FEEL

35. Vaucasy

Vaucasy ~ the fear that you're a little more than a product of your circumstances

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

For a long few minutes, my thoughts were of nothing but Mr Dawson and the Kayla girl from the garden. That was until I heard giggling next to me and turned to see Riyele with her phone surreptitiously pointed to Mr Pierce in the driver's seat. She sat right behind the passanfer seat, huddled with Priyanka as they both stared like starstruck groupies at the phone. It was blatantly obvious to me that they were taking pictures of him, but I guess not to him because he was obliviously holding conversation with Austin.

“OMG, look at his arms,” Riyele whispered excitedly to Priyanka, who shuffled closer to look at the image on the phone screen while they took pictures of him.

“He's so hot” she whispered back zealously, “Get his jawline...”

After dropping off the others at school, I returned to the front seat and we were on the road home. Since then, it never left my head, the way they swooned over him, the comments they would make, how they giggled and gawked and praised him.

My gaze drifts to him almost unconsciously and I can't help but scowl. Goddamnit, they're right. He's absolutely astounding. You'd have to be blind not to see it and unfortunately, I'm not the only one in the world with good eyesight.

Yet, he sits there unaware that his eyes alone could weaken any woman to her knees and render her completely mute. That any if not all women envied the shirt that he wore, how it grasped his muscled arms, his firm chest, traced along the ridges of his abdomen so that each bump of his abs could just barely make an appearance. That they yearned to be his tailored pants, to hold his hips the way that it does, graze along his pelvis and shape his crotch, tease the sight of it enough to be both modest and alluring.

I wonder how many lucky women had the chance to slip their hands into his hair while he kissed her without mercy. How many had their legs around his waist while he gave to her the best of his manliness, surrendered his virility while he took her femininity and nurtured it, pleased it, watered it like one would sow seeds in their garden. I wonder who she was, who was lucky enough to have awoken such depth of his masculinity. To have introduced it to the worthy fruit of a female and had done it so well that he decided it was the only kind he wished to partake of.

However much I wanted to know, I didn't ask. Perhaps if I was lucky enough, he'd tell me in his own time.

The only time I stopped being restless over what happened in the car was in the late evening hours, when all the lights in the house were off and the bustling in the streets slowed down enough to make the environment relatively silent. When he visited like a dream in the middle of the night, stole my lips for the next hour and then left too soon for my liking.

It was what made me realize that at least for that hour, he was mine. Any other woman could salivate and long for just two minutes with him and I took his nights, however short it may be for.

It wasn't until Monday morning that I thought of Kayla again. Strangely enough, I never really noticed the girl at school before, let alone knew her name. She blended in like fruits in a smoothie, creating a new phenotype with them and making it impossible to see her individual self. After I'd seen her at the garden, she became easy for me to decipher among the flock.

She hung out with one girl, a dirty-blonde haired girl with glasses the size of two oranges that made her eyes look tiny beneath the lens. I wanted to walk up to her so badly during class, but she stared me down with warning. It became clear that at school, we didn't know each other and it should remain so. Or at least she wanted it that way.