Saturday, 25 December 2010

Papercut. Chapter 21

Then I stare at my converse as I feel a guy end his introduction, as if silence was leaning for a kiss. I raise my head, feeling a drop of sweat fall from my forehead on my cheek and slowly travel to my jaw line and then I lose the feeling of it. I watch her stand up, flick her dark hair back, playful dancing in her eyes. She tilts her head, the grin never disappearing from her face.

“Alice.” She nods at me, as I watch her lips mouth every single letter.

“Sixteen.” Alice looks back, glancing at the back rows, a different smile and another sparkle in her eyes. Then she turns back, causing her hair to move with her. I watch her silently, feeling dazed from my memory loss. I open my mouth like a fool, trying to find an answer.

“Aquarelle.” She catches my eyes again, not blinking, leaning against the table with her legs. My eyes travel down looking at the short plaid skirt and black stockings. I swallow my eyes traveling back up, as I feel different thoughts invade my mind, but I shoo them away, despite their efforts. And with that she sits down, now turning her attention to her neighbor. The brush of jealousy given to me, as I paint with it mechanically. The guy next to her an enemy, as I take him and dunk him into paint, watching her raise an eyebrow, as he shrinks, his fingers barely visible and he drowns.

She whispers something into his ear as he fixes his glasses, before standing up. I give him the time to hesitate.

He ruffles his dark hair, dark eyes widening in fear behind the specs. He clenches his teeth together than I see him blink in pain, as the nails dig into his skin. Alice catches my gaze finally, an amused smile on her face. I watch her cross her legs, as I swallow again, not bothering with the geek struggling with his words. I ignore the paper ball heading straightly at the geek’s head. It hits him with a small thump and he turns around using a literate curse which I do not know.

“Matthew. Matt. Pastel. Seventeen.” He mutters rubbing his head, biting his bottom lip, as he takes off his glasses, his eyes focused on me. Are they fake? I stare at him, as he winks at me, puts them back on, faking a frown again as he slowly sits back down, pressing his chin against the desk. I stare at him, as Alice seems pleased with herself for a second, before looking at me straight in the eye with a daydream in mind. I look at her, realizing that perhaps, I have sinned.

But is that bad?

I ignore the other two teenagers which are about to tell fascinating facts about themselves as I let my gaze travel on her face, licking every inch of her ideal skin. There seems to be no trace of bad skin, as I’d usually have Lola wearing a facial mask every Sunday, which she labeled her beauty and school homework day. She’d sit near her table, chewing the tip of her pencil, doing everything possible for the awaiting week. Sometimes I’d join her, sometimes I’d just watch her, sometimes I’d distract her.

Sometimes… I didn’t love her, did I?

He never liked her, as she’d rant on my mood swings, my dazing out.

Did I tell her?

Would I tell… her? I stared down at Alice, her gaze jumping from her teacher to her fellow classmates. Would I tell her? What would I tell where was the line to tell and where to keep the mouth shut, as the ring of denial seemed to be hidden somewhere under the bed.

How would she react to me becoming someone absolutely different and then back to myself in a while? What should I say? That I had a diagnosis. That that would mean unstableness in sanity, sudden move swings, no guarantee of anything actually. I could change without any reason or for any reason any at all.



I could change in the middle of a kiss.

I swallow, ignoring the students raising their voices to attract my attention. But none would run towards me to pull me by the collar so that I could lean against the floor, my lips swollen and eyes closed of thoughts bursting my cheek open with the wound the new paint for the walls.

I could lose the sense of reality. I could lose control. I could-

Your son seems stable, but if anything shows-

Shut up.

I’m not the one who will disappear.

I can. No, I can’t.

I look down on her, wishing for her face to be closer, I wish to tangle my fingers in her hair, like that… that daydream. I feel a sudden pain as I try to recall it. I watch the last student describe himself and afterwards I open the closet looking rather epic, trying to resemble a teacher at least in my actions.

