can i help you? - jotaro kujo x reader

enough of you, really.

i get up.
"no, thank you. i'm capable of going on my own," i pat down the dirt off my uniform, nose still aching in sheer spite of the floor. he seems to give me a backwards glance.
if he were social enough, i feel like he would've spat all over my face. called me a slag, a whore, a bitch- and, not as if he hasn't done that prior, but he says nothing. not a word to me, turning around and walking off as if nothing had happened.
i guess he couldn't hurt his pride by helping a girl.
————————
sometime after, i'm sitting outside near a green patch of land, beside it accompanied a gravel walkway, slowly eroding from the thundering feet treading on its back. everyone would talk with their friends. do stuff. unfortunately enough for me, the only friend i did have fleeted my side for some competition she had to attend. as much as i was overjoyed for her accomplishment, my heart was aching.
having no one to talk to, bare bones, no one to show the hole in my tights to ask how big it is, no one to tell what happened on sunday night- it made me look awkward in comparison to all these other people. i felt as though i were being watched, intently, by everyone on that walkway- eyes traversing back and forth jabbing at how my hair looked or how my shoes weren't polished. i hated it, just like everyone else would.

a book is reeled out of my bag. i hadn't finished "Crime and Punishment", and decided to continue reading onward from page 216.
i was caught in a trance like state. words kept flowing on the paper, on and on and on, a rhythmic catch to each sentence. so caught up in it, that, surprisingly, i didn't notice someone standing behind me. i could only imagine i kept reading until they sharply coughed in order to get my attention. i swivel.

it's marayde.
i kiss my teeth, turning back round to face the pages, before she grabs me by my shoulder. "excuse me," she says, whiny, voice creasing with perfectionism and vitriol. i ignore her. "excuse me." she says again, her impatient tone covered by a winning smile. i finally turn to face her again.
"can i help you?" i mutter, returning her smile. "oh, of course you can! see," she points to a piece of paper in her hand. i can only stare at her in complete and utter confusion.
slowly, she unfolds it, the sharp bends of the sheet recoiling back into their original shape. she turns it around to face me.

in case it wasn't clear, she's a total nutter. always one of the groupies following that boy to school, obnoxiously chortling after he calls her a "useless bitch". does it seem particularly feminist of her? most definitely not, but the fact she gets no love at home doesn't particularly seem to be my problem either.
moving onward, i take the paper from her hands. albeit a bit crumpled, but the words written were still legible.
presumably, it was a letter Kujo had written to her. confessing his undying, burning love for her- how their relationship could be like a spark with wood; a flame of "passion". could i only cringe? absolutely, but saying something wouldn't be the best way to go about it.

i awkwardly cough. not only does this have nothing to do with me, whatsoever, at all- it's most definitely not something he would write himself. he probably writes about drug abuse and cars, just like any other teenage boy with a left ballsack.
"he's mine," she points an accusing finger at me, laying it on my breast. i snarl, pulling away from her touch. "who said i wanted him? dear god, i don't even know-"
she hushes me. and, again, lays a finger on my body. a cold finger is pressed against the heat of my lips.
to be honest, it was kind of hot.

"no, no, no, no." she shakes her head, laughing. "i saw that, in the classroom. all of it. why was he offering to help YOU? i don't understand. i've packed his lunch, i've-i've done everything i can. clutched his arm, teased him- why won't he help me instead? no one even knows your name."
and, all of a sudden, i changed my mind. i wanted to gut her in the jaw. relevant or not, my name didn't matter.

"i don't know. leave me alone," bell rings. "don't lie to me," she retorts, viciously eyeing me up. "tell me. tell. me." everyone goes inside. "what are you? his whore? his private hooker?" i pack my things away. "oh, answer me already!" something warm travels up the passage of my throat. "hello? anyone home?"
———————
i left her on the ground, face clutched in her frail hands, trembling with rage. she doesn't get up; doesn't say anything.
i walk away, as if nothing had ever happened.
and finally, it's next period.

————
[rewritten: 13 june 2022, monday.]
— 843 words. —