“Let's go,” I say hastily, instantly leaving the locker room and practically sprinting down the hallways. My friends rush out behind me.
“Why wouldn't you tell us about what's been happening?” Victoria questions, catching up to me. Before I can answer, Aryan throws out his own question.
“Why didn't you fight back? You could easily take Stacey!”
I halt my steps and they mirror my movements. I take a deep breath and look at them, I can see concern painted all over their features.
I wish I could tell my friends the full story, but I can't divulge Juliette's family secrets like that. As warranted as it would be, I just can’t.
“I did something horrible, but I can't tell you guys what it is.” I sigh, scratching my cheek. “Just trust me when I say that I had a good reason for taking her shit.”
There are many things I love about my friends; their loyalty and humour, but most of all, I cherish how understanding they are. They never pressurise me and they always take my word for something. They know I wouldn't take Juliette's shit unless there was a very good reason to.
Aryan nods. “We trust you. Just don't ever let people walk over you like this and get away with it again. That'sneverbeen you.”
Victoria echoes his sentiments, “This never happens again, you won't ever let this happen again. Understood?”
“Understood,” I agree, nodding my head. The tension feels like it instantly dissipates as my friends wrap their arms around me.
***
After spending hours eating ice cream and getting lectured by my friends, they eventually drop me at home.
I bid them goodbye as I get out of the car and walk across the jagged pavement. The smell of weed and the sound of beeping cars fill my ears and brings me a strange sense of comfort.
I walk up to my small two-bedroom house; the home I grew up in. I jangle my keys into the hole and make my way inside. It always smells like dumplings when I enter my house, thanks to Miss Kim.
I walk into the kitchen and see a plethora of containers with food and a note attached to them that reads:Working late tonight, made you some food. Please, eat. Don't avoid it so you can study! Love ya—Adam.
I laugh at how well he knows me.
I make my way upstairs to my room, my hands grazing the cracks in the walls—that has been a habit since I was a child. My room is extremely clean. I'm quite a neat freak, especially when it comes to my bedroom.
I immediately change out of my uniform, hating the dreadful way it feels on my body. I feel the cool breeze on my skin when I take off my bra too, leaving me only in my underwear.
I fall onto my bed and enjoy the relaxing feeling. My brother isn't here, which means it's an empty house. The thought itself gives me a wicked idea—the same idea that’s been on my mind all day.
I don't make a habit of touching myself, mostly because I just go out and have sex when I'm feeling particularly frustrated, but I can't be bothered to do that right now.
I spread my legs wide and my hands begin wandering over my chest as I play with my nipples. My hand wanders down to the waistband of my panties, I groan out slightly when I realize how soaking wet I actually am and how damp my panties are. They are so damp that my fingers get drenched immediately.
Is this how frustrated I've been all day? Why?
My fingers circle over my clit as I tease myself slightly. Pleasure courses down my body down to my toes and I curse out in satisfaction. My mind starts throwing images of pretty women and men at me.
Suddenly, images of blonde hair and blue eyes start attacking my vision.Wait, no. No. No.
My hands shoot out of my panties immediately and I place it on my chest instead, calming my erratically beating heart. What am I doing?
Was I about to touch myself to Juliette Kingston? Am I that desperate? What is happening to me and why did it feel so different…so good?
I want so badly to get up and pretend like I didn't just think of Juliette when touching myself, but I can't. Not when my insides are screaming out, begging for a release.
Should I really deny myself the pleasure? Should I let Juliette ruin my orgasm or be the cause of if? I think the latter is more fitting, purely for ironic reasons.
Think about it; she would be livid to find out a dyke was masturbating to her. So, this would be the ultimate middle finger to her, right? Besides, it's only a fantasy—everyone has messed up fantasies.
My hands make their way back. I don't waste any time getting back to my clit; it's so swollen. I'm not usually this quick, it takes me quite a long time to get worked up, but I feel like I could cum in seconds.
