FicWad

Detention.

That is where getting mind fucked by God gets you. I accidently skipped half the period so detention is what I get.

I have nothing better to do before hand, so I get to the room early. I sit in the middle of the middle row. Writing, the only thing that gets me through life besides Him, is what I was doing when I vaguely noticed people entering the room out of the corner of my eye.

My breathing stops as I notice a chocolate brown head bob into the room.

Two feet. That is how close to me he is sitting, the desk next to mine. Just an aisle, a walkway, two feet of air is all that separates me from the reason for my existence.

The teacher tells us there will be no talking, do our homework or sit and stare. No sleeping. Be productive, et cetera, et cetera.

I set to work back on my writing when a folded slip of paper slides onto my desk. I look up and glance around me. He is the only one who is close enough to have given it to me. I send him a questioning look. He nods to the note and mouths to open it.

I try to keep my face blank. Inside I’m a car crash, a murder scene. I palm the note and squeeze a fist just to keep from trembling.

Pathetic. Can’t even read a note right.

I lean forward so my hair covers my burning cheeks. Slowly I unfold the note- one corner at a time, like a birthday present.

For a glimmering second, it says what I want it to say. Marry me. Fuck me. Let’s get out of here. I need you.

The day dreams blow away, falling like brushed- off eraser crumbs. Underneath, his real message-

Whatcha in for?

The handwriting is rounded and confident. Messy, but purposeful. The message is innocuous, hinting at mischief.

It’s perfect. It’s him.

My reply is spidery and looks careless and schizophrenic.

Wandering mind= wandering feet.

As soon as I hand it over I want to take it back, rip it up, force him to admit he doesn’t care.

He reads quickly and lets out a laugh, breathy and unselfconscious.

I hesitate. I refuse to imagine his breath on my neck. I deny myself the thought of warm whispers in my ear.

I cough. He’s writing again. He smiles and I want to break his smile. Bruise his lips.

I shut my eyes. Fucking demons.

When I open them again another note is neatly folded on my desk. Slowly opening it, I again stare at the ink graffiti, the letters littering the paper.

Aren’t you curious about me?

I stare at the note. Always. I think as I read it again.

The teacher speaks and I look up wondering who he is asking to be quiet. I feel naked as I lift my head and see most eyes on me. I look over at the beautiful boy sitting next to me and am met with a confused gaze. Only then does it dawn on me, like a Mack truck hitting a rabbit, like a text book falling on an ant. I voiced my thoughts. I didn’t just think it. I said it.

I can feel the blood drain from my face. I drop my head, my bangs once again hiding my embarrassment. The blood comes rushing back and I feel on fire. I pull out a book, anything to distract me from the boy who hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I can feel them watching me, wondering.

Movement. I look up and everybody is leaving. I look over and he is gone. I drop my head to the desk, trying to think of what could happen next.