In the car, I had been so distracted by Lesly playing with her treasure before my eyes, that I forgot to give her the plaster I had with me in case she forgot to cover up the hickey again.
Later, besides having my new bait laid out, I hadn't thought of chancing on some crazy bitch confronting my stepmother, as if the former had any saying in my life.
Still, her answers were something I had to let sink in, repeating them soundlessly to taste, and internalize them.
"Who is Jude?"
"Kid. I am too old for him; don't worry."
"It's not; it is from my husband."
Even after I put the plaster on her, and while knowing all too well that her first answer was just feigned ignorance, the taste of these words made my agitation, the feeling I meanwhile sought out willingly because only she could let me feel it, turn into a dangerous direction.
When she spoke of the impropriety of my actions, I really thought she would finally call me out, and my heart skipped a beat.
I wouldn't be able to turn back to visiting bars instead of watching her—maybe watching over her, but ultimately just satisfying my need to have her in my view.
But she did not, and that meant she silently agreed, or at least didn't disagree, with the — for others, perhaps even perceived as insane—movements of her stepson.
Was this giving me permission? To reach out this night, to touch her? Or was I still left with hoping for her to conjure that cat, the identity I had to take upon for more of the pleasure crumbs I hadn't had to fight for, but which she baited me with in abundance, like I did with the golden treasures for her?
With my hands in my pockets, rubbing my fingers together, only shortly having grazed her skin while prolonging an innocent act of care, that she apparently long had seen through, I walked to my classroom. The first lesson should have already begun.
In the wall of the classroom was a glass window embedded, so it was easy to see inside. I leaned against it sideways, and tapped it quietly. The brunette was one of the ones turning around; the teacher was not paying attention.
I bent my finger at her, motioning for her to come out, and she hesitantly stood up.
Why the resistance? Weren't you so unrequested bold just a moment ago?
She asked the teacher to go to the restroom, while I turned around, so I wasn't to be spotted anymore.
When she came out of the classroom, I didn't talk to her but just took the staircase leading to the top floor, the seldom-visited toilet.
She followed. How dumb.
After entering the restroom, I turned to grab her neck. Pushing her against the door, even if she tried to defend herself, my arms were longer than hers; she wouldn't be able to reach me.
But she did not. It seems I have a real talent for choosing my hookups, one crazier than the next.
Reaching for my lighter, I showed it to her, and I saw her eyes widen in horror. Seeing the infatuation turning into terror—such a vivid expression—could make her nearly beautiful if she were not so disgustingly repulsive.
While I tightened my grip on her neck, I snapped the lid open and pressed the little wheel down. Seeing the terror in her eyes replaced by the flames dancing in glassy pupils, I inched closer to let her feel the heat, and simultaneously, I chocked her even harder.
"Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Brunette couldn't avert her eyes from the lighter, tears filling her eyes before falling as she nodded lightly.
It hadn't been long since I was here to fuck her.
The reason— I was unable to fathom anymore. Not the least. Why would I do that if I could instead set her ablaze?
"A boy catches fire; a girl follows too~" I quietly sang in her ear,
"Both of them burning equally~"
Distancing myself again, I saw her shaky legs had given out; she couldn't support her weight, as I held her in place at the neck. I felt thirsty for the smell of burning flesh, but I snapped the lighter shut instead of following my instinct to repeat yesterday's events.
When the snap sounded, I let go of her, and she broke down on the floor, coughing her lungs out. I stood on the side to appreciate that picture before leaving again.
Inside the classroom, I lay on my desk and waited; Brunette obediently didn't come to the next lessons. In the next break, I went back to my old seat and put the student's things on Brunette's desk, his original seat. The student had just fetched water, and when he saw my action, he should have understood the intention behind it. He quietly sat beside the missing brunette.
At lunch break, in the cafeteria, I watched Lesly eat and saw her stroking the little desert plates, but not pocketing one—a really polite crow.
After I followed her and saw her entering the teacher's office, I went to the sports hall, where I saw the golden papers being reduced by a good amount. She had taken one card more than a fifth, which seemed uncharacteristically ill-mannered, as if she threw a tantrum by taking exactly one more than the even number.
As if she wanted to let whoever had forgotten them know that he should cherish his things. Because if not, someone else would.