JOSEPH
"Hi honey," my mom greeted me. "How was it ?"
"School or detention ?" I told her, taking off my shoes in a lazy manner.
"Well... I prefer you telling me about school but if you wanna talk about your detention, let's talk about it," she said in response, her pretty smile never leaving her face.
"School was like usual. Boring. Detention was..." weird, special, unexpectedly good ? "awful," I finally let out after I've hung my jacket on the door.
She took my hand in hers, drawing my gaze on them. "You have to make more efforts, Joseph. One or two detention in a year is nothing, but it's your third in a semester. You'll never get to do what you want if you still behave like this. You'll never get the bachot—"
"But I didn't do anything !" I snapped at her, feeling immediately stupid for having done it when I saw my mother startle, as if she was afraid I'd hit her.
"I mean... It wasn't me," I repeated in a more soft voice, gently stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. "A girl cried in the supervisor's office. She said I was the responsible and he just believed her over me."
My mom frowned. "Who's that girl ? Is she in your class ?"
"It's... a girl, I don't know her name. She's not even in my class," I lied without knowing why.
"You don't know her ? Wait, I might call Bellanger—"
"Just forget about it, mom," I interrupted her with a reassuring smile. "We both stayed one more hour at school and that didn't kill neither of us. Where's Paul ?"
She motioned her head upstairs. "Sleeping."
I nodded. "Good. I'm gonna shower."
"Fine, but... weren't you supposed to meet with Charles after your detention ?"
Fuck, I've completely forgot about it. And after what happened... I wasn't in the mood to see anyone.
"I don't know, maybe."
***
I was lazily drying my hair with a towel in front of my mirror, trying to think about anything else but that last hour I've spent at Voltaire High. Charles' complaints about the bad grade Guiraud gave him earlier in the day, Jean's fight with Applebaum during gym, even my father, who I was going to see in a few days...
Anything but dark blue eyes staring into my soul, pretty pink lips parted open waiting for a kiss or her soft leg rubbing against mine.
I should be rewarded for the amount of self control I have.
"Joseph !" my mom's voice yelled from downstairs. "There's someone for you !"
I frowned. Someone ? Charles and I weren't supposed to meet until another hour and Jean was busy doing something with his dad...
I hastened to put on a t-shirt, before I quickly went down the stairs and walked up to the door. My whole body froze in place when I saw her.
Rose was standing at my doorstep, a pleasing smile on her face while she was talking to my mother, who seemed absolutely delighted. I could easily guess why.
My mom had never met any girl I've frequented before, mostly because... well, mostly because I didn't care. The day I will introduce someone to my mom would be the day I would marry, I think. Introducing her to some random girls I was only fucking with wasn't really necessary. And I'm not sure she would love to meet them anyway.
I took advantage of the fact that my presence wasn't acknowledged yet by them, to let my gaze wander along Rose's silhouette. She was still in the same clothes from earlier, she even had her bag with her as if she'd just come out of school— Wait a second.
I narrowed my eyes at her hands, and as I suspected, she was effectively holding my bag. I suddenly connected the dots and my mom chose this moment to turn around to look at me.
"Oh honey, you're here. I was just asking Rose about that girl Monsieur Bellanger believed over you..."
I approached them. "Mom..."
"...but she doesn't know her, either. That's weird, don't you think ?"
"Very weird," Rose said casually with a shrug.
How could she be so... unbothered ? After what happened ?
The ease with which she spoke to my mother, in which she looked at me, was making me question myself. Was I the only one who's been affected by this ? Or she maybe was used to do these kind of stuff with other guys ?
With Antoine, whispered a vicious voice in my head.
"Anyway, come in dear," my mother invited her and for the first time since she was here, the confident look Rose had in her eyes plummeted before we both made a panicked eye contact.
No. She couldn't come in. Not now.
Never, actually.
"Huh ? I... I would love to, but—"
"Mom, I don't think she—"
"Come, sweetheart, don't stay outside," my mother grabbed her hand and pulled her into our house to my dismay, before she closed the door shut. "Would you like some tea or something to eat ?"
"No, no. That's very nice of you Madame Descamps, but I'm just here to get back my bag—"
"Her name is not Madame Descamps anymore, but Madame Lambert. She's no longer married to the other bastard," Paul's voice said smugly behind us and we all turned to him.
Rose's eyes widened in fear when she saw Paul and I instinctively stood before her to hide her body from his lustful gaze.
"Paul," my mother mumbled, clearly embarrassed by his words. "Honey, you're... up."
But my stepfather had eyes only for Rose. "I remember you," he said, pointing at her.
"I don't think she remember you," I muttered.
He ignored me like he ignored my mother. "You're the girl from the theatre. Joseph's friend," he said almost mockingly, before he glanced at me.
I grabbed Rose's hand in mine, and to my surprise she did not withdraw her hand from my grip like usually, she even tightened it. I looked at my mother and she nodded at me, slightly motioning her head towards the stairs.
