I'm Not a Whore, I'm a Leech

I'm Not a Whore, I'm a Leech (Chapter Six)

The regular clicking of my heels rings out in the deserted corridors as I follow the tall figure of James Hatty up to the library. Due to my regular visits to the place, I have seen Hatty go up there every Thursday after school since the start of the year. His jeans don’t quite reach his heels as he walks and everytime he takes a step the pale skin of his ankle is exposed hinting at either a recent growth spurt or a lack of money to buy new ones. His tattered school bag is covered in drawings and doodlings.  

 

He seems unaware of my presence behind him, though I have taken no measure to conceal myself from him. His carefree walk and the swinging of his arms gives me the impression that his thoughts are focused elsewhere than the dreary corridor we are walking through.

 

As he ascends the stairs to the library, I deposit my bag by the tapestry of a hunt in the Middle Ages, take a selection of books out and readjust my crimson red and jet black hair. I tug my shirt down to expose a little of the skin on my chest. It takes Hatty several minutes to find the book he is looking for, then he comes jumping down the steps, two at a time.

 

As he reaches the bottom step, I step forward and we collide. I make no attempt to stop the books from spilling out of my arms as I fall gracefully onto my butt. Hatty looks startled, clearly not thinking anyone would be here at this hour.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, reaching out to pick up some of my scattered books. “You’re reading Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet?” he comments, handing back the book I had picked up from the library earlier.

 

“Yeah,” I reply shyly, ducking my head and looking up at him through my eyelashes.

 

“Cool. I didn’t realize you were into Mystery. You seem more of a Fantasy sort of person.” He frowns and I cannot help but snort.

 

“Fantasy? What in God’s name makes you think I would be into Fantasy?” I snort again, the shy façade fading quickly.

 

“I don’t know, you just seem the type- dreamy, vacant, a little odd….” He shrugs.

 

“Odd? How kind of you,” I smirk and he blushes slightly.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that, just unusual….” I just continue to stare at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, please don’t be offended, I have a habit of saying the wrong thing,” he pleads, clearly concerned he has upset me. I look down letting out the smallest of sighs. “Please don’t be upset,” he mutters, stepping closer to me.

 

“I’m not upset,” I whisper, refusing to look up at him. He steps even closer and reaches out a hand to tilt my chin up. I still refuse to look at him.

 

“Please, Donahue,” he begs, brushing some hair from my face. “I didn’t mean to upset you. To be honest, I think being unusual is a good thing so really, it was meant to be a compliment…,” he explains with a half-smile. Deciding now is the perfect time to pounce, I lean closer and gently press my lips to his.

 

His reaction is instantaneous as he springs away from me, knocking into the wall on the other side of the corridor. He stares at me with wide and confused eyes. I stare right back at him.