Status: Active.
It's Classy, Not Classic.
"We need to talk."
I'll tell you right now that it took a good long while of laying in bed in the dark staring at the ceiling of my bedroom to fully realize that I was no longer a virgin. Took me a long time to calm myself down after feeling the full out reality of it wash over me like some sort of fucking tidal wave, getting caught in an internal tsnuami that wouldn't stop by mere reassuring words. There was no one to give me those words either, the night was still a secret between Frank and I. Or atleast, I hadn't told anyone, I really couldn't say the same about Frank -- I didn't know if he'd told anyone. Hadn't talked to him since, although it wasn't that weird. It was only Sunday night, though I'm sure he won't be all up in my face tomorrow like he usually is. While I pray for it to not be awkward, somewhere deep down I know it'll be just that. Took me quite a while to stop freaking out that I didn't know wether or not having sex with him was good or bad, made it even worse when I couldn't decide if I loved it or hated it. I couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed though, I suppose thats natural, especially for your first time. You don't know if you should have waited longer, and in this case that was a definite. I was only fourteen, and Frank -- lord, Frank was eighteen. Four years apart, that shouldn't be right, and in fact it isn't. It was borderline statutory rape -- hell, it fucking was statutory rape. I knew I should have stopped what we were doing before everything went too far, I shouldn't have been so easy -- but ... this is Frank we're talking about. That really shouldn't change much at all, but it seemed to change everything.
The next day came around, and in Frank didn't show up to English. I was sure he was avoiding me, why else would he be skipping? For fun, but thats always a possibility. This time, though, he had a reason. An excuse, because maybe he thought it'd be awkward to speak to me after Friday night. He had, afterall, blindedly taken my virginity while I was intoxicated, and I suppose it'd be normal for him to feel somewhat ashamed. I was, myself, ashamed the slightest, like I said. It was still difficult to tell if it was a mistake for the both of us or not. That confused me more. It should be a mistake, shouldn't it? At the same time though, it all just felt so right, but in the most twisted way possible. It was so wrong -- so, so fucking wrong. It shouldn't have even happened, we shouldn't have even happened. We shouldn't have met, and sometimes I wonder what I'd be doing at that same moment if we hadn't. It was so wrong, but so right at the same time. Though maybe it felt so right for the soul fact that it was so wrong. Franks mischief was rubbing off on me, and I had my own penchant for troublemaking to begin with. Now it's worse, because of him. I loved it all so much because it was so frowned upon by everyone. It was a dirty little secret, and my body ached to have more of them.
When lunch hour came around, from not seeing a sign of Frank throughout the first half of the day I really doubted that he'd pop up out of nowhere like he usually did. Minutes into lunch hour, though, he did just that. Or, sort of, atleast. I was grabbed by the wrist on my way past the back area of the school. I was planning on cutting around, to figure out some sort of short cut. Instead, I was shoved against the brick wall roughly, and even for an absurd split second I thought someone was going to beat me up. I was proven wrong when a familiar thin pair of lips crushed against mine in a needy sort of way, their hand grabbing onto the back of my neck while they pressed themself against me, trapping me between them and the wall. The smell of cigarettes attacked my nose, and all I inhaled was cigarette smoke. My eyes shot open and from the corner of them saw a cigarette being crushed and put out against the wall beside me before my eyes met and adjusted with the close up of Franks face, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in some sort of weird relief. His tongue slipped out and easily slid through my lips, the taste of nicotine staining my tastebuds along with his very own flavour mixed with it that made my eyes flutter shut, that flavour now mixed with whatever flavour I may have as well. It all felt so natural. How could something so wrong feel so right?
I tore my lips from his and opened my mouth to speak, gasping for air, but before I could speak he cut me off, "Skip the rest of the day with me." He'd mumbled to me, brushing his thumb against my cheekbone randomly, and I stared at him, getting an innocent stare right back from him. Without thinking twice, I agreed, blinded by an innocent face that I was now vulnerable to. His hand grabbed mine and pulled himself away from me, instantly pulling me off along with him while my face still remained plastered with a blank, dazed expression. I didn't have a clue where we were going, but it couldn't be too bad, could it?
