Thirty Two - Intense Pleasure

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Bent over on the end of the bench, I looped my laces together, hair flopping into my eyes and obscuring my sight as my fingers fumbled. A final pull secured my sneakers and I straightened up, tugging my pants up higher on my hips and going to grab my hoodie from my locker.

Instead of seeing my red sweatshirt dangling on a hook where I’d left it, though, I saw  Alex pulling it on, shoulders rolling as the fabric covered them and fingers disappearing into the extended sleeves. He turned around, grinning that cheeky smile at me as I copied it with a bemused stare. Alex stuck his hands in the pockets, yanking the hood higher on his neck and offering absolutely no explanation for his random swiping of my clothing.  

With no desire to take back my hoodie, I stepped onto the bench separating the lines of lockers, walking over the binders and books splayed out on it. Getting to Alex’s locker, I ignored the curious look that Kellin gave me from the end of the row, tapping the door wider open and rolling my eyes at the mess inside. While I preferred to have my clothes organized and easily accessible, Alex stereotypically never cleaned anything out unless he was forced to, and, apparently, still had goggles from swimming in his junk. This was especially odd, since I didn’t recall him ever using them; he’d scrubbed the chlorine out of his eyes and blinked erratically until they were properly usable after resurfacing when we were doing swimming. Strange.

Dismissing that oddity, I slipped into the gray sweatshirt tossed over the jumbled objects. Shrugging as it slid over my shirt, I smiled to myself, pleased with its softness and ends that rubbed over my knuckles. I clicked Alex’s locker shut and strode back over to the boy, ruffling my hair as I went and grinning goofily.

It was weird, that the class I’d once so intensely despised had become my favorite period since entertaining people were added and actual effort was subtracted from it. Giving up on getting a great grade and somewhat enjoying myself instead was probably a bad decision for the future, but aren’t immediate results always more rewarding than those that take an eternity to earn?

Alex glared at me as I strolled over to him, fake pouting and crossing his arms, fingers completely covered by the folds of my hoodie. He was perfectly aware of how incredibly adorable he was to me and used this to his advantage, becoming agonizingly cute rather than pissy whenever he expressed discontent. Truthfully, this was a fabulous strategy, even more so when we were in school and public, because I couldn’t currently kiss his puckered lips. Rude, really,  being so sweet when I wasn’t permitted to taste it.

“You’re an asshole,” he declared, squinted eyes spanning over me as he shook his head, honey hair fluttering and blond stripes shaking with the movement.

“That’s true, but what makes you say it now?” I said, checking the time with the clock on the wall and offering a hand to my boyfriend with a questioning smile, both asking what had suddenly caused him to announce that I was a dick and if we could leave so we weren’t late for science. We needed to collect our appropriate school supplies and cover the entire campus in the next five minutes.

“You look better in my hoodie than I do. Totally not cool.” Alex stated, linking our hands and moving towards the exit, offsetting his fake-annoyed words. I refrained from replying that he was the only reason that I wasn’t in my own clothes, or laughing at the absurdity of him believing that I could ever be more attractive than him in any conceivable circumstances, and silently appreciated Alex’s naivety. While the older boy was obviously incorrect, I’d be insane to object to being viewed falsely positively by someone like him. If he wanted to think that I was hot, then that was great. That was awesome. Super.

I internally contemplated whether or not Alex would call me crazy if I said that he was completely superior to me. I couldn’t think of a defendable opposing argument, but, then again, maybe Alex, so wonderful in my eyes, couldn’t offer a supporting one. Why is it so absurd to us that definitely incredible others hate themselves when we reject compliments as lies? If only our opinions of ourselves were identical to those of random strangers whom we thoughtlessly pass.

Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)Where stories live. Discover now