Life With AlphaChapter 9 Beta Bayonetta
- 2 years ago
- 32
- 0
Failed Relationship Number One free porn video
About the camping trip, first things first- I'm going to tell the truth. Unreliable narrators give me enough trouble anyway. I'm sure literary techniques are of inestimable value to my life, but not when it requires a two page paper on "Porphyria's Lover." I was turning it in before first period, but I was momentarily detained. That is, I accidentally walked into a locker. I like to think I'm not clumsy, and, really, I'm not. It's just, when a girl walks by that's that pretty, I tend to forget my self-preservation instinct temporarily. I caught a glimpse of her dark brown eyes as I passed. They seemed so round and innocent, like she'd never been to high school, or even met anyone outside of her family and (maybe) the local doctor. Her long hair flowed down to her bag, and she was saying something to Jane. That's about all I saw before a got a face full of metal. The sound seemed almost deafening over the dull chatter, and a few kids laughed. Well, everyone who saw me did. Luckily, I don't think the girl noticed; when I turned around, she was still engrossed in her conversation. To avoid looking like an ass twice in the space of five seconds, I just headed over to English. I sat down next to Dave, who, of course, immediately asked me about the noise in the hallway. "Some asshole tripped," I lied shamelessly. Conversation turned to other matters, and I felt I had recovered sufficiently when the bell rang.
My shaky confidence collapsed approximately two seconds later when Jane and the girl entered. It was a bit like having my internal organs vanish suddenly, without any warning. Jane took her seat, and Ms. Sloan stood up. "All right, I'd like to introduce a new student." Ms. Sloane said. The new girl really had the most enchanting smile. "She recently moved from Britain, was it?" She glanced back towards the girl, as if for confirmation, but quickly continued, "And ... well, I guess, she can introduce herself." The new girl chewed on her lip a little, and stepped forward. She was wearing a dark blue t-shirt that was tight enough to faintly show the outline of her bra (I can't help it! You think guys don't occasionally look at a girl's chest?). "Umm..." she began, "My name's Shannon," I just about fainted. Shannon spoke softly, but the part that killed me was that she had a Scottish accent. It's hard for me to explain this properly, but I guess you could say maybe I fell in love with her voice. It wasn't just the accent, it was the whole package, her warm timbre (yeah, I looked that one up), the clear tone of it, the tiniest hint of a timid quiver. It was musical. " ... and I lived in Inverness until a week ago, when I moved here. I enjoy fencing," she shifted her weight a little, drawing my attention to the bag on her shoulder. The handle of a foil was visible. "While I'm here, I hope to learn more about politics, and the American lifestyle." Shannon glanced over at the teacher and shuffled nervously to a seat behind Jane.
Damn. I should've known. Of course she would be friends with Shannon. Her father was some dignitary over in the UK. And that meant that Shannon sat on the other side of class.
The rest of the day was somewhat of a blur. What I remember most clearly is what I saw of Shannon. At lunch, she pranced past, hips swaying magically. In French, her gentle curves backlit by the window. I could go on, but that would make me seem even creepier than I already do. As it turned out, she was in most of my classes. Unfortunately, she didn't sit near me in any of them, or talk to me, or really pay much attention to me at all. Ultimately, my desires were frustrated. I was unable to meet, or even speak with her.
That is, until the history project. The assignment was to create a presentation on a major event of the 19th century. Mr. Lind had a few annoying habits when it came to assigning projects, and felt it unnecessary to deviate from them. One of these was consistently requiring groups of exactly two people. Another was assigning these groups at random. As if to make up for all the times it had saddled me with a deadweight partner, the random number generator in Mr. Lind's computer came through for me in the best way it could; it paired me with the girl I had been obsessing about for a week.
Shannon smiled at me across the room. That was good- she knew who I was, at least. Then, as he was far too lazy to teach, Mr. Lind decreed that the remaining portion of class would be spent in groups, working on the project. A chorus of groans rose around the room, but my voice was not among them this time.
She pranced over to my desk. I had admired her for weeks, and finally...
I wanted to look her over, now she was close to me. But that wouldn't have been very polite. I also wanted to tell her I loved her, that I had since I first saw her. I settled on "Hello"
"Hi." she replied, falling into the desk next to mine. I had to strain to hear her. I leaned closer, and she blushed. "I'm sorry about that. I'm just a little nervous" her voice was a little louder, but still far below the dull roar of the rest of the class. Still, it let me move closer on the pretense of hearing her. "So, um..." she hesitated here, rocking a bit in her seat."What do you think we ought to do? For the project, I mean."
