I viewed sex as a tool. It was a way to manipulate people into doing what I wanted. A way to seek comfort in a community where I was ostracized. Very rarely did I do it for my own pleasure.
I spent every free moment I had hooking up with anyone even remotely near my age. The more sex I had, the better I felt. It was the perfect distraction. I lost myself so completely in the desire. I fucked people’s boyfriends. I blew people I barely knew. I spent the night of Cassandra’s sweet sixteen getting railed in the bed of a Ram truck in the middle of the woods.
My father, now a single parent and suffering with his own grief, had no idea what to do. He called in my mother when the rumors started to get out of control. They talked about sending me to therapy and cried about how these were all the natural consequences of trauma. They threatened to ground me but never did. I may have been acting out, but my grades were still perfect—and I’d never done anything illegal.
The fall of my senior year, I had been hanging out with a junior named Tyler who was very into amateur filmmaking and even more into my tits.His mother was on the PTA with Mrs. Hopely, and therefore he couldn’t be seen out in public with me. We had skipped fourth period to hook up under the bleachers. Tyler was an overly enthusiastic kisser who kept begging me to let him take pictures of me topless. Even then, I knew it was a bad idea, one that would land me on some deeply depraved porn site for true crime lovers. He pushed me up against the bleachers, unbuttoning my cardigan. His hands grabbed at my breasts greedily.
“Eh hm.”Someone cleared their throat near us. An older voice that I was sure belonged to a teacher. Tyler broke apart from me instantly. Even in jeans, you could see he had a raging hard-on.
“Mr. Myers,” Tyler said quickly. His cheeks and neck had turned the color of the school’s red mascot.
“Tyler,seriously?” Bradley’s voice was full of disappointment as he took in the situation from the side of the bleachers. Tyler looked mortified. Bradley had been one of the newer English teachers at the time. Only twenty-six, and the girls were all in love with him and the boys wanted to be him. In any normal situation he’d have been only a five or six, but being a teacher, and the only remotely young teacher, made him infinitely hotter. I’d never taken a class with him, but I’d heard the way the girls spoke about him in the hallways. He was also the film club sponsor, meaning Tyler saw him regularly.
Tyler sputtered, looking from my open sweater to Bradley, absolutely panicked. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I—”
Mr. Myers held his hand up. “You and I can discuss this after school, Tyler.”
“Are you going to call my parents?” Tyler asked, petrified.
Bradley shook his head. “Not if you go back to class right away. I’d like to talk to Rosie for a minute.”
“Rose,” I corrected him. I had made a big point of not letting anyone call me Rosie anymore.
“Sorry,Rose,” Bradley replied. “Get to class, Tyler.”
Tyler didn’t look back in my direction as he picked up his bag and disappeared out of sight. I rolled my eyes.What a little bitch.
Mr. Myers turned to me.
“Let’s go talk inside,” he said quickly. He kept his face very stern. His eyes avoided my open cardigan, where my breasts were on full display. “And you should button up your sweater.”
We were completely alone under the bleachers, and I felt emboldened. I put my hands on my hips, not making any effort to cover up.
“Do you really want me to?” I asked in a seductive tone.
I was a little shit back then. I expected Bradley to scoff and list off the detentions I had just earned, if not complete expulsion. Not that I cared about that anymore. But instead he looked at me for a second, letting his eyes move to my chest and shrugging. “Up to you,” he said offhandedly. “But wearegoing to walk to my classroom now. If you’re comfortable with everyone seeing you like that, so be it.”
He was completely unfazed, and it left me stunned. I reached for the bottom few buttons, doing it up enough so that my cleavage was still pronounced, but not enough for anyone to say anything about it. Bradley offered me a smile as I scowled.
Neither of us said anything as I followed him through the halls into his empty classroom. I’d never been in there before—he taught honors English, and I was always in AP.
“Where’s your class?” I asked, looking around at all the empty seats.
“Planning period,” Bradley said, closing the door behind us. “Take a seat.”
I sat on one of the desks while Bradley stood across from me, leaning against his own. It felt weird. His eyes were locked on mine.
“I don’t want to lecture you,” he said softly. “I don’t think you need it, and I don’t think it will do any good.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I do, however,” he added quickly, “understand that you have been through a lot these last few years. And I understand that being a teenager is difficult enough without everything else you’ve experienced. So, I wanted to tell you that if you ever need someone to talk to, about anything, at any time, my door is open.”
He looked at me sympathetically. I’d already heard this spiel so many times back then. From my parents. My grandparents. Counselors and therapists. Everyone had wanted to help me. They pitied me. It was infuriating.
“Howgraciousof you, Mr. Myers,” I said icily, my eyes hard. “I can talk toyouabout my problems? Why didn’t I think of that?”
Bradley’s face didn’t change. “You can be frustrated, Rose, that’s fine. It’s just an offer.”
