𝖊𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊

𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖊

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TW: brief physical sexual harassment, not very explicit but implied

***

Irene, thankfully, saved me from the crowd. She chatted my ear away, and even though this was my fourth day of school, I was already used to it.

As soon as we walked in, we were greeted by a terrible sight.

Ms. Rosaline wasn't here. In her place was Mr. Randy. Irene dropped her jaw in horror. I stepped outside, looking at the room number, making sure I was in the right room.

"You're in the right room. Matthew checked five times, then he checked his schedule. Then, he went to the office to make sure his schedule was right." A girl in the front row told me, pointing to the guy at her right, who was still in disbelief.

Mr. Randy smirked at me, leaning forward, hands clasped together. But hey, at least he was wearing a shirt inside his sweater, right?

No, not really. It was dampened with sweat. It was repulsing. Irene had to stop herself from physically vomiting. I, on the other hand, was used to such sights and worse.

"When I call your name, say here." He finally spoke after a couple more students entered the classroom with the same horror on their face.

When he called my name, a devious smile appeared on his face, and he took great pleasure in saying my name, eyes rolling upward as if he was suppressing a moan.

"So Ms. Rosaline left a note that all of you were writing poems." He walked across the room. "I want you to write a poem flattering me, and you will submit it to me five minutes before class ends. If I like it, you can leave. If I don't like it, we will have a chat."

My god, can lightning strike me right now and take my life? Or can I just jump out a window?

It seemed like Mr. Randy had an idea of what we were all thinking, because he shut down the window, even though the heaters were on full blast. We got to work.

I looked up to see Mr. Randy staring at me, while licking his lips. He saw me looking and gave me a wink, before taking off his sweater to reveal such ugliness that someone actually vomited in the trash can.

After the agonizing minutes, Mr. Randy decided to walk down the aisles to see what we were writing. He peered over everyone's shoulders, but stayed at my desk the longest.

He bent down, whispering in my ear to stay after class. It took everything inside of me to not twist his arm, kick him repeatedly in the balls, and run all the way home.

He ended up dismissing the class about ten minutes early, and everyone rushed out of the class. I told Irene that I had to stay afterwards. She refused to leave me behind, but Mr. Randy threatened her with her grades. She gave me an apologetic look before leaving.

Mr. Randy locked the door and covered the windows, so no one could see. He sat down in the chair, legs spread wide apart, staring at me.

"Yes?"

"Come closer."

I walked until I was a feet away from him

"Closer. I'll tell you when to stop."

WARNING: physical sexual harassment

"Stop." I was literally in between his legs. I could feel his boner rubbing my thighs. It seemed to arouse him because he threw his head back and groaned.

His hands roamed my body, stopping at my chest, touching it before lowering his hands, starting to play with the hem of my pants. 

I eventually zoned out, not processing anything, just accepting it. I couldn't do anything, not because I wanted to, but because my body was on autopilot after all those times my mother had sold me.