Salty

Ten | The Green Pepper Dropout

Ten | Sloan

I was a girl who absolutely despised going to school. Dreaded it. As I aged, I realized it was necessary and wanted to go, ultimately being unable to. But middle school was cruel. Most kids get suitable hand-me-downs from older siblings, but mine were tattered, stained, and most times didn't fit right. My shoes had holes the size of quarters due to toes being jammed into the front of them—they rubbed the leather thin until they'd finally pop free. Honestly, the missing fabric gave my toes relief.

The stares were terrible; the whispers were hurtful, and nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to the cruel girls who blatantly called me out on my appearance just to gain a laugh from their obnoxious friends. I didn't want to impress them; I didn't want to be friends with them; I just wanted to make it through the day and someday end up with a diploma. It didn't happen, and I went through absolute hell for years for nothing. Culinary school was supposed to be different. I honestly believed every single day I was going to wake up and be inspired enough I would want to go to class.

That was not the case. Dread had once again rooted itself deep in my belly, and I felt like a child again—throwing a tantrum in my head that was screaming I don't want to go!

I sank further beneath the water of the tub and scooped what was left of the bubbles closer to my chin. Class was due to start in exactly two hours, and I couldn't bring myself to leave the comfort of the bath—the one place where I could calm myself down. Using my big toe, I bounced the giant, limp dildo that hung from the shower wall, honestly debating not going to class and giving Hulk a whirl. I needed something to take my mind off the impending doom of a day. It happened every day, and there was no getting used to it.

This time, it was not classmates poking fun at my clothing that was the problem. In fact, I had come to enjoy my classes with Ava, and the stupid coat was no longer a problem because I had spent every cent I could find to buy it. And Steve, he was the last of my problems right now, although he wasn't helping. The problem was with Ollie.

Chef Oliver, I rolled my eyes at his stupid fucking name as though he was here to witness it.

Didn't matter, he had caught several of my eye rolls over the last few weeks, and they didn't seem to help or hurt the situation. Coat was a problem? Fine, I got the coat. He thinks I cheat on tests? I started working extra hard on each test, getting damn near perfect marks on all of them. Every single little move I made, Ollie had an issue with. If I had entered the classroom solely to take a breath, he would find a problem with it. He was a miserable fuck for his age, being a complete asshole to everyone in his path, but especially to me.

I regretted our night together, as fun as it had been. I didn't want to regret it for this reason; I wanted to regret it because I wasn't over Steve yet when it happened. I felt like a really shitty human being ninety percent of the time. And now the one thing that was supposed to make me feel even slightly better was the one thing that was dragging me back into a hole of depression.

I was sinking fast.

I used to cry when sad. I couldn't even do that anymore; there were no tears left in me to waste on someone like Chef Oliver. It had been weeks since I'd shed them. Now I was beginning the next phase; the one where I just felt numb all the time. Avoiding people was becoming easier, and that included avoiding TJ and even Hallie. The only time of day where I felt anything was mornings like this, where I just wanted to be alone and be anywhere but my first class.

My stomach ached again at the very thought of leaving this house.

I gave Hulk another little bounce with a bubble coated toe just before a knock at the bathroom door interrupted my sulking.