FEEL

45. Hiddled

Hiddled ~ feeling the loneliness of having to keep a secret to yourself

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

I wrote his name eighteen times on my science book.

I finely penned it in pink across the borders, in cursive, hearts and purple butterflies surrounding the space between them. I like to look at his name. Every letter feels like being closer to him somehow. Mrs Bradfield, our new Biology teacher, blabbed on about Phenotypes and Genotypes, but I couldn't care less.

Over and over again, I reminisced of his hands on my skin. Oh my god, he had put his hands on me. Cameron Pierce had touched me. Not just touched me, but pleasured me. I write his name again and add a few more hearts. My legs squeeze and I could just barely feel the imprint of his fingers in me, on me.

The room is hot.

Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I've gone sick. That's it. I'm sick and he's the cure. He's my medicine. And much like an infected patient, I would die without the cure. I didn't just want it, I need it. My body needs it.

I don't even know that I'm lifting my hand until Mrs Bradfield says my name. "Yes, Aquila, what is it?"

"I'm not feeling really well," I say softly, but it's loud enough that she hears me. I sit in the front of the class, so it shouldn't be much trouble. "May I go sit in the nurse's office until after school?"

She frowns and assesses me briefly. It seems that I do a good job convincing her, because she nods. "Of course. I'll be sure to send some notes to the group chat so that you don't miss out."

I start to pack my books away, barely listening to her. I don't really care whether or not I catch up right now. I try not to be hasty while I put my pencil bag into my backpack after my books, zip it up, then sling it onto my back. I'm sure my steps aren't too swift as I leave. At least not until I'm out of the class and headed to Cameron's classroom.

My heart beats faster the closer I get there. My palms are moist, but that's far easier to ignore than the moisture between my legs. I wasn't lying when I told Mrs Bradfield that I wasn't feeling well. It was just not in the same sense that she imagined.

When I reach his class, I knock softly. His gentle voice breaks through the door, telling me to come in. I release a tight breath for composure, before pushing the door open and entering.

Cameron sits alone in his desk, the class empty as I knew that it would be. He always has a free period when I'm in Biology. He must be doing some marking, though, because there's a pen in his hand while he scans what looks like an essay in the other, reading glasses purched at the bridge of his nose. I do a sweep of his body while I push the door closed by leaning back onto it.

When it clicks shut, Cameron raises his eyes up to me. They're crystalic and bright under the afternoon sun skating in through the open windows. He quickly surveys my body, then turns back to concentrate on marking.

"You should be in class," Cameron tells me monotonous without looking at me.

I drop my backpack right at the door and begin smooth strides towards him. "I fell sick," I justify with a brief shrug.

"Then you should be in the nurse's office."

I reach his desk and place my hand on the stack of papers on it, stalling by half picking each one as if I were counting them. "The nurse can't help me." With one deliberate step, I compromise his personal space.