Killing Jar
Killing Jar; 07
I brushed my hair quickly, re-straightened it and fixed my eyeliner up. It had managed to smudge under my eyes a little, so only a bit of retouching was needed to be done. Once happy with what I looked like, I started to pack my bag.
Taking out the new underwear I bought and realizing that I should probably try it on now, if it didn’t fit later I would look like a bit of an idiot. I pulled my top off and then my plain black bra, putting the lacy peach one over my breasts and fastening the clasp at the back. It took me a while to learn how to do that, to reach around my body to do it up – but I managed.
I turned to face my mirror, checking it fitted and it did. I smiled before pulling it back off to put my normal bra back on and snapped the label off of my new one, throwing it into my rucksack along with the thong after I pulled its label off. I grabbed a clean pair of black flared jeans and a Slipknot t-shirt for tomorrow. I grabbed all of my make-up off of my desk and chucked it into my make-up case before into the bag it went. I didn’t bother with the makeup remover; Stef would have that and if I wanted a shower I could always borrow her towel – as I always did when I went around: I had been for my whole life.
I zipped my bag up and slung it over my shoulder before walking down the stairs, remembering I probably needed one more pair of knickers as I was staying two nights and had to run all the way back up to my room to grab a pair of plain black ones. I stuffed them into my jacket pocket and ran back down the stairs, grabbing my bag at the bottom and walking into the kitchen to leave a note for my mum.
Gone to Steffy’s, I’ll be there for tonight and probably tomorrow night.
Love, Emily
Xo
She didn’t know about me or Stef; she was completely in the dark about my sexuality, though in me saying that she probably did know. It wasn’t the hardest thing to work out, I kind of dressed as if I was a lesbian, and she knew that Stef was gay.
I put the pen back in the pencil pot in the middle of the table and attached the note to the fridge with the magnet of a letter ‘S’ – I smiled at the letter, knowing why I picked it as soon as I did and I turned around to walk out of my house and make my way to Stef’s.
I checked my watch: 5:45. That was good, it didn’t make me seem too eager to get to her house, and it didn’t make me seem as if I was going out of my way to make myself incredibly late. I pulled my MP3 out of the front pocket of my bag and placed my headphones over my head: I had the old school ones, ‘cause I was cool, and also because the ear buds don’t fit in my ears properly. Damn my small ears.
I walked out of the door, grabbing my keys off of the stand by the shoe rack and locked the door behind me, heading for the bus stop as usual. I changed my MP3 to CKY and started off down the street to wait for the bus to come.
It came just as I approached the stop - I always seemed to have perfect timing for these things – and I climbed on, ready for the three stops before I had to get off to get to Stef’s apartment.
A big group of chavs got on the bus and I cringed as I saw them head towards the back of the bus where I sat. I knew they were the few people who did hate me, lesbians and chavs do not mix well. I knew homophobic remarks were going to start firing at me so I turned the volume on my MP3 up so I could block out their taunting.
I felt my hair get tugged and I shot them a dirty look, noticing as one of the girls in the skimpiest skirt leaned back into her seat, giggling at the fact she had just pulled my hair. People these days had absolutely no life, and were utterly pathetic.
The tugging of my hair continued until I had to get off the bus and I ran all the way to Stef’s house, not caring about getting sweaty. I just needed to cool off some steam, quick. Make a cup of coffee at her house, black: sugar and milk ruins it.
I rang her doorbell multiple times, panting from running for about fifteen minutes and she opened the door, grinning at me and ushering me inside.
She laughed at me, as I pulled my Doc Martins off –which she liked to call my fetish boots- and still breathing heavily.
“Why are you so out of breath?” she giggled and I grinned up at her from my position on the floor, legs spread apart and bent at the knees so I could reach down to unzip them.
“Chavs on the bus, tugging my hair,” I shrugged my shoulders and her face fell.
“Sorry, hon,” she mumbled and helped me up off of the floor, placing a quick peck on my lips.
I shrugged my shoulder again, “it doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t: I wasn’t too bothered about it, I had gotten used to it, it was just really pathetic and pointless of them. I knew they were looking for some kind of a reaction, for me to snap back at them – and they didn’t get one. They were just stupid sluts who couldn’t do anything better in life.
I pushed my lips up against hers again and felt her push back, before I pulled away and sauntered over to the kitchen; laughing when I heard her groan in protest and chasing me towards the kitchen. I didn’t speed up, and let her wrap her arms around my waist and nestle her face in my neck, quickly kissing the spot below my ear and taking a hold on my hand and I dragged her over to the cupboard I knew she had coffee in.
I put a few spoonfuls of the coffee powder into her plunger, and started to boil the kettle. I skipped over to a different cupboard to grab two mugs and placed them by the plunger, waiting for the water to boil so I could get my coffee sooner.
Stef rubbed my stomach, smiling at me and I grinned in return, leaning up to push my lips once again against hers and she opened her mouth up, letting my tongue in. I swirled my tongue around her mouth, feeling her repeat my action and I let out a breath into her mouth, giggling slightly. She laughed into my mouth in reply and pulled away, kissing my forehead as the kettle clicked off, signally the water was boiled.
I waited around 30 seconds until I poured the water into the plunger: a coffee boiled is a coffee spoiled, my mum always used to say, and I put the lid of the plunger on top of the glass tube to wait for the coffee powder to mix with the water.
A few minutes passed and I pushed down the rod on top of the plunger, causing the filter to fall down slowly and push the powder – which was now goo – to the bottom of the tube and I poured myself a full cup and Stef a half a cup. I knew she liked to add a lot of milk to her coffee, and I had no idea how she could. Milk is utterly disgusting.
