Magicians Secret // Big Mouth

1.6 Not The Same

*Warning: scenes of a sexual nature, references to sexual assault*

Rings of smoke float from Judd's lips smoothly and disperse into the air. His tousled, dark hair is pushed back by him regularly, but it still always manages to flop over his head like a sexy wet mop. Every time I see him, he always has a new scar, this time its on his lip, a dark red scar sharply crossing his bottom lip like a ring. He's wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt, and his room his full of smoke like a sauna that reeks of weed and my watermelon vape. Judd's room has always fascinated me, because it's like stepping onto a murder scene: the walls scattered with punch-holes, Japanese throwing stars, sharp blades wedged into the thick material, peeling navy paint and revealing a plain cream, few posters of rock bands I've searched up and listened to purely because I want to understand him. His bed is always a mess, even though his parents sneak in when he's out to make it every day. The floor is littered with cigarette burns, and his dirty laundry of only black T-shirts is a pile on his desk chair. His desk has been carved into several times, and his entire room has been spray painted over with profanities, he has a knife sharpener on his desk, and a saw leaning against his wall, a large case of lighter fluid suspiciously underneath his destroyed desk. Dried blood is spotted across the carpeted floor, and partly on his bed frame, and on his bedside table next to a lamp that is suspiciously not broken, is a wooden box, plain and crafty, most definitely a self-design that looks like a rat coffin, that is filled to the brim with pre-rolls, pills and loose weed, as well as a swish-army knife.

I trace my eyes back to Judd, who is sitting on the floor beside his bedside table, while I lean my back against his bed frame, trying not to look at him for too long. I'm trying to calm myself with whatever I can, but no matter how much weed I smoke, I am still close to shitting myself with nerves. Judd kissed me yesterday, in an alleyway, and then ran away like it was nothing. And I showed up today to get some pre-rolls, but as I got up to leave, he said in his deep, raspy commanding voice, "stay". So, of course, I did. And we've been sitting in silence for about 15 minutes.

"Stop staring at me." he says without looking up as he lights a cigarette and puffs a new smell of smoke into the room. I snap my head away from him, and squint my eyes closed in embarrassment.

But my eyes are drawn back to him when I notice he is taking off his loose T-shirt, revealing his toned abs that are shiny with sweat, and a tattoo across his collarbone that I would read if I understood Korean.

"What are you doing?" I ask as he chucks his shirt onto the pile on his chair.

"It's hot." he shrugs, still not bothering to look at me.

Maury sits beside me, tapping his foot impatiently has he snorts lines of coke off of his rusty fingernail.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he complains and I roll my eyes, turning towards him staring at me with disapproval.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"He kissed you yesterday. He wants you to make a move! Get over there and fuck him!" he gets louder and more invasive of my personal space as he demands this.

"Maury! He's Judd! The infamously impossible-to-read man! What if I try to kiss him and he pushes me away?" I reason, getting more anxious and close to biting my newly shortened hair.

"He wouldn't have asked you to stay if he didn't want you. Now, go!" he pushes me a little and I take a deep breath, holding my pride strictly close to Maury's promise that I hate to trust as intensely as I do.

I then launch myself at Judd, one of my hands keeping myself upright on the floor while the other guides his face towards mine. I am levitating on top of him as I kiss him on the lips and he kisses back with passion as tobacco sweat radiates off of him. He then rounds his arm around my back and he scoops my body up in one fell swoop to move me below him, as he leans over me, his strength impeccable as he uses a spare hand to puff more smoke out of his scarred mouth. He smirks and drops his head down to kiss me, I feel weak in his arm and kiss him back hungrily, with an odd mentality and drive to make Maury not only proud, but jealous of how hot this is.

He drops his cigarette onto the carpet with a sizzle as the fire marks his floor once again and uses his free hand to run it down my side, stopping at my upper thigh. My entire body is on fire, pulsing in beats like base notes in a night club. I know that Judd has definitely done this before, considering how smoothly he navigates his way around my body, and how simply and easily it seems to come to him. But I don't care that he's experienced and I'm not, because my mind is fogy with his effect on me, too much to even try to overthink.

He tries to lift my T-shirt off of me with one hand, and I try to help, but my desperate hormones leave no time for patience, and we end up ripping it completely down the side as it lifts over my neck. He chucks it to the side and digs his head into my neck, kissing and sucking the skin aggressively, one hand edging its way further down my thigh underneath my skirt until it finally reaches my underwear. But I'm wearing tights, so once he moves away from my neck, and my back is pressed against his floor, he rips apart the fabric and dips his head to kiss up my thighs. I can't think, only try to control my panting breaths as his lips get further up my legs.

Suddenly, the beating heat between us disappears, and a shiver is sent down my spine once his hand reaches my hip bone and squeezes it hungrily. Twinges of pain from years ago come rushing back and I feel a thinking choke in the back of my throat.

It's not the same. It Judd. Not Val. It's not Val.

But I can't control the loss of breath, I can't allow myself to relax as everything about me stiffens and I can't take the flashing images of a party with an older boy who I tricked myself into thinking was charming, not predatory. His sweaty desperate clambering hands and hot swollen lips crept out of the forbidden box I'd locked them in long ago.

The fact that no matter what, I still let him do it. I still giggled at his flirting and let him kiss me then. And I can't tell Judd that I want to stop now.

Luckily there's a door slam that shakes us both from the moment, and Judd goes to his window, peeling back some newspaper on the pane to look outside. I move away, my back hitting the wall, my hand over my mouth in shock and relief. I take a deep breath. And I wait for the shaking to go away.

Judd walks to the door and leaves his room, leaving the door open a sliver. I hear Nicks voice shortly after and rush to the door intending to shut it and hide my presence in his brothers life, but before I do I catch a glimpse of him talking to Judd.

He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, and wore only gym shorts, no shirt or shoes. His hair was tousled and messy, unlike how I'd seen it in school, slicked back and clean. His stiff pecks and abs were greasy with recent sweat, dripping down his prominent biceps in thin droplets. His chiselled jawline was lined with a thin layer of stubble he presumably always shaved, considering the fact that this was a first time viewing. I stared at him for a few seconds before closing the door and leaning against the wall.

Holy shit. When did Nick get hot?

I snuck back out Judd's window before he got back and ran to the playground. I called Jessie and prayed she would come, which she did, for about 10 minutes before she had to leave again.

All I did really was alarm her of the news that Nick was in fact hot, and we hadn't noticed it ever because we'd always known him simply as Nick, who used to short, is still a nerd and always has his head up the ass of his pretty senior girlfriend.

Of course I didn't tell her about Judd, I couldn't. I knew that if she found out I'd lose her friendship, I mean, look at what happened with Jay.

I wonder why I have PTSD from Val but barely any from my family. I mean, it's not like they didn't do worse than squeeze my hip, I've been pushed down the stairs, thrown out of the house for days, hit, and left alone for the majority of my life. And yet, Val Bilzarian holds a higher ranking in traumatic experiences within my mind. I guess it's because I didn't realise what it was until after it was over. Because I didn't understand why it felt wrong.

Because over that, him, I lost someone, the only person who could've helped me get over it, who could've stopped the panic attacks.