Dora × swiper

1: Piss

Dora's pov:

As I stumble through the hallway, I clutch at my shoulder, desperately attempting to rid myself of the stinging pain that resides there. The shard of glass that's embedded there forces out drops of my scarlet blood.

I hear my parent's shouts from behind me but I don't look back. I run to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Once I'm no longer in my parents' sight, they forget about me - must be the alcohol.

Glaring at the girl in front of me, I critique every inch of her appearance. Her massive forehead, her oddly shaped nose, her body laced with rolls, her hair scruffy and in knots. If I could punch her, I would but that would break the mirror.

Cringing as I tug out the shard of glass that had found itself home in my shoulder, I plop it down on the bathroom counter and pull out the first-aid kit. Carefully, I clean my wound and wrap my shoulder in bandages as best I can.

I've done this before. It's not rare.

I check my watch and gasp. I'm going to be late for school. With all the strength I can muster, I dash out of the bathroom and sprint all the way to school.

Panting, I arrive only five minutes after the bell had rung it's hideous tune. Most people would call school hell, but not me - I call it my safe place.

My safe place away from them. My parents. If you could even call them that.

I burst into the classroom, ignoring the burning agony that I feel in my shoulder when I knock it against the door.

"Ah Dora, nice to see you've decided to join us!" The teacher - Mr Perkins says.

"Yep." I respond and take my seat next to my fiancé.

Yes, fiancé.

He smiles at me when I sit down and places his small hand on my thigh. Slowly, he moves it higher until it reaches the hem of my stylish orange shorts.

"Not now." I whisper.

"You're such a prude." He snarls back.

"We're literally in class!"

"Let's give them a show then." His hand travels further.

I push it off, annoyed at him.

"Fucks sake. You're so selfish, why can't you let me do what I want for once in your life," he mutters under his breath frustratedly.

"Boots..." I mutter ashamed, as I try to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Just leave me alone. I don't want to talk to a selfish bitch like you."

Am I really selfish? Am I acting like a bitch? I hate myself.

With tears clouding my vision, I ask the teacher if I can go to the toilet. He says no. As tears roll down my cheeks, little drops of urine roll down my other cheeks.

"Ew look she is actively weeing!" The girl behind me says and points at the puddle that had formed under my chair.

I hear a chorus of ews and the occasional yum. Sobbing, I run out of the classroom - only one thought, one song, one phrase replaying in my mind.

This is my fight song.

***

Hurriedly, I make my lonesome way to the canteen where I purchase a cheese sandwich. The cheese is cold, like my cheeks (both kinds), the bread is hard and edged by a thick layer of crust, like my toes.

I moan viciously as I bite into the crumbly bread. It reminds me of my great grandma Edna. When her ashes crumbled out of the urn I dropped last week.

I make my way over to my usual table, next to Boots and his friends. However, when I get near, Boots turns and stops me in my tracks.

"Only potty-trained people are allowed to sit with us so go drink your piss somewhere else!" he motions to the glass of yellow liquid I'm clutching.

"It's apple juice..." I mumble and turn to go sit at another table.

To my utter dismay, they're all filled. Nowhere for little old me to sit. Sighing, I make my way to the toilets so I can be like those main characters in films who eat while on the toilet but not actually using it.

Everyone's staring at me. Muttering about how I'm the piss girl. I hear one girl from a table shout, "Dora the explorer? More like Dora the urinator!" The entire school, even the dinner ladies, burst into giggles.

My pink shirt suddenly feels too tight, my orange shorts feel too short and my purple backpack feels too heavy. Thank God the pee stains have mostly dried up.

As I'm about to run out, a large hand grasps my arm. I spin, eyes wide, to see who had gripped me.

Woah.

No way.

This can't be happening.

The most popular, hottest, baddest boy in school was holding my arm firm in his clutch.

"I admired what you did back there," he spoke.

"W-what?" I stutter, looking up at his 6'4 athletic build. My 4'11 body felt inferior to him.

"In the classroom. When Mr Perkins wouldn't let you urinate so you defied him and did it in front of everyone."

"O-o-oh th-thanks?"

"I like it when girls do that."

"Y-you have a p-p-piss kink?" I question nervously.

"I meant I like it when girls break the rules," he pauses, "But I'm not denying the second part." He bites his top lip seductively, causing butterflies to erupt in my petite stomach.

"Oh." Is all I can muster.

"What are you even doing with a jerk like Boots anyway?"

"It's complicated," I sigh.

"It always is with a gal like you." He smoulders, "But believe me, you can trust me."

"Well, I'm engaged to Boots as you may know but what you don't know is that I don't want to be. I don't want that life. My parents are forcing me to marry him."

"What?" He steps slightly closer to me.

"It's an arranged marriage. Boots' dad is really rich. He's the CEO of ugg boots incorporated!! So, of course they want me to marry him."

"Do you love him?" He's now towering over me.

I stay silent.

He places his furry fingers under my chin and tilts it so I meet his dark eyes.

"Tell me, Dora. Do you love him?"

"No." I realise. "No, no I don't love him, I don't even like him. I hate him. I hate him so much. But there's nothing I can do about it. I am his betrothed. I am his. I belong to him, well I will belong to him."

"Not if I can help it." That's all he says before pouting, flipping me the peace sign and leaving.

Did I just have a conversation with THE Swiper?

Holy fuck.