The Virgin and the Whore

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I was going to be late for Professor Connor's class. Again. And this time it had nothing to do with my questionable sex life. I was waiting in line to pay for my muffin and coffee, to be a good boy and not go to class on an empty stomach but there were way too many people that had shared my brilliant idea this morning and it was taking forever to pay. That's what I got to try to be a good student. I should have just woken up in a stranger's bed and smoked a cigarette to quench the hunger.

I kept checking the time on my watch, my leg shaking impatiently.

And to make matter worse, suddenly there was a commotion at the beginning of the line.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" a voice I unfortunately recognized, yelled. I think there was an answer to that question and then "Are you going to pay for this? Seriously! The hell are you doing, picking up your filthy pennies?"

Alright. I was officially going to be late. Maybe kicked out of college too if I could hopefully punch someone. I got out of the line and towards the unicellular turd making a ruckus.

There he was, the quintessential trust fund douchebag with his Lacoste polo and his hair gel. "Bradley, my dear, can you shut your stupid mouth and let people pay their food and go on with their lives?"

I was expecting the smirk he gave me. Of course. That sack of crap always had a superiority complex around me. He started pre-med one year after me, but since he was older because he started college at eighteen like most people, he was always on my case, always trying to make me feel like I didn't belong, like I was worthless, like I could never match up to him. I didn't need anyone to tell me I didn't belong—I kinda always felt that way. But that loser could never make me fell like I was less than him, because when it came to medicine, I always outsmarted him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Nik the Tit." I didn't cringe at the nickname, when your last name was Titchen, you go used to it. I had heard worst. And he had never known my actual full first name so that was quite helpful. "How's life after dropping out of med school because your daddy died and he can't do your homework for you anymore?"

I shouldn't have been adding fuel to the flame but I couldn't help myself. "Bradley Sills, what a joy. How does it feel to be the cumshot your mother should have swallowed?" I turned around ignoring his reply because the lunch-cashier lady kept asking, "Miss? Miss? Miss? Are you going to pay for that now? Can you all just move?"

I sort of sucked in a breath when I realized that the girl that was causing the commotion along with Douche-Bag-Bradley was the Scarred-Mouse-Girl from my class. Her sweater was covered with coffee—the coffee Bradley had obviously spilled on her. She was holding on to an apple and the cheapest kind of juice you could get in here. Her eyes were filled with tears and she was shaking. How this girl managed to function in society still baffled me.

"I'll pay for everything," I told the lunch lady and threw a twenty at the counter. People in the line started to clap because they could finally start paying too.

"Come on, we'll be late for our class," I told the girl. She wasn't looking in my eyes. She was staring at her shoes, or well at the bottom of her ridiculously long skirt. And I think she was about to cry. From what I had seen of her so far, that was the best bet.

I wanted to guide her away by pushing her back or something, but I figured touching her might have her run away screaming, so instead I took the juice and apple from her hand, balancing my muffin and coffee in the other and repeated "come on," motioning with my head.