- Nyctophilia - || EDDIE MUNSON

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

"𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗" - The Handsmaid Tale (Margaret Atwood)

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Ruin everything, ruin the painting; there is only so much beauty poor little old me can attain. Which is why, I am in the girls bathroom, at the given time I am supposed to be in English. I shouldn't even be avoiding class for this reason. I should be walking proudly; I have had many dreams like this one. I had one with Tom Cruise, but it isn't the matter of Tom. It is how I felt when I woke up!

I woke up with this ache to see more. With my boy Tom, it was one-and-done! Not some rendezvous that went all night. The fact that it was with someone I know, personally. I don't know how these sleaze bags from this school can even think of someone naked and not feel like a predator. I feel as if I am apex right now!

Just fix your hair, and walk around. No one will know, it isn't even a big deal. Plus, no one can read minds in this town. If some one did, it would be tits up in this hell hole. That's for sure.

"Just hustle up." I shake my body out, and jump back and forth. Each time Amy face gets closer to the mirror.

"You have been through hell...." I bop my hide side to side. "Literally. Whatsa' boy got to compete with? Nothing." I do some boxer jumps, small feet jumps. I grab my backpack and head out into the hallway. No one to be seen, just the way I like it.

I finally reach the classroom door, and I open it with subtly, "Thank you for the grand entrance, you can now find your seat." The door bangs on the wall behind, and I run towards the back. I finally find my place behind Eddie.

I lean back, and see my dress has wrinkled throughout the day. I really do hate wrinkles but solely on white clothes. It just irks my mind to know a line or two are a bit crooked. I run my hand on my dress, the only dress I have. Being worn by a pervert!

My god can my mind just quit it. It's already enough that I have spent half a day thinking about it; Now, I need to confront the man in question. Try to get these quirked feelings out of my system and mind.

"Heres the book that you uhm, lent me?" Eddie turns around and slides the book onto my desk. My good lord, those hands. I have read things in books that have described this moment in my head, but my head can not recall any of the words. There is that webbing between fingers, it has a thin and translucent nature to it. Thin and frail, a complete foil of what the rest of his hands look like. They look strong? God, I can't even think of any word to describe it more. Strong is a delicate definition to define the way his hands look around a book.

"You could have kept it." I whisper to him. Under the voice of the teacher, I am shocked she hasn't called us out. He opens the first couple of pages, the small inks of the letters within the page are crowded now. Before they were the words of the book, but the book had new narratives to it. In chaotic handwriting, in pencil; the new words written in the margins and all over.

"Started raining last night, the usual plans were cancelled." He kept flipping through the book. The webbed skin between each finger were small accordions that play a sensual tune. Folding itself in, and fanning itself out between each turn of the page. New narrative, new perspective over mine; Eddies thoughts all over the margins. "So, I gave this a try."

Margaret, you demented shit, say something, "How was it?" I look at the book, and back up to him. My question made his hands join his lips. Pensively in thought, my thoughts wandered to the decoration on his fingers. The rings must feel so cold, so hard but so cold. For fucks sake.