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There were no words, just noise and breath. And then I was dizzy, my heart racing, limbs like jelly.
She kissed my mouth and she laughed. “Told you it would be fun.”
But it didn’t feel like such good fun. I felt weird, and not good weird.
She tugged at the tie around my wrists and they came free, and they were sore. Even through my drunken eyes I could see they were sore. I held them to me.
She kissed my cheek, once, twice, three times, and then she wrestled the duvet from under me, covered us both up with it.
“That was fun, right?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Hels Bells, that was super fun, wasn’t it? Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “And drunk…”
“Aww, tired Hels,” she giggled and reached for the lamp. The darkness felt better. I rolled on my side away from her, but she followed, her body to my back. “You wanted it, Hels, I promise. Don’t let it be weird, it isn’t weird.”
“Ok,” I said, and I didn’t know what else I could offer.
“Don’t be grumpy,” she whispered. “We’re besties. We are besties, aren’t we?”
“Always, Lizzie. Always besties.”
I squeezed her hand, then pretended to be asleep.
Helen
I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, and I did my best, I really did. Lizzie acted so normally that sometimes I’d convince myself I’d imagined it, but then I’d get that fluttery feeling in my stomach and remember the grind of her against me. It made it so real again.
She didn’t seem worried. She didn’t seem to think about it at all.
She talked about Scottie a lot. More than a lot.
She talked about Mr Roberts, too, and Harry, and anything other than the fact that she got me drunk and rubbed her pussy against mine until I came underneath her.
I was five minutes late for English on a rainy, miserable November morning, bemoaning the fact that winter was definitely here, beyond all doubt, when an unfamiliar voice called my name. I turned to find its owner, and Miss Monkton’s toothy smile greeted me. I hadn’t taken her class in years.
“Helen! I’ve been hoping to catch you around.”
I pointed to the English block. “I’ve got a…”
“Oh, this won’t take long,” she said, and stepped closer, gesturing me under the porch where it was dry. “Mr Roberts and I just wanted to say thank you for your work on the set. You did such a great job. It makes such a difference to us to have students willing to put some time in, it really does. We really appreciate it, we really do.”
We. We we we.
It wasn’t the word so much as the way she was saying it. And her eyes were weird, and her cheeks were a little flushed and she was smiling really widely. And I got a strange feeling. Another strange feeling to go on the pile of strange feelings.
I was one big strange feeling these days, and not a very pleasant one.
“I like painting,” I said. “It’s no problem.”
“Well, we really do appreciate it. I’m sure you had fun, of course.”
I made myself smile. “Yeah, it was fun.”
“Long days painting.”
“Yeah, they were long days.”
“I’m sure Mr Roberts was good company, at least.”
And then I was feeling hot. I didn’t answer, just smiled. “I have English…”
“Of course, I’m sorry!” She put her hand on my arm. “I’ll be seeing you at the ball, yes?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Mr Roberts and I are chaperoning.”
“Cool.”
“It should be so much fun!”
“Can’t wait.”
“Bye then, Helen.”
“Bye, Miss Monkton.”
I had the strangest urge to flash her the finger as I walked away.
Lizzie came with me to the doctors. She insisted.
It was quite humiliating, her sitting there while I talked about my non-existent sexual history, but I was out of there in a lickety split, asides from some height-weight measurements and a pep talk about safe sex.
I’d have to take them until my next period. Lizzie announced with glee that that meant I’d be covered in the insanely unlikely event I went home with Harry after the ball.
Even the idea gave me the shivers.
All in all, life was pretty shit. My art was sucking, the weather was shitty, things with Lizzie were weird, and Harry Sawbridge was after my attention more and more each passing day. Not just in art, but around the school as well. He discovered mine and Lizzie’s secret smoking routine, and I wondered how coincidental that really was. Harry was ok, but he was just ok, just some other average person amongst the crowd.
The thought of kissing him made me feel sick, no matter how many times Lizzie tried to convince me otherwise.
I even stopped logging into my cam account. What was the point?
Mr Roberts was Mr Roberts again.
Only Mr Roberts.
I’d walk down to the river some evenings, even when it was raining, but I never saw him. I never saw him outside of class at all in fact, and I never heard a peep from him. He was just… him… friendly and professional and totally over me. Like he was ever into me in the first place.
