An apology swells in my throat as devastation swells in my chest, choking me as her panicked gasp tells me she’s scared… and maybe I am, too, because my hand drops, freeing her.
Avon turns, giving no sign of reciprocation as she flees along the corridor, leaving me staring after her, cock tenting the front of my pants with a pointless throb. She pushes through the double doors, fumbling until I think the binder will crash to the ground again just like reality crashes in on me.
She doesn’t want me.
Of course, she doesn’t want me.
I put a hand over her mouth and pinched her nose while her body bucked against me in panic, straining for the air I wouldn’t let her have. I forced her into silence while stealing her virginity and if there was ever a worse time, a worse way to be someone’s first, I can’t think of it.
Even if her body responds she’ll never trust me enough to do more. Not with my stunt last Monday still souring her tastebuds.
With a roar, I turn and slam my left fist into the nearest locker, the pain exploding in a white hot burst that isn’t anywhere enough to overtake my internal agony so I do it again, three blows, hard as I can.
Pain swallows my consciousness, blackening out my vision until the only way I know I’m still standing is the press of a cold metal grill against my forehead.
“You really showed that inanimate object who’s boss,” Dahlia jokes, appearing alongside me. “Next time, try picking on someone your own size.” Her voice is rich with laughter as she squeezes the back of my neck. As I straighten, her eyes drop straight to my crotch. “And you can put that away, big boy. I’ve no use for it.”
With careful motions, I adjust myself, the pain nesting deeper until the brightness in my vision settles to normal. There’s the vague motion of students along the corridor but I couldn’t give a shit who’s watching. The dull pain of loss settles in behind my breastbone.
Dahlia drapes her arm companionably around my waist. “Two royals dumped in a fortnight, is that a record? You boys have really lost your charm.”
The jovial tone reaches out and drags me back from the precipice. “She didn’t dump me. We never went out.”
“Well, I wouldn’t spread that news. Unless she’s a lesbian, and we’re not talking in the incel everyone-who-doesn’t-jump-my-bones way, it just makes the situation more dire.”
“Shouldn’t you be in the common room?” I ask, arching my eyebrow, happy to return the blow. “Pretending not to see Wilder chat up every twelfth year in sight?”
“With sweet talk like that it’s no wonder your latest fixation can’t stand the sight of you.”
Despite the bite of her words, there’s no malice in the delivery. Dahlia’s always easy company and there’s a brief stingof regret that I can’t enjoy the type of low-effort relationship she’d offer. I’d get sex with one of the hottest girls in school and she’d get access to my bank account.
Nice. Simple. No chance of messy emotions from either side.
“Wilder’s a stupid fuckwit who wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him on the arse.”
“Oh, stop.” She gives me a playful slap. “Don’t give away all my sexual secrets or pretty soon every girl will be chomping on his backside.”
The second bell goes, and we walk into the science class, taking seats together at the back of the class. An empty space is to our side, a faulty Bunsen burner marked off with yellow tape.
I try to wrestle my mind away from Avon and thoughts of what I can’t have, but it’s stubborn. Excitement builds each time I think of her. Even after her rejection, the desire to sketch her, paint her, freeze the image forever onto paper or canvas keeps growing.
Even if I can’t shag the girl I want, I can have this.
And the final thought that propels me into action, pulling out my phone to request a change in subjects, is that I remember from Avon’s schedule, she’s also enrolled in art. Her counselling transcript is still on my screen, and as my eyes sweep across it again, I realise there might be a way to tilt the odds in my favour.
Leaning over to ruffle Dahlia’s blonde curls, I ask, “How do you feel about a new hairstyle? My treat.”
CHAPTER TEN
AVON
I finally manageto get a full night’s sleep on Friday, waking after eight on Saturday morning, feeling rested. In turn, the added energy allows me to dodge the worst of my intrusive thoughts. Normality seems within my grasp.
Clare and I spend the morning together in town, window shopping, gushing over the new season trends. We roam around a thrift store, and I grab a lime green scarf that sparks a dozen types of joy, otherwise just playing dress-up for our amusement.
When we part ways, I walk to my mother’s salon since she’ll soon be closing. She’s finishing with a client when I arrive, so I wave and slip into the tiny staffroom out the back.
There’s a cold mug of coffee and a plate dusted with crumbs that I clean and tidy away while I’m waiting. I paw through old magazines just to pass the time, then glance at the stack of envelopes behind them.