I drag out a rather heavy skull and throw it upon my desk, ignoring the fact that it might crack.


“Right, kiddos, draw. Pencils only today. We’ll start with something basic, so I can see your possibilities. No helping each other, I’m the only helper her. Off you go.” I feel my voice crack at the end of the line, as I feel my breathing proceed in a harder way. I’m thirsty. I feel my body heat up, as if I am about to mutate. I am. Without any explanation, I run off into the corridor gasping for air. I press my spine against the wall, feeling myself slowly sliding down, but I hold myself. I push several steaks back, as I watch them fall back into place again.

I am staring at her full lips.

I am staring at her starry eyes.

I am staring at her, devouring her with my eyes.

I'm not going to compare her to anybody as she looks better than anyone, as I keep throwing away, like old clothes, the memories of my ex, out of the window on the head with the basket. Enough, enough, I’m no soapy good guy who will run up to her, throw roses at her feet and kiss the back of her wrists traveling with my kisses up until I’d reach the highest sin, her lips.

But I’d do that to Alice, let my lips travel all they want, because in this my lips’ mind isn't on its own, it actually was following my commands. I could feel her heavy breathing as she’d kick the door open. I could see her pressing her forehead against my own, surprised at my sudden kisses around her face and neck, as I pull her closer. She pins me against the wall, pressing her lips against my own, not waiting for anything to interrupt us. I dig my fingertips into her hair, pulling her closer.

The kiss never starts off slowly, fucking innocently. I’d laugh in their face, the moron who got one, when it was supposed to be mutual, they didn't care about the person then. to see that. The first kiss above all is hunger and longing for the action to take place and doesn’t even hint the smallest glimpse of innocence, yet it is rather sinful as your heart is in your throat, not holding the pleasure which is received.

Then I fell her drop her hands and fiddle with the bottom of my shirt-

My imagination goes wild and so does my mind. I open my eyes to see nothing, aside from the opposite white wall, screaming for something bright to colour its essence, like my own personal love life.

I exhale, banging my head against the wall, feeling a dull pain or rather an echo of it with millions of applauses and a few random tomatoes. I wrap my scarf looking as if I just put it on and with my hands in my pockets, I press myself against the door and walk inside, half the scarf, half my face, eyes lost and longing as I see the girl. I try to avoid her gaze, imagining the taste of her lips on my own. I start from the last row, slow torture, as I see her pressed against the desk, walking past the pierced guy, who isn't as bad as I expected, weirdos can draw, fuck the media, fuck, they can.

Some seem to scream of failure, but instead I sketch a few helping lines causing the seventeen year old Melee to show a week smile, praying that her mistake isn't as fatal as my face shows it. I smile, showing that it isn't that bad.

I had problems as well, not in portraits but with other tasks. I walk up to Richard whose skull was nearly done with a nice curse above it, showing some coolness, which in his opinion the skull lacked and myself included. I raise my eyebrow, holding myself, I tell him to rub it off, repeating it calmly. He curses as he rubs it off rambling what a fucker I am only in another context, pressing the eraser so hard that I expect a hole to the center of the earth with him sitting and showing off his tongue which just got pierced by the weird guy. I walk on, realizing that I didn't memorize any names and I could swear that most of them seemed new and unfamiliar to me as if the student which is sitting there was abducted by a slimy green alien with tentacles growing out of his face, a big white eye and pointy teeth, ear and tongue moving from side to side.

Despite the countless times I raise my gaze everybody still seems brand new despite the black haired girl, who, I hope is concentrated on her drawing. I really do, as I walk up, slowly as if creeping on her. I smile at her, as if I couldn’t imagine her leaning against me, as I was the one who pinned her against the wall, capturing her lips, crashing her body against my own. I took her pencil correcting the skull’s left eye or rather were the left eye was supposed to be. Then she taps her finger against the left corner of the page where my elbow was. A red tint crossed her face, as I look down.

Lola made the first move too.

Chapter 22

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