"Well, the civil war is always a popular choice for the 19th century, and the war of 1812, the Louisiana purchase, the Mexican-American war-"
She cut me off, leaning in closer than before. She looked up at me, and whispered "I'm not sure that I really know enough American History." Her eyes had mesmerized me, wide with concern. They seemed so deep, and compassionate. "I mean, I did quite well in history but we didn't really cover..." she trailed off.
I snapped back to attention. "Oh- of course you wouldn't know everything. I'm sorry. We'll just do the Barbary Wars, if you can stand the violence. The other aspects are interesting though. It's basically a precursor to America's later involvement in international affairs, but there's a long period of isolationism is in the middle."
Her face visibly relaxed, and she smiled blindingly towards me again. "Well, let's meet at my house tomorrow. I don't like to put off projects for too long, and if you're going to do most of the work, I'd better at least be amiable."
"Yeah, uh, sure, thanks."
"You should come over straight after school. I can show you the way."
The bell rang, leaving me thoroughly dazed. I got up and left the classroom almost a full minute after the last person.
The next day was, of course, a bit hazy from my perspective. I could hardly think about anything other than Shannon. Especially her voice. Even just listening to her lilting answers in class set me trembling with excitement. So, a 9-hour day passed without my notice. I was walking out to the bus when I heard
Shannon call. "Evan!" I turned, and she was waving at me.
"Oh, there you are." I replied. She turned and began walking.
"Come on, my house isn't too far."
The rest of the walk passed in awkward silence. Shannon seemed to have run out of things to say, and I couldn't really bring myself to say anything. Fortunately, it was a fairly short distance to her house. She unlocked the door, and we entered.
It was somewhat empty like new houses usually are. It's not so much that they lack the usual trappings of a home, but you could tell no one really lived there. It was too clean, for one, and far too quiet.
"Where are your parents?" I called to her. Shannon had gone to one of the other rooms. I was still standing just inside the door.
Her response floated back to me. "Uh ... They haven't moved yet." I walked towards the source of the sound.
"Really? They sent you to a foreign country alone?"
"Well, Jane and her mother check up on me."
I had found her; she'd gone through the dining room, and into the kitchen. She sat by a high counter, peeling oranges. "I dunno. It still seems a little scary for you."
"Sometimes." she blushed. "Jane stayed over the first few nights. That helped."
Again, there was a pause.
It lasted for some time.
"Would you like an orange?"
"Sure," I responded.
The rest of the day passed without incident. My unrivaled conversational skills resulted in a strange mixture of lectures on the Barbary Wars and, of course, long, long, breaks in the dialogue.
On the plus side, our project was going to be excellent.
I of course visited Shannon's house a few times over the course of the week. I kept meaning to make some kind of overture. This was going to be my chance, my one shot. We moved in different circles, and no project alters the rigid castes of high school. I needed to be with her, I was completely enchanted with her. Every mannerism of hers endeared her to me. I imagined that her actions somehow betrayed some interest in me. Her shallow breathing? Excitement at being near me. The accidental brush of our hands? A carefully calculated display of affection. The way she constantly fooled with her hair? Well, I couldn't come up with anything specific for that one, but it had something to do with her liking me.
Believe it or not, though, I'm no fool. I couldn't deceive myself into believing that she would hold any real fondness for me. I was too scared of messing up our (admittedly distant) friendship to gamble for the big win. And yet...
I was only meeting her once more. It would be too much to let her go. I don't think I could've stood for that. Seeing her every day for the next two years, not knowing if I ever had a shot. Similar things had happened to me before, and I couldn't let it happen again. Hence, I resolved to ask her the next time. I'll learn from my mistakes if it kills me.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if fate was, if not set against, at least mildly opposing my plan. Shannon had decided to invite Jane over to her house, and she would be there approximately the entire time. I was panicked. The worst part was the way they seemed to be in on something, like they had some kind of private conversation. You could tell, too, by the way they looked at each other. I would be talking, and they would give a little funny glance, like perhaps they were silently laughing. It was all quite bewildering. Still, my resolve held firm. Held fast. Kind of. I waited until the last possible moment to ask. The project (it was fantastic, by the way) was done.
I was on my way out, I had opened the door. But I had taken a vow, and I would follow through with it. Wishing intently I was somewhere else, I muttered "Would you like to go out sometime?"
