"I can smell you from here."
She grimaced pitifully at these words. She hadn’t wanted to take the rusted cola can between her thin fingers, be here in this room dropping to her knees. She hadn’t wanted to come. She. Huh, her mind spat, not much of a girl. Losing your dignity in this motel room, its air clogged to the teeth with marijuana smoke, its walls splattered with mis-directed vomit, its ghastly thin inhabitant whiling the seconds away with booze and yet more marijuana. She hadn’t wanted to be here. She could run…But then he would be on her mind, rotting it to the core with his spastic rhythms ‘til she screamed in anguish throwing her palms to her ears. The thoughts were frightening, ones of her calling to him in the middle of class, begging him to stop, to put away his microphone, turn down that amp, to forgive her. Forgive her for turning the rubber glory of his glinting stardom away. For letting her legs carry her home.
"I can SMELL you from here-you’re nervous aren’t you?"
She couldn’t do this. The thoughts of jolting through the exit may have been scary, but what would happen if she stayed? That was scarier. She nodded pale and sweaty at his monotone diagnosis, her hands shaking, fingers buttery and tainted with the cola can rust.
"Humph"
He snickered turning sideways to settle on his upturned covers. She couldn’t face him. Not like this, when she was vulnerable, not when the pee stained carpet made her hair stick on end, when the yellowing tiles of the bathroom walls made her ribcage ache with gagging. Shaking her short, raggy hair till the feel of it slapping against her face made her feel ill, she swayed towards the wooden door, legs screaming to hurry, arms swinging in a strolling motion. At last she had gathered enough energy to send the blood to her legs and she made a swift movement for the door. And in that moment he picked himself off the bed and had grabbed her bony shoulders, fingers bruising her virgin skin, dirt rubbing off on her…"Oh no you don’t!" He rasped digging his hands deep into her arms. His face appeared in front of hers; smelling of sick and alcohol, smelling of sweat with even a tinge of success in there. He wasn’t going to let his next meal huff off so easily, not without a virtual imprint, a chip in her already pounding head. She sagged against his hold, and he gave a little, pulling her up closer. Probably for what she didn’t want. His lips on hers were one thing that would haunt her if she let it happen. "Oh no YOU don’t, you git." She slammed her knee hard into his groin, making his face billow crimson and his hands loosen only to clutch at the now prickling trouser bulge. "You f*g b***h, you b***h!" He screamed as he landed on his knees. Her lip quivered, her hands stretched, her body pounced and suddenly she was on him, clawing his face with her nails, biting his arms with savage growls and kneeing him some more in the groin and the stomach for good luck. Slight drops of spittle and crumbs, of which she found were Doritos later, gathered from the cheesy taste, sprayed over her face with a soft sprinkling motion as her legs dug harder and deeper into his body. Eventually, relenting, she pushed off from the floor and through the exit, down the hall and out the dirty building for what she hoped was good. But not before taking a last frowning glimpse at the coughing, hunched figure, pale and now fragile on the carpet, lying in a fresh pile of pee she hoped. She didn’t stop to check though. The further away, the less likely he was to catch her.
Lillith, dark haired and intelligent minded, sprinted down the littered alleys and dirt-laden streets. She stopped short when she saw the heavily coloured neon signs, accesorising the already cheap and foul looking brick hall. Stomach at last untying, her guts spilled in the front entrance. It spilled all the dirty feelings and hurt and anger she attributed when she thought of him. She spilled it all out. It all…
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At school she wasn’t a girl you talked to. A 15-year-old retard known mainly. Teachers just couldn’t fathom her out. Most wanted her probable virginity instead of the next English essay or history timeline but they had to hide their filth inside, if not for their jobs, but laughter from the coffee slugging teachers in the rest room. Mr. Salisbury had encountered the word "Rape" in the dictionary but hadn’t founded it in his own reality. Yes, Lillith walked through many dark corners and w***e-ridden alleys but it was something inside of him, the police sirens possibly, that stopped him from carrying every plan he made out. She would look at him, all innocent like, but he knew the heart of a hooker lay inside. Nevertheless spite wasn’t a rare emotion around the dark haired mistress; in fact it was as common as the leering jeering clown masks that occupied her fateful 14th birthday last year. Oh, was that an occasion to remember, or forget… Flashbacks would often slither into her mind, still feeling the same cold wind, the same humility, and the same clash of love and hatred. Still seeing the faces, their expressions melting into each other, their fingers stabbing at her, vicious white fanged snarls of so many, so many b*****s. Wouldn’t she like to take their lives while they slept? While they lay peaceful in their gold beds spun by daddy, safe in the sense that that freak Lillith couldn’t get to them. They were safe behind their golden locks. Straw to Lillith. When you span straw, you got straw. No more. No less. What an ignorant misconception they carried out night after night. But wouldn’t it be a birthday thrill just to…to fill that gun with bullets. BANG…BANG…bang. To end it all.
They weren’t the only ignorant ones however. She too, was just as ignorant as the common disease. Trusting her thoughts with one so vile and scummy, one so feminine. Friends had seemed like a good use of time then, but when it was all regurgitated back to her like Neanderthal dribble, the hateful tone, duplicated by a number not even possible.
[So hateful…]
Her backed against that wall, them surprising her with this gift so wild.
