank you, though.”
“Are you going to sit outside for a while, or are you heading inside?”