Got it.
Despite Paul's shameless behavior, my mother couldn't tell Rose to go away, not after the way she had insisted that much for her to come in. So, as always in these moments, she left the matter to me while she would deal with her brainless husband.
"Come, Rose," I said, dragging her towards the stairs.
As we headed upstairs, I surprised myself by thinking how intimate all of this looked. Her hand in mine, our steady steps in the corridor leading to my room, the unusual silence that had settled, as if we were going to...
Fuck, I'm thinking weirdly again.
It's when I pushed the door open that I finally let go of her warm, soft hand. Thanks to God, Rose didn't made any remarks about the fact that I could've let go of her hand much sooner, since Paul wasn't following us in the stairs, nor the corridor... which was only an oversight on my part. Nothing more.
I felt relieved that my mother had cleaned up a bit while I was away, because I think I would have blushed like a little girl if Rose had seen the state of my room this morning.
"We're gonna stay here, until... he leaves," I explained, closing the door behind us.
"Hm," Rose hummed thoughtfully as she started to wander along my room like she owned the place.
She was acting normal, as if nothing happened earlier, and I thought for a second that everything just happened in my head, that we didn't even have a detention together, but the bag she was holding in her hand dispelled my doubts.
I better do the same as her. I won't see her for the next two weeks when she'll finally leave my house, so pretend that her presence wasn't making me uncomfortable during a few minutes shouldn't be impossible to do.
"You have so many books," she said as she approached my shelf. "And nothing inside that brain of yours. How curious."
"Ha ha. Very funny," I grumbled, finally daring to come closer to her, although I stayed at a reasonable distance. "How did you know where I lived ? Are you stalking me, now ?"
She smirked. "I knew you lived in Jean's neighbourhood, so I only asked the baker down the street if he knew the name Descamps and he indicated me your house."
"Okay," I said in response. "And how did you know it was my bag ?"
To be completely honest, if she hadn't came, I wouldn't have noticed that I've took the wrong bag with me. At least not until the holidays were over.
"Because of this."
She opened my bag and pulled out my cigarette case, the one my dad gifted me when he knew I wasn't gonna stop smoking, with my full name on it.
"Joseph Descamps," she read with a mocking smile, and I chose to ignore the shiver that ran down my spine when I heard my name coming out of her mouth. "You're so full of yourself that you have to put your name on everything you own, hm ?"
"Says the one who's wearing a ring with her initials on it," I fired back, feeling myself regaining some confidence as the weird tension between us started to fade away.
I looked down at her left hand. She didn't took the ring off.
Rose rolled her eyes. "That's not the same thing... And what are all these books for ? Decoration ?" she asked with a scoff.
I leaned my back against my wall, arms crossing against my chest. "It surprise you that much that I could just enjoy literature ?"
She looked at me, and I let myself drown into her gaze for a second, just one second, before her voice brought me back to earth. "Yes," she said smoothly. "It does."
I slipped my hands into the pockets of my pants to prevent myself from doing a very, very bad thing. "I'm actually quite fond of philosophy," I explained her, mainly to distract myself from how tight I was feeling in my pants because of my invasive thoughts.
"You ?" she pointed her finger at me. "I don't believe it."
"And yet... Jean and I got a nineteen out of twenty for our presentation in philosophy. You can't say the same, hm, Spinoza ?" I teased and she frowned.
"You're so pathetic sometimes," she muttered. "And that's what you intend to do in the future ?" she asked, her grip on my bag growing tighter. "Philosophy ?"
"Why not ?"
"That doesn't really look like you. I would've imagined someone like Jean doing it."
I refrained myself from rolling my eye. "Well, no.
I even intend to get a degree in philosophy, if you want to know everything."
Her eyes slightly widened. "You want to be a teacher ?"
"A professor," I corrected her, a sly smile playing on my lips. "That's different."
"Hm. Joseph Descamps, professor of philosophy... I'm sorry but that sounds really bad," she chuckled softly and I couldn't help but smile.
"And what does Miss Rose Delaunay intend do to after high school ?" I asked and she immediately stopped laughing.
"W-Well, I... don't know. I like maths, but—"
"Maths ?" I repeated, eye wide open.
"...Yes ?"
That's why that filthy bastard of Jean had only good grades in maths since the beginning of the year. And every time I would ask him for help, he would only wave me off, telling me that he'd help me later...
"But what's your secret ?"
"If I tell you, it won't be a secret."
At the same time, if Delaunay was helping me with maths, I too, would've preferred to keep it for myself. To keep her for myself—
For fuck's sake.
I really need to get laid.
Exactly, I couldn't be fantasising about... her. It's just been a while since I hadn't been with a girl. That's all.
"Why do you look so surprised ?" she asked when I stayed mute. "Do I look that stupid to you ?"
"I didn't said that," I said a bit too fast. "It's just... I mean—"
Why am I stuttering on my words like Pichon ?