“Thanks, babe,” she mumbled before going to the fridge to pull the carton of milk out and pouring it into her coffee, stirring it with the teaspoon she had pulled out earlier.
Taking out the new underwear I bought and realizing that I should probably try it on now, if it didn’t fit later I would look like a bit of an idiot. I pulled my top off and then my plain black bra, putting the lacy peach one over my breasts and fastening the clasp at the back. It took me a while to learn how to do that, to reach around my body to do it up – but I managed.
I turned to face my mirror, checking it fitted and it did. I smiled before pulling it back off to put my normal bra back on and snapped the label off of my new one, throwing it into my rucksack along with the thong after I pulled its label off. I grabbed a clean pair of black flared jeans and a Slipknot t-shirt for tomorrow. I grabbed all of my make-up off of my desk and chucked it into my make-up case before into the bag it went. I didn’t bother with the makeup remover; Stef would have that and if I wanted a shower I could always borrow her towel – as I always did when I went around: I had been for my whole life.
I zipped my bag up and slung it over my shoulder before walking down the stairs, remembering I probably needed one more pair of knickers as I was staying two nights and had to run all the way back up to my room to grab a pair of plain black ones. I stuffed them into my jacket pocket and ran back down the stairs, grabbing my bag at the bottom and walking into the kitchen to leave a note for my mum.
Gone to Steffy’s, I’ll be there for tonight and probably tomorrow night.
Love, Emily
Xo
She didn’t know about me or Stef; she was completely in the dark about my sexuality, though in me saying that she probably did know. It wasn’t the hardest thing to work out, I kind of dressed as if I was a lesbian, and she knew that Stef was gay.
I put the pen back in the pencil pot in the middle of the table and attached the note to the fridge with the magnet of a letter ‘S’ – I smiled at the letter, knowing why I picked it as soon as I did and I turned around to walk out of my house and make my way to Stef’s.
I checked my watch: 5:45. That was good, it didn’t make me seem too eager to get to her house, and it didn’t make me seem as if I was going out of my way to make myself incredibly late. I pulled my MP3 out of the front pocket of my bag and placed my headphones over my head: I had the old school ones, ‘cause I was cool, and also because the ear buds don’t fit in my ears properly. Damn my small ears.
I walked out of the door, grabbing my keys off of the stand by the shoe rack and locked the door behind me, heading for the bus stop as usual. I changed my MP3 to CKY and started off down the street to wait for the bus to come.
It came just as I approached the stop - I always seemed to have perfect timing for these things – and I climbed on, ready for the three stops before I had to get off to get to Stef’s apartment.
A big group of chavs got on the bus and I cringed as I saw them head towards the back of the bus where I sat. I knew they were the few people who did hate me, lesbians and chavs do not mix well. I knew homophobic remarks were going to start firing at me so I turned the volume on my MP3 up so I could block out their taunting.
I felt my hair get tugged and I shot them a dirty look, noticing as one of the girls in the skimpiest skirt leaned back into her seat, giggling at the fact she had just pulled my hair. People these days had absolutely no life, and were utterly pathetic.
The tugging of my hair continued until I had to get off the bus and I ran all the way to Stef’s house, not caring about getting sweaty. I just needed to cool off some steam, quick. Make a cup of coffee at her house, black: sugar and milk ruins it.
I rang her doorbell multiple times, panting from running for about fifteen minutes and she opened the door, grinning at me and ushering me inside.
She laughed at me, as I pulled my Doc Martins off –which she liked to call my fetish boots- and still breathing heavily.
“Why are you so out of breath?” she giggled and I grinned up at her from my position on the floor, legs spread apart and bent at the knees so I could reach down to unzip them.
“Chavs on the bus, tugging my hair,” I shrugged my shoulders and her face fell.
“Sorry, hon,” she mumbled and helped me up off of the floor, placing a quick peck on my lips.
I shrugged my shoulder again, “it doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t: I wasn’t too bothered about it, I had gotten used to it, it was just really pathetic and pointless of them. I knew they were looking for some kind of a reaction, for me to snap back at them – and they didn’t get one. They were just stupid sluts who couldn’t do anything better in life.
I pushed my lips up against hers again and felt her push back, before I pulled away and sauntered over to the kitchen; laughing when I heard her groan in protest and chasing me towards the kitchen. I didn’t speed up, and let her wrap her arms around my waist and nestle her face in my neck, quickly kissing the spot below my ear and taking a hold on my hand and I dragged her over to the cupboard I knew she had coffee in.
I put a few spoonfuls of the coffee powder into her plunger, and started to boil the kettle. I skipped over to a different cupboard to grab two mugs and placed them by the plunger, waiting for the water to boil so I could get my coffee sooner.
Stef rubbed my stomach, smiling at me and I grinned in return, leaning up to push my lips once again against hers and she opened her mouth up, letting my tongue in. I swirled my tongue around her mouth, feeling her repeat my action and I let out a breath into her mouth, giggling slightly. She laughed into my mouth in reply and pulled away, kissing my forehead as the kettle clicked off, signally the water was boiled.
I waited around 30 seconds until I poured the water into the plunger: a coffee boiled is a coffee spoiled, my mum always used to say, and I put the lid of the plunger on top of the glass tube to wait for the coffee powder to mix with the water.
A few minutes passed and I pushed down the rod on top of the plunger, causing the filter to fall down slowly and push the powder – which was now goo – to the bottom of the tube and I poured myself a full cup and Stef a half a cup. I knew she liked to add a lot of milk to her coffee, and I had no idea how she could. Milk is utterly disgusting.
“Thanks, babe,” she mumbled before going to the fridge to pull the carton of milk out and pouring it into her coffee, stirring it with the teaspoon she had pulled out earlier.