Sean had a bulge in his pants that had nothing to do with sexual pleasure. A girl didn’t cause it; at least not the one he wanted. He had a gun stuck down his pants, tucked in the waistband of his tightish jeans. Bessie, as Sean’s stepfather fondly referred to her.
He ducked his head against the rain, feeling the heavy drops smack his face anyway, stinging sharply on his exposed cheekbones. His black hair lay in dripping tangles over his fair skin.
“Yo, dude.” JR Grouter said; low-fiving Sean as he ducked into the school’s dry lobby. Sean lifted his chin in recognition, but didn’t follow JR into school; instead, he leaned against the brick wall outside, letting the rain stream down hi face, drenching his black sweatshirt.
He was waiting for her. The her, the girl of his dreams, and the blood in his veins. Taylor Anderson.
Finally he saw her car, pulling through the rain to the front of the school, her driver slowing at the door, where Sean stood up slightly taller.
God, she was so beautiful. She had curly red hair, obviously died, and with bleached streaks at the top and bluntly cut bangs.
“Screw you, Sean.” She had said, two weeks ago, when he’d mustered up all his courage and sauntered over to her lab table, where she sat with the curvy blonde she usually worked with.
“What?” He mumbled, sure he must have heard her wrong. “Taylor, I-”
“If you think that I’m going to date you, then you’re freakin’ retarded.” She had laughed, shoving up the sleeves of her cardigan. “I’m not into guys that are into guys.” She said, so low and so close to his face that anyone looking on would have thought she had kissed him. “Freakin’ f*****.” She said, and shoved past his roughly to the front of the room, where John Conrad was waiting, his blonde hair curled to perfection. She whispered something to him, and he pulled her up, her feet brushing his knees and kissed her on the nose.
Sean stood by, his books tapping the side of his leg. He felt dreadfully out of place. He felt like a German soldier in a Chinese war field. His long straight black hair had streaks of blonde in it, but nowhere near the same shade as John’s, which reminded him of wheat. John had bright green eyes, and Sean had large brown ones, that seemed to be made of liquid, and where it was difficult to determine where the iris stopped and the pupil began.
“What the hell,” John stepped forward and Sean instinctively backed up, “are you looking at, f**?”
“No-nothing,” Sean said, tripping over his words.
“What?” Shove, push. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you with your lishp.” Laughter from their classmates.
“Stop.” Sean said, as John knocked his books out of his arm, sending papers flying everywhere.
“Or what? Are you going to beat me up? Huh?” John’s broad chest was pressed against Sean’s skinny one, and even though Sean towered over John, he had no way to defend himself, and they both knew it. “Say something, f**.”
Shove punch.
Bruise laceration.
“John, come on,” Sean cried, as John’s fist caught him in his chest, knocking the wind right out of him. “Taylor-”
“What?” She said meanly, her flowered dress blowing around her thighs from the wind from the open window. “Do you need me to protect you?”
“No, he needs you to screw him, so he can see what it’s like to be with a girl.” John laughed, and yanked Sean up from the ground, roughly grabbing his thin wrist.
“Is that what you want Sean?” She asked, her hazel eyes narrowing.
“No-no.” He choked out.
“Screw with her Sean. Bang her like a drum. You play those, don’t you? You should know how.” John said, and Sean saw his own face, pale and taut with fear reflected in John’s eyes.
Seeing her today, her red hair pulled back into a high ponytail, her flowered high heels tapping on the cobblestone path, Sean felt his chest constrict. He pulled the black hood over his face, hiding his features from her as she passed.
He felt something land at his feet and saw a wad of tobacco land by his shoe as the door slammed behind her. He inhaled sharply, smelling the tobacco and then imagining he was tasting it on her lips instead.
In his mind he saw her cherry red lips pressed against his, and visualized her whisper that she loved him while they were somewhere secluded. He felt his heart pound heavier, as scenes ran through his head.
Taylor’s hand clenched in his.
Her hair in his hand.
His hand on the small of her back.
Tiny things that made him feel loved.
Things that should be taken for granted that made him feel as if every part of him were on fire.
Taylor made his heart feel as though a bullet had run through it at close range.
He reached into his pocket, felt the unfamiliar shape residing there. He ran his index finger over it, heard the lone bullet rattle inside.
He was going to show her how a bullet felt.