[So…so hateful] [HATEFUL]
They had looked at her with such glee in their eyes, it shining through the hatred. She wiped her mouth, which had grown arctic dry, her eyes skimming over the faces like a bird over a water surface. It didn’t pay to look away, not even for a slight second. And she did. She looked away, to the ground. Then came the pain. The pain of something brought down on the back of her, making her bones shiver and her skin crawl as she toppled weak to concrete slabs cold and broken. With the slowest of roars, knees slammed at her, fists and claws beating down on her body. All she could do was take it. All to do but to feel the ugliness inside her swim to the surface, arch its back and flag the beating bystanders. Like madness struck townsfolk, beating zombie meat that wasn’t quite dead yet. Her eyes could only catch fluttering skirt tails and patches of sweat laden school knickers as breeze slithered up legs, catching fast as bone hit bone. "Ah" She hacked, mouth floating open in agony, cheeks burning a blood red. Tracks of iron tears slithering from temples robbed and skin cracked. Arms clutched at her stomach protectively, nursing acid back. Looking up she caught the last glimmer of wind-strewn hair; beauty in its own mussed up way, above sneers of demons. B*****s. Then they knocked her out one last time. With, she didn’t know, but she didn’t really care. Waking up the next morning, temporarily incontinent and beaten blue, beaten black, beaten even more ugly then she was, beaten cruel. Head in mince like pink puddles, body ragdoll mangled, heart torn-maybe even literally…
Lillith wiped her mouth and stole a glance at the assignment spewed over the board in miserable white chalk. The Klu-Klux Klan came alive in dusty writing tools and a permanently stained piece of wood, splashed black and bobby pinned to the chipped brick wall. The wood was knotty and the paint wasting away…they sure went to the extreme with the decorating in this school… The teacher Ms. Hammerdrill was your classic bell jar beauty. Blonde hair tied back with the early hints of a silvery blue, but only if you looked close enough to smell her salon like shampoo. Her tired eyes wore the class with tackless taste, her clothes past resemblance’s of an anorexic. Tight to the skin, complimenting her fine chipped ribcage and bony hips. A loose black cardigan was worn messily round her spindly shoulders, covering her feeble, miserable breasts with an also tired looking vest. Khaki wasn’t exactly her colour but with her slender, downward spiralling chest it looked…reasonable. Her black, heart buttoned trousers grew threadbare at the front stomach area, showing pathetic frilled pants, loose cotton trundling down the leg holes. Lillith couldn’t keep her eyes off it. Watching her skin bat it around like a cat dusting the air with a curious paw. HammerDrills face was so beautiful in its already aged skin. The corners of her mouth down to her panties, the corners dotted with little sparkles of glitter or coffee. Both maybe… She was so young…but the job and other life circumstances had made her age early. Rumours ran through the school, cupped hands over ears, whispering lips practically tasting the lobe of another. Glasses against paper walls, hands up skirts, walkie-talkie action…Truth was a thing of the past…fake honesty was now. Bruises circled her innocent face, like misplaced rouge, permanent and sticky to the flesh. Her broken knuckles wrapped around warm porcelain, probably the only thing available to wrap her fingers round, the small and middle finger sporting a ring, the remaining jazzy thing on her body, apart from perhaps a tattoo in a tabooed area, inked with her own blood. She wore black spectacles lazily on her nose and a coffee and crème clip, bunning her hair strained and tight. A magazine propped dozy on her desk, a plastic pencil tub with no pencils in lay sideways rolling back and forth in the peaceful wind, threatening to blow this whole damn place up in one fall…straight off the edge. This was the beauty. The bell jar inside her head shocked her from paranoid fantasies about love, life and a decent wage, struck her when any ludicrous fansical images entered her mind of things unsaid in society. The classic. Lillith imagined her to be the work, the love even, of a great passion writer, the kind to make love and then write about it after. She could also be a nude model. Lillith laughed at this thought and imagined the artistic poses of one so bulimic. Dark eyes bore into HammerDrills skull like toxic bullets, and she gazed longingly up straight into the greedy stare of Lillith. They contemplated each other for a few minutes, sending distant messages towards one another. Lilliths gaze remained in its grimace like sour state and Hammerdrills one of reflective agony. At the same moment both heads disappeared down into whatever they were not doing. Hammerdrill was a victim of the heroin needle and Lillith knew it. It was moments like this that Lillith wished she was too. At least so she had somebody to share her pain, somebody to love at times of wavering heterosexuality, a drug buddy. Just well, a person, anybody to be honest.
"Lets not Masturbate too long Lillith".
Lillith sighed and began to scratch faithlessly and rushed against her book.
A sarcastic smile puckered on glossed and strawberry scented lips. Her friend’s favourite flavour. The one craving of a day to be able to taste the fruits of the loom on her mouth. Practising common horns on those jaws was not a hasty target for her Hetro proud friends. But to Lilith you didn’t have to be an intimate friend to know beneath the skin, they were filled with poison, sour, distasteful poison. And it was spreading all over L’s body. And these lips were about to speak… "Do you realise how much of a Spam head you actually are Lillian?"
A head over the shoulder answer of "Lilith." Spoke back. Her hands gripped the back of a wooden chair, she didn’t know whose, all she did know was the eyes and mental state of her body were too busy floating towards the heavy deliciousness of those lips. "What are you looking at?" They spat, as crystal blue eyes, fresh as an autumn morn, crawled over the peer of Lilith.
"I think you know what." She teased back, eyes falling to the top two buttons of a busty white blouse. The owner of the lips busty white blouse. "Lorna" Letting her tongue taste the words, Lilith nodded plainly and turned 90 degrees yet again facing the black board, smiling slightly at the mocking tease she always spoon fed one of the populars, with her rich faux tone. Lorna, snatching a glance from the liquorice headed provoker to her busy chested school top, swallowed hard, wincing slightly at how ravenous L’s eyes were, and how she now just played it away with a simple twist of her ample figure. "Lilith, that hot cow." She could only think it.
The class sat in silence. You could hear the dust bunnies giggle in menacing blackness, their red raisin eyes watching as vagabonds, feeling as royