All About Tabitha

Grayson

I felt good.

I felt accomplished.

I feel like I actually got somewhere with Tabitha, not that it matters. She doesn't matter but I can't stand someone hating me when they haven't even seen my full potential.

Yeah, that's why.

I couldn't help but notice how drained she looked as she left just now. Her eyes drooped a little while holding a fog clouding the lightness in them. Where a sneer was the past two days, there was a frown. Her shoulders were slumped and her walk was slow. All this was normal for me to notice; people say I'm very intuitive. I just pay a little more attention than the average person. It comes in handy at times but most, it just makes me overthink everything. You'd never know though, my resting douche face apparently is uncrackable and hard to read through which I'm way appreciative for; I worked hard to achieve it. Years of being ripped apart by my dad did me good in a way because now it's nearly impossible for people to tell when I'm actually hurt by what they said. It shuts unwanted confrontations down pretty fast. It seems to be what gets me in a lot of trouble with Tabitha, though.

That or my big mouth.

Something about her just makes stupid shit come out of my mouth and end up with a bruised ego or chewed apple spit on my favorite jacket. I will say, I deserved everything she's dished our to me so far, I'm surprised she was willing to move forward but I have a feeling it's because she wasn't fully herself. Tired, maybe.

It was Tuesday, we don't start our big history project till next week so I had time to work on my social skills with her; otherwise I was doomed to get an F and I already have a hard time in History. Plus, I don't need another thing for my dad to bitch about. Anything less than an A, the man blows a gasket. He didn't even finish high school. Who the fuc-

"Where ya off to, Gray?" Rachel asked, running her hand down the back of my jacket. I was putting my books in my locker, she stood at my side, the look she was giving me told me she had nothing to do but me. I closed my locker and leaned against it, crossing my arms. Rachel's long, platinum blonde hair looked like cotton candy at the ends, a strand of it was longer than the others. It's been 4 years and the girl still hasn't learned how to put in her extensions properly. I know this because I used to watch her take them out and put them back in whenever we'd sleep together.

"I was going home." Her lips curved into a smile, showcasing her overly white veneers, a diamond embedded in her canines. Her hand raised to my shoulder, squeezing it slightly. I've felt the way her bejeweled claws rake down my back, the outcome ain't pretty but she's a pretty good lay.

"Lemme take your mind off of home for a bit." Her smirk deepened as she kissed the corner of my mouth before kneeling down. My eyes widened, I grabbed at her shoulders but she just kept going lower.

"Rachel! Are you crazy?" I whispered/yelled. She let out a deep, raspy chuckle, pulling at my belt.

"Everyone's gone, Gray. Chill." I felt my heartbeat quicken, looking around for any sign of people. The moment her hand came into contact with me, my body tensed. From pleasure and anxiety. The thrill would be would gets me off though.

"Is this what you like, Gray?" I threw my head back, unable to respond. After about 3 minutes of getting a pretty decent blowjob, Rachel stood up, spitting on the floor. "The janitors will get it." I internally cringed. That's so fucking gross. "What do you say we go back to my place and yo-"

"Can't. Gotta get home." I said, zipping up my pants. I looked at Rachel, her thick, long fake lashes that were barely holding on, nearly covered her deep brown eyes. Parts of her foundation were smeared showcasing the paleness of her natural complexion. "Sorry, Rach." I walked away thinking about how at one point, Rachel was a decent person. I'd known the girl since kindergarten. She had this long, ash brown hair that was always in a high pony tail. Her mom would dress her in pink, frilly dresses. People would call her Angelica because she would always be bossing kids around but once you got to know her, which I did at one point, she was actually pretty funny. I figured one day she'd make a good business woman. It wasn't until her parents got a divorce and her dad remarried a plastic gold digger that Rachel turned into a fake Instagram model who was dying to become an influencer. She had about three hundred thousand followers on Instagram but life than half of them were bought.