Advisory warning: This project contains major sexual themes and quite a bit of foul language. Kids these days...
The halls were empty. The school was silent, sleeping. The art room had two occupants only: me…and him. We were undisturbed and somehow knew that we would continue to be left in peace. No one would interrupt. We were free to act as we pleased.
And we pleased to act in dirty, dirty ways. Accelerated pulses, raised blood pressures, flushed skin. Roaming hands, sweet kisses, teasing bites. Our actions, both internal and external, had all the makings of the perfect affair, the perfect sex.
My bare back pressed against the table top, which suddenly felt ice cold to my fevered body. My hands reached up to him, fingers twisting in his short dark hair, begging him to come closer and to bring his lips to mine once more. He obeyed and kissed me with a hunger that fed my own.
“Rayleigh, I need you,” he whispered. I nodded, not trusting my ability to speak. Gaining my permission, his hands roamed lower than my chest and prepared to pull off my remaining garments. When he shifted position, I felt him, hard against my thigh. The feeling sent an electric shock through me, vibrating my bones and turning my stomach.
I awoke so suddenly that I couldn’t even remember sitting up. I was sweating and shaking, as if my dream had actually occurred. When my sleepy brain finally caught up with reality and I was able to tell myself that it truly had been just a dream, I let my head fall back onto my pillow and stared at the paper lantern hanging from my ceiling, barely visible in the black of the night.
The man in my dream was Mr. William Cote, my art teacher. I’d had the dream many times, though they usually varied in some way. My stomach felt a little sick when I thought of how real the need that was present in each dream was. My attraction to Mr. Cote was annoying, wrong, and very strong.
The physical attraction to Mr. Cote probably would have been easier to deal with if he wasn’t as great a guy as he was. But as it was, his perfect features coupled with his charm and kindness and created a trap for my 17-year-old feelings. He was funny, if somewhat cheesy sometimes, and sweet, especially to me. We had grown close since my freshman year.
I had always been gifted with art, but it wasn’t until I met the high school art teacher two and a half years earlier that it had taken over my life. I liked it. Sure, I was labeled the introverted art freak, but it didn’t bother me. Art was an outlet; it expressed anything you wanted it to. Most of the artwork that wallpapered my bedroom displayed my desire for my teacher, though only a true artist would be able to tell that by studying them.
Because of this, art class was both my favorite and most hated period of my school day. No other class excited or interested me as much, but no other class tortured me as much, either. Not even math. But this being my third year dealing with such things, I had grown somewhat accustomed to acting normally in class. Days that followed my dreams were always the worst, though.
In class, I kept my head down and focused on my work. No matter how good I got at art, I still could never get a plain circle just right, so I had enough to do to keep me occupied for the time being. Still, my ears sought out the sounds of his footsteps and his voice, always keeping my brain updated on what Mr. Cote was doing. I was therefore very much aware when he approached my table, even if I did my best not to show it.
“Rayleigh, I need you,” my teacher said, stopping beside me. My breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped beating. I had heard those words before and I knew what came next. The images of my dream flashed back in my mind, dragging me back to my bed and distracted me. Mr. Cote’s hand rested on my shoulder, restarting my heartbeat at an alarming rate.
“Yes, Mr. Cote?” I asked shakily, looking up into his gray eyes. They, like the rest of his face, were smiling at me. He went back to absentmindedly mixing a cup of paint.
“One of the secretaries asked me to paint this thing for them, and I’m not sure what color to use. I was hoping for your artistic opinion,” he explained. I let out a breath and willed myself to calm down.
“Only if you help me with these circles,” I joked, looking down at the poster board in front of me. Mr. Cote laughed and set down the cup of paint, leaning over me slightly to observe my project. I sat perfectly still while he took the pencil from my hand and began lightly tracing shapes where I had failed.
“There ya go,” he said happily, standing up straight and putting the pencil back in my hand.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. Mr. Cote reached for the cup of paint that he had set down, but was distracted by a kid in the back of the room throwing a pencil at his buddy. His hand jerked and the cup and brush were knocked over, spilling onto my project.
“Oh no!” Mr. Cote exclaimed when he realized what he’d done. He quickly retrieved a roll of paper towels and began cleaning up the mess, but my project was already stained orange. “Rayleigh, I’m so sorry. Why don’t you stay after school today and I’ll help you re-do it?”
“Uhm, yeah. Alright,” I agreed reluctantly, staring blankly at my ruined project. The bell rang and Mr. Cote instructed me to go to my 8th period class, saying that he would finish cleaning up the mess.
I didn’t need a second invitation to escape the uncomfortable art room, so I collected my things and followed my fellow juniors out of the room. The flow of bodies in the hallway guided me to the right, in the direction of my Algebra II class. Even though we were more than halfway through the school year, Ms. Stokes still had us seated in alphabetical order, so I took my usual seat behind Lucas Barnes.
Luca was really my only friend, though you wouldn’t believe it if you looked at the two of us. I was the quiet art girl and Luca was the big blonde athlete. Our friendship, however, wasn’t exactly voluntary. Not only did we lived next door to each other all our lives, but our fathers were business partners and good friends. We really had no choice but to get along. Forced as it may have been, our friendship bond was strong. In many ways, Luca was like my big brother; he was extremely loyal and protective and I knew I could count on him for anything. We spent so much time together as children that we were now more like family than friends.
