Knight couldn’t have given less of a fuck who saw him carrying on like a damn fool, picking flowers and doodling flaming hearts all over his notebooks. I had just settled into a back row desk in my last period class to discreetly unwrap and read yet another intricately folded piece of paper from Knight when three words immediately jumped out from his hasty, psychotic I-have-your-daughter-now-give-me-my-money-style handwriting. He had scrawled something to the effect of:
All my virginal fifteen-year-old brain could comprehend were the words worry, sex, and love.
Ohmygod.
I had to clutch the sides of the desk to keep from falling out of it.
We were going to have sex. In a few hours. And, if the tiny stick-person illustrations scrawled on the back of Knight’s note were any indication, it was going to involve props.
Condiments Are for Hot Dogs, Not Wieners
I’d worn a skirt to school that day, Journal. I never wore skirts, but I wanted Lance to see my new mid-calf, steel-toed black leather Grinders. They weighed a ton and cost more, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I could prove to him that I wasn’t just another Dr. Martens-wearing poser, Lance would finally realize that we were, in fact, soul mates, and then he’d whisk me away from the clutches of Ronald McKnight. Lance was six foot three and filled out in all the right places, so on paper, at least, it seemed like it would be a fair fight.
Unfortunately, my plan backfired.
In reality, Lance was far less interested in bucking up to Knight than he was in bucking under him, if you know what I mean.
So, rather than securing the bad boy of my dreams and my freedom from “Skeletor the skinhead,” the only thing I managed to accomplish with those two-hundred-dollar boots and that short plaid skirt fastened on the side with safety pins was pouring gasoline on Knight’s already raging libido and crumbling self-control.
Just as I’d expected, when the final bell rang, Knight was waiting for me outside. I saw him before he saw me, and I watched his expression morph from murderous to salacious the instant our eyes locked. His mouth kicked up on one side in an appreciative, hungry sneer as his eyes slid down the length of my body at a glacial pace, sending chills down my spine along with them. The next thing I knew, hard arms were around my waist, a hard mouth was seeking entrance to my own, and a particularly hard and frighteningly large bulge was being pressed into my belly.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…
Adrenaline exploded through my bloodstream. My pulse sounded like a raging river in my ears, and the only thing I could hear over the white noise was my consciousness screaming, Fight or flight! Fight or flight!
The noise fell away, however, when Knight whispered in my ear, “Did you read my note?”
I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to remember how words worked.
Please don’t ask me if I love you back. Please don’t make me talk about it. I just want to get this over with.
The sooner he ravaged me, the sooner I could limp home and get on with listening to The Cure’s Disintegration album on repeat while crying and rocking myself in the fetal position.
Knight pulled away just enough so that we were forest green to crystalline blue. Whenever he looked at me like that the paralysis was so strong I couldn’t even blink. Breathing required conscious effort.
“I meant it.”
Gulp.
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn’t get me dismembered, Knight stripped me of my backpack and slung it over his shoulder. While Knight carrying my stuff was nothing new, on that particular day, it felt more like he was using it as collateral. With one eager meaty hand, he steered me all the way to the grassy area just behind the student parking lot where the ten-foot-tall monster truck he’d pieced together from scrap parts was lurched up onto a massive boulder, looming over the Civics and Escorts below, as if our classmates were even capable of being more intimidated by him.
Every day, Knight would escort me to that mobile monument of testosterone, and every day, I’d watch with pleading eyes as, one by one, the kids with whom I’d laughed and passed notes with just hours before cast their eyes downward and turned away.
I was on my own, and that cursed day was no exception.
Knight’s pornographic declaration of love burned a