The Slap

This is it

Tristan stared intently at my laptop as Matthew came around, slinging his arms around Tristan's shoulders. 

"You have wifi!? How?", yelled Tristan, looking me in the eyes. God, I hated this kid. 

"Yeah? Now leave me alone", I retorted, obvious annoyance in my voice.

I hated this class. It, as a whole, made me wanna puke my guts up. It always smells of sweat and REALLY bad B.O., it had me silently gagging all the time. Don't get me started on the kids. Oh my fucking god these children. The boys are horny, annoying fucks who can't go five minutes without having the urge to moan and/or hump something and the girls always talked about crushes and ships. I hate this class with a burning passion. 

"What are you doing?", inquired Matthew.

"Writing", I said blandly. Why won't these two leave me be?

Then, almost out of nowhere, I watched as Matthew's hand slapped across Tristan's back. It was as if I was watching it all in slow motion. Oh dear god. I'm praying to all the gods ever and whoever responds, I'll start believing in starting yesterday.

The vilest, gut-wrenching, lip-puckering, toe-curling, back-breaking, ass-clenching moan escaped Tristan's mouth. I was in pure and utter shock. Did that just happen? And right next to my ear no less? This may be a common occurrence in this class, but it never ceases to horrify me.

Matthew and Tristan bursted into a fit of laughter as I sat, questioning my life choices. How did I get here? What life choices of mine led me up to that moment? As funny as this class might be, I really hate this class sometimes. Scratch that, most of the time.