She sighed loudly, clearly pissed. "I should go. Here's your bag."
I wanted to tell her that my silence had nothing to do with her, or at least not what she thought. But I think it may be for the best if things stayed that way.
We never get along anyway.
I grabbed my bag and threw it near my bed, before I bent down to grab hers, which was lying on the ground.
"I hope you didn't throw my bag like this when you came home..." she muttered as she started to analyse every details of her bag. "Fine. Would you please escort me to your doorstep ? Your dad scare me a little bit—"
"Step dad," I corrected her immediately.
"Whatever," she said, turning around to leave my room. "Come on, hurry up."
***
I was for once sat in the living room with my mom, who was watching one of those American shows she loved. I watched TV with her without actually watching, my mind still a bit far from the reality. I might soon heads up to my room, anyway.
I've briefly been out to see Charles a bit, because I won't see him for two weeks too since he was going to spend the holidays at his grandparents' house.
When I came back, Paul wasn't there to my own relief. My mom told me that he had left shortly after me. He must be playing money somewhere.
His absence has, of course, a non-negligible part in my peacefulness right now.
"What would you like to eat for dinner tonight ?" my mother asked when the TV started showing adds.
"Nothing, really. I'm exhausted."
She frowned. "You're sure ? I can make you that fish you like, if you want."
"Don't bother yourself, mom. I just want to take a shower and sleep."
"Fine, if you say so—"
The sound of the door slamming shut interrupted her and I closed my eye to contain my dislike, the cruel sound of Paul's footsteps reminding me that even if I deprived myself of my sight, my other senses will always remind me of his existence.
I fluttered my eye open and noticed that my mother had turned off the TV and stood up from the couch to greet her husband. "Hello honey," she kissed him on the cheek. "How was it ?"
Paul put his keys on the shelf. "Good," he said as he sat on the couch, lying on it on purpose to ward me off, which worked well, since I just rose from the couch and walked up to the stairs.
This bastard was making me feel uncomfortable in my own house. My mother's house.
"What are we eating tonight, Suzanne ?!" I heard him yell as I made my way to my room. "I'm starving !"
I couldn't wait for the day when I'll finally get rid of this bastard to come.
***
I was lying across my bed after I've showered, staring at the ceiling. What a day, I thought to myself. A very, weird day.
The only thing I wanted to do now was to sleep. And I tried. I really tried.
But something was bothering me.
I could still sense her sweet perfume in the air, even though our paths had departed a few hours ago. I could still feel the pulse of her neck quickening on the tip of my fingers, how her breath had been caught in her throat when I've grazed my fingers over her soft skin.
Her soft, haunting voice, when she had talked to me. When she had insulted me.
I felt so stupid, thinking about her that way. I claimed that I hated her a few weeks ago to Charles, even to Jean ! But the truth was that hate was a way too strong feeling.
I hated her sometimes. Per moment. When she had punched my nose in that particular spot, I've hated her. When she had mentioned Paul and my so-called fear for him, I wanted to kill her. And when she had played the victim in Bellanger's office...
Sure, she was pissing me off like no other, but there was still that thing. This thing that was so much stronger than this feeling of hatred that I could feel towards her.
And there was what she did, earlier.
Here I was, thinking that she was a prude... Someone innocent would never dare to do that.
And yet, as much as she wanted to play the big girl, I knew deep down that she wasn't. When she had rubbed her bare leg against mine, even her seemed to feel what I've felt. I'd seen it in her eyes. They were already really dark for blue eyes, but they had turned into something even more darker, almost black. And her pretty mouth had just parted, as if she wasn't expecting to feel that at all.
But what did she felt exactly ? I wanna know.
And I've been so lost in my own thoughts of what I could never do to her, that I couldn't know when it happened exactly.
I didn't know when I had started to free my cock from my briefs. I didn't know when I had started to pump my fist on it back and forth, spreading my pre-cum all over it, with Rose's name on my lips.
I didn't know when I had started to imagine her on top of me, just like the other day in Herman's classroom, but instead of my hand it would be... fuck.
As I let the back of my head sank into my pillow, my lips parted and cheeks flushed, I tried to remember the sound of her voice calling out my name. How soft her skin had felt against my hands every time I've got the chance to touch her, the sensation I've had when she started grinding her leg against mine, and of course, all of the twisted fantasies I've had of her since Jean had introduced us.
You think you're all that, but you're nothing. You heard me, Descamps ? Nothing.
What is it, Descamps ? You look all flustered, did I do anything special ?
You're so full of yourself that you have to put your name on everything you own, hm ?
Joseph. Joseph. Joseph.
It's when I came on my stomach that I realised what I've just done. But the worst part wasn't that disgusting feeling that came after jerking off. No, I wish actually.
The worst part was that I didn't regret it at all. And wanted to do it again.
____________
And I'll keep leading you on, if you keep leading me into your room 💃🏻💃🏻