Real smooth.
"What?" Shannon inquired sweetly. "I didn't hear you."
"I said, uh..." I looked away.
"Would you like to go out? With me?" I finished, blushing.
"Ah- no thank you" the response returned promptly, and perhaps a little automatically.
I turned away, ears burning.
"Wait, I didn't mean it like that- I'm sorry," she added quickly. I don't imagine the rejection had really set in yet, I still couldn't believe I had actually asked her. But my brain was slowly catching up to reality, and it wasn't a very pleasant experience at all.
Jane hurried over to Shannon, leaned upon her, and whispered into her ear.
"No, wait, Evan." Shannon called.
I felt a touch on my shoulder and turned back. "Really, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to refuse just like that. Only-- well, come inside."
She grabbed my hand and led me back into her living room.
"Here, sit down."
Jane had followed us into the room as well and leaned against the door frame.
"I thought I should explain, Evan, because you've been awfully nice, and I'd hate for you to think I dislike you. I like you, but I'm already involved with someone."
"Who?" I asked. There really wasn't anything else to say.
"Me" Jane said.
This was a bit much. It did make a little sense, though. After all, Jane was a famed "ice queen." Still, I didn't really expect it, either.
"I hope we can trust you to be discreet." Shannon added (the reasons for this request should be apparent to anyone who attended high school).
"O- of course" I stammered. "I guess I'll go, then." I felt like lying down.
"Well, hold on. While he's here..." Jane stood upright. "I've a proposal for you: I have taken an interest in the sport of fencing. But, our relationship as it is, I do sometimes shy away from hitting my beloved." (This is the way she talked. I kid you not.) She smiled, somewhat, not with teeth and everything, but at least curved her lips upward. "And this is where you come in. I realize that you may be a bit apprehensive about this, as you are most likely not trained in the wielding of weapons, but..." She had circled behind me, "I'm willing to make it worth your while."
"What do you mean?"
"It's quite straight-forward. You help me practice ... and if you win, I might loan you Shannon for a day or two."
"I'm not really sure how you think this kind of loan would work, but-"
"I shall get the sabers."
That seemed vaguely dangerous. Especially since Shannon's expression changed from disapproval (probably over being treated as a prize belt) to concern. She began to voice her protest, but Jane turned back and gave her a hard look. Shannon quailed and sat back.
Jane returned with two gleaming swords. They were long and stiff, but they were blunt. I hoped. "Let's go out to the yard," She commanded, walking out the door. Once outside, she tossed me one of the swords. I was surprised by the weight; it felt like it might really kill someone.
"The rules: use one hand only, any target above the waist is valid, except the hands and the back of the head. A hit's a point, we'll play to five." Jane barked, and immediately took up her stance.
I suddenly realized that all the fencing matches I had seen (perhaps 30 seconds of one, during Olympic coverage) had involved protective gear.
It was too late to object. I roughly imitated her, and the 'match' began.
I say " 'match' " and not "match" because I was completely outmatched. The first blow struck my shoulder, too fast for me to dodge, and I lurched to the side. I raised my sword again, but it was wrenched from my grasp. Jane smiled and hit me across the chest. I gasped for breath and collapsed. As I sank to my knees, I noticed the saber just in front of me.
"Get up."
I picked up the weapon, and stood up, offering the hilt. "I yield" I said, wheezing. I had read a book about the civil war, and that seemed to be the way to do it.
My knowledge (such as it was) was rewarded with two sharp blows, one to the ribs, and another sank deep into my stomach. I fell again, retching. Shivering, I looked up just in time to receive a sweeping slash to the cheek.
Blood was everywhere. As I discovered later, the swords weren't particularly sharp. But Jane had put quite some force behind her attack, and I was left with a deep gash on the right side of my face. I was lying on my back, staring at the sky. Staring at the ceiling. I don't know, I suppose I was moved indoors.
"Jesus, he's a twitchy bastard."
I realized my face was on fire.
"Damn. We'll have to take him to the hospital. Iodine and gauze isn't going to fix this one up."
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My eyes snapped open, again, to a different ceiling. It was extraordinarily white.
Fuck, my face hurt.
"Did you say something?"
I bolted upright, away from the voice. There was an intern beside my bed. "Nine stitches, kid. Watch yourself next time. You're just lucky the cut was so shallow."
Lauryn
- 23.12.2020
- 8
- 0