Underneath a large bridge that crossed a small secluded part of the shore of Jersey, I rubbed the side of my face blankly, wondering why we were here for the millionth time, feeling as if we'd been here for hours when really it'd only been about twenty minutes of absolute silence. Although Frank himself didn't seem to know why we here either, so I assumed he was just focusing on getting away from school for the rest of the day, and his mind just so happened to lead us here apparently. We stood in the shade, the car parked beside us under the bridge, my hand wrapped in his rather securely. He hesitantly turned to me, opening his mouth for not even a second to say something, but deciding otherwise and shutting it again. His hand let go of mine awkwardly and he slipped his hands into his jean pockets, clearing his throat. "We need to talk."
The next day came around, and in Frank didn't show up to English. I was sure he was avoiding me, why else would he be skipping? For fun, but thats always a possibility. This time, though, he had a reason. An excuse, because maybe he thought it'd be awkward to speak to me after Friday night. He had, afterall, blindedly taken my virginity while I was intoxicated, and I suppose it'd be normal for him to feel somewhat ashamed. I was, myself, ashamed the slightest, like I said. It was still difficult to tell if it was a mistake for the both of us or not. That confused me more. It should be a mistake, shouldn't it? At the same time though, it all just felt so right, but in the most twisted way possible. It was so wrong -- so, so fucking wrong. It shouldn't have even happened, we shouldn't have even happened. We shouldn't have met, and sometimes I wonder what I'd be doing at that same moment if we hadn't. It was so wrong, but so right at the same time. Though maybe it felt so right for the soul fact that it was so wrong. Franks mischief was rubbing off on me, and I had my own penchant for troublemaking to begin with. Now it's worse, because of him. I loved it all so much because it was so frowned upon by everyone. It was a dirty little secret, and my body ached to have more of them.
When lunch hour came around, from not seeing a sign of Frank throughout the first half of the day I really doubted that he'd pop up out of nowhere like he usually did. Minutes into lunch hour, though, he did just that. Or, sort of, atleast. I was grabbed by the wrist on my way past the back area of the school. I was planning on cutting around, to figure out some sort of short cut. Instead, I was shoved against the brick wall roughly, and even for an absurd split second I thought someone was going to beat me up. I was proven wrong when a familiar thin pair of lips crushed against mine in a needy sort of way, their hand grabbing onto the back of my neck while they pressed themself against me, trapping me between them and the wall. The smell of cigarettes attacked my nose, and all I inhaled was cigarette smoke. My eyes shot open and from the corner of them saw a cigarette being crushed and put out against the wall beside me before my eyes met and adjusted with the close up of Franks face, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in some sort of weird relief. His tongue slipped out and easily slid through my lips, the taste of nicotine staining my tastebuds along with his very own flavour mixed with it that made my eyes flutter shut, that flavour now mixed with whatever flavour I may have as well. It all felt so natural. How could something so wrong feel so right?
I tore my lips from his and opened my mouth to speak, gasping for air, but before I could speak he cut me off, "Skip the rest of the day with me." He'd mumbled to me, brushing his thumb against my cheekbone randomly, and I stared at him, getting an innocent stare right back from him. Without thinking twice, I agreed, blinded by an innocent face that I was now vulnerable to. His hand grabbed mine and pulled himself away from me, instantly pulling me off along with him while my face still remained plastered with a blank, dazed expression. I didn't have a clue where we were going, but it couldn't be too bad, could it?
Underneath a large bridge that crossed a small secluded part of the shore of Jersey, I rubbed the side of my face blankly, wondering why we were here for the millionth time, feeling as if we'd been here for hours when really it'd only been about twenty minutes of absolute silence. Although Frank himself didn't seem to know why we here either, so I assumed he was just focusing on getting away from school for the rest of the day, and his mind just so happened to lead us here apparently. We stood in the shade, the car parked beside us under the bridge, my hand wrapped in his rather securely. He hesitantly turned to me, opening his mouth for not even a second to say something, but deciding otherwise and shutting it again. His hand let go of mine awkwardly and he slipped his hands into his jean pockets, clearing his throat. "We need to talk."