If being Lucas Barnes’ soul sister was supposed to boost my popularity, it failed. The lacrosse star was a bit of a party boy, and I was an awkward socialite. I’d gone out with Luca a few times, but always felt uncomfortable while he partied with his friends. Teenage parties were like being stuck in the middle of a mosh pit. After two or three of these events, I started letting him go out on his own. In many ways, this caused Luca and I to grow apart some, but I knew that he would still be there for me whenever I needed him.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something,” my friend commented, spinning around in his seat and resting his elbows on my desk.
“I don’t need a ride home today,” I told him, ignoring his statement.
“Alright. Why’s that?” he asked. Though I had my license, my parents had refused to buy me a car or let me use one of theirs unless they needed me to run errands for them. With no job to pay for a car on my own, I was forced to hitch with Luca, whose parents had bought him a brand new Jeep when he turned 17 a few months earlier.
“I have to re-do my art project,” I explained. “Mr. Cote spilled paint on it.”
“Oh did he?” he questioned, smiling evilly. I narrowed my eyes at him, letting him know that his inappropriate joke was not appreciated. Luca laughed at my expression.
“Yes,” I stated. “He did. Now turn around and learn some numbers or something.”
At the end of the class period, Luca stood up and winked at me as he threw his bag over his shoulder. Before I could yell at him again, one of his dumb jock friends threw a pen cap at the back of his head and he ran off after them. Rolling my eyes, I cradled my math notebook in my arm and walked back to the art room, figuring I’d stop at my locker before walking home.
Mr. Cote was already working on my project when I entered. He had the orange-stained poster on the table beside a fresh one and his eyes darted from one board to the next, trying to copy it exactly. I set my bag and books down at the other end of the table and stood beside him. My heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid he could hear it. But if he heard my drum of life, he did not show it.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told him. He looked up at me.
“I think I’ve pretty much got you caught up,” he said. He stood up and offered the pencil to me. I slid into the stool he had just vacated and took the pencil from his warm hand. He leaned over me and pointed somewhere on the board. “I hope you don’t mind, but I fixed this part up for you. Your spacing was off a little on your original. It’s been bothering me all week.”
Truthfully, I didn’t mind. Because I didn’t give a damn about the words he was saying at all. I only cared about the lips that were saying them. Smiling, pink lips that were placed on the beautiful face of a gorgeous man, and they were only a few inches from my own insignificant lips. If I just leaned forward slightly, we would be touching. I would finally feel what my brain had envisioned for years.
“Yeah, that looks much better,” I agreed, still not looking at the project. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Mr. Cote said. However, he did not back away. If anything, he moved closer, turning his face towards me and locking his eyes with my blue ones. “You know, you’re really fantastic.”
“Mr. Cote, stop,” I whispered. His words, taken out of context, or even in context, took my breath away. He looked confused.
“What did I--?” he began. I silenced him before he could say anything else, but my method was anything but conventional.
I leaned in, hardly knowing what I was doing, and our lips met. And the feeling of that simple contact was nearly indescribable. Better than anything else I had ever felt. Similar to the electric shock I’d felt in my dream, the spark of our connection ignited a flame inside of me that was the prelude to a raging fire. My body burned hot, my head began spinning, and my stomach filled with cliché butterflies. My heart felt weightless; it swelled like a balloon and rose in my chest, lifting me so high off of the ground that I forgot what the earth felt like. And all of this happened within just a matter of seconds.
Reality found its way into my brain and we both pulled away simultaneously. Oxygen returned to me in a rush and my chest heaved as I gasped to catch up. We stared at each other in shocked silence, neither of us knowing what to do. I knew that I wanted to kiss him again, but I also knew that the kiss was wrong. It was so wrong that I had to leave.
“Wait, Rayleigh,” Mr. Cote called, following me to the doorway. I listened to my flight instincts and continued straight out of the front door of the school, ignoring my desire to turn back. The kiss left me wanting more. The logical part of my brain told me that I shouldn’t have even had some, let alone more. Conflicted, I dug through my bag for my phone.
“Hey,” Luca’s voice answered. The familiar tone comforted me and made it easier to breathe.
“Hi,” I said. “Did you leave yet?”
“Yeah, I’m home. Do you want me to come pick you up?” he asked. I shook my head, and then remembered that he couldn’t hear that.
“No,” I voiced. “That’s okay. I’ll just walk.”
Somewhat relieved to have the brief walk home to myself, I set off down the school driveway. My brain seemed to be on overdrive. First it replayed the dream. Then the kiss. Then the Cloud 9 feelings of the kiss. Then the future. That part was frightening and made me even sicker than the others. The previous memories, though I knew that they were wrong, made me happy in a way. But thoughts of the future left me nervous and scared.
Questions filled my mind. Did he kiss me back? Did he like the kiss? Would it happen again? Should it happen again? What now? Would he say something? Would I be taken out of his class? Would that be a good thing? Should I tell Luca? What would he say? What the fuck was I going to do?
What the fuck was I going to do?
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