These Classrooms Talk

XII

Unicorns. Zebras. Animals. Sex. Booze. Boobs.
Fuck me. I'm high in a school locker room.
What the fuck am I fucking doing for fuck sakes?
I can't fucking hear any-fucking-thing, or move at fucking all.
But it feels so fucking good. As if I can fucking say whatever the fuck I want. Like I can be normal.
Did I take all the berries? No. Surely I fucking didn't. Oh fucking well, who gives a fucking fuck?
The door to the locker room opens. I hear something. A fucking snicker? Is someone fucking laughing at me? Fuck them.
A figure moves in front of my eyes. It is all blurry, but I can barely fucking tell it's fucking whats-his-fucked-face. You know. Fucktard number one. Fuck, whats his name? Why isn't he wearing pants? Oh he fucking is, he just took them the fuck off.
Why the fuck is he naked? Fucking naked fuck? Wait, its fucking Sean in front of me. Fuck, hey Sean! What the fuck are you doing here? Wait, why the fuck aren't I talking? Why the fuck are you naked?
Oh fuck, I'm so fucking tired.

~

My head aches like a mother-trucker.
What happened?
Unicorns. Zebras. Animals. Sex. Booze. Boobs.
Oh fuck, I got high, didn't I?
Why am I wet? My skirt, I mean. It's wet and sticky. And so is my face. Ew.
The door to the locker room opens.
Sean.
"Kendall, you in here?" A deepr, husky voice.
"Who's Kendall?" I ask back.
I guess I'm not completely sober.
A man steps around to the row of lockers I'm in. Thurston.
"Kendall?" He asks.
"Heyyy," I say, a little groggily.
"Oh my shit, what happened to you, you're a mess!"
"Thanks," I mumble.
"No, it's just," he sighs, "it is eleven at night. Your parents are worried sick. Did you take some of Emily's Berries?"
I raise an eyebrow at him, questioningly.
"Oh come on," he explains, "teachers know everything."
I give in; "Yeah, I did."
"Why?" He asks.
"I don't fucking fuxk fjs sjsll."
"Whoa, steady girl." He wraps an arm around my waist. It feels warm, nice, muscular.
I kiss it.
"I love youuuuu," I slur.
"Um, Kendall, I'm your teacher, Mr Thurston."
"And I have a major wet spot for you," I say, "see?"
I pull down my pants.
"

KENDALL!" He says. He scurries back a bit.
"Scared?" I say. "Don't worry, it doesn't have teeth."
He smiles at me apologetically. "Kendall, I-" he hesitates, "I've dreamed about this ever since I first laid eyes on you...but it's not right. Not when you're like this."
"Please!" I plead, "I need to feel wanted. I need to feel loved."
"It's not that..." He says.
"Well?"
"Hit me up when your sober, and maybe-"
"Sir! I know you're hard for me!" I reach forward and grab his crotch over his pants.
He jumps back, and casually slides my hand away. However, he remains silent.
"Sir!" I plead.
He looks at me, raising his hand to brush my cheek, gently.
"Kendall," he moans.
"Just kiss me." I say.
I lean in to kiss him, so our lips can touch. So we can connect.
But instead, he hugs me.
"Kendall," he says, rubbing my back, "I know high school is hard. A lot of fucked-up shit happens and you can't protect everybody from that."
There's nothing sexual about his hold. Nothing romantic or flirty. I sit on his lap as he embraces me, and I've wanted this for so long. But I don't feel that way for him. I don't feel the want.
"But I can- no, I will protect you from that." He assures.
"Is that a promise?" I ask. It's a stupid thing to ask someone to promise you, especially when you won't remember it the next day, but right now, his word is good.
"Promise." He agrees. Then his face twists into a frown, "I need to take you home."
"No!" I shout, "Please, don't take me home."
"Kendall, your parents are worried sick." He says. There is fondness in his voice. Kindness.
"I can text them," I plead, reaching into my pocket to extract my phone.
"No, you need to go home." He tells me.
"Is that an order, Sir?" I giggle, carressing his chest.
He holds my hands, pushing them off his chest and in front of my own.
"No, I'm not doing this with you. I can't. Not after-" he pauses.
Not after...what?
"I don't want them to see me like this. I can say I'm staying at a friends." I say.
"Who do you want to stay with? I'll drive," he offers.
"I want to spend the night with you. Please." I ask.
"With me?" He replies, sorta happy.
"I'll text my parents now." I do. I say I'm alright, and I'm just at Georgia's. Georgia's is an anti-electric kind of family.
"You want to come to my house?" He asks.
I shove his shoulder, "got the notion yet?"
He laughs, and pulls himself to his feet. I try to do the same.
He walks towards the door, and I walk behind him. Or, more accurately, stumble.
"Here," he offers, picking me up, bridal style.
We get to his car, a red Lambo. "Who says money can't buy happiness," I would've said, instead I go with, "cool car, bruh."
"Thanks."
He loads me into the passenger side seat.
He gets in the drivers.
He starts driving, but he keeps a hand on my thigh. It's not sexual, but for some reason, I'm not disappointed. His touch is enough.
I can work of it.
"I used to watch you in the gym before school, y'know?" I mumble.
He smiles, "I know."
I frown at him.
"Why do you think the show was so good?" He asks.
I laugh.
Not long after that, I fall asleep.
I dream of unicorns, zebras, animals, sex, booze and boobs.
And amongst all that, I dream of Thurston. Of the life we can live, together. Happy and free.