You're a Mind Fuck, Babe

Chapter 3: I'm So Dirty, Babe

I race home to make myself look better, butterflies rising up through my stomach into my chest the entire way to my place. When I get home, I see my mom's car in the driveway, meaning she's home earlier than I had hoped. I may have to sneak out if she tries to ask too many questions... since I don't have too many answers.

"Hey, honey," she says, greeting me from the kitchen, her voice slightly distant.

"Hey, mom," I reply, watching her enter the room and stare me up and down.

"Why do you have a collar around your neck?" She asks, her face puzzled.

"It's called style. I like it," I explain, assuming she won't question it too much in contrast to the remainder of my wardrobe being slightly edgy, too. She shrugs, and sits down in front of the TV in the living room.

"I'm gonna go do homework," I tell her, making my break for the stairs.

"Was detention that bad?" I nod my head, and run up the stairs. Once I enter my room, I close the door gently and gaze into the mirror hung above my dressed. I looked like this all day? My hair is all messed up, a tousling of dark brown hair, full of static, and my clothes made me look like they had been worn for a month straight then left on the floor for weeks, all crumpled and faded. I start picking up clothes off my floor, rummaging through them for my best and cleanest pair of skinny jeans. It takes me about 20 minutes to find them crumpled on the floor under my bed. I pull them out and shake the wrinkles out, returning their shape. I sniff them and they don't smell too bad. I pull off my pants and slide on the jeans. I hop up and down until they're over my ass and resting comfortably on my hips. I lay on my bed, breathing hard after all the effort to get my pants on. I stand back up with a new mission: shirt. Out of all the shirts I have, which one do I wear? I don't even know what he likes. I've been in his class three years... Come on, Frank, there has to be something! Fuck it. My brain hurts. I'll just put on one of my favorites, Misfits, or should I wear a Black Flag shirt. Why is this so fucking hard? I strip my shirt off and put on the shirt that smells the cleanest, which is the Misfits tee. I wear my Black Flag shirt too much, the black is fading into a dark grey. I head into the bathroom and take a closer look at my face. There aren't too many pimples today, so I should be okay. I run a brush through my messy hair. I try my best to fix my hair but it's not working with me today, it's sticking up where it shouldn't be, curling in on my face and looking fuzzy. I check the clock, 4:39. I almost jump. I'm gonna be late. I brush my teeth really quick and barely get the chance to put any eyeliner on. I hadn't worn any in awhile but special occasion, right? I run out the door, ignoring my mom who's trying to ask me where I'm going.

When I get to the library, it's 5:03 and I feel like he's going to be pissed. I spot him inside at a table with a coffee cup in his hands. I walk over to him, his attire hasn't changed and I see him smile as he notices that mine had. Oops.

"Hello there, Frank," he says, raising his hand and pointing to the seat beside him, showing me where to sit. I sit down and his smile gets wider as he makes eye contact with me. I can feel my breath become more rapid as thoughts flood my mind about what he could possibly be thinking about. I feel his foot rub against my leg, running up my thigh, a smirk on his lips. He rubs up and down on my inner thigh with his foot. I push his foot off my leg and he frowns.

"Aw come on, I was just playing," he says, a playful smile plastered on his soft face.

"But we're in public, people could see us," I reply, my heart beating in my throat.

"That's all part of the fun, babe."

"You know you could get in trouble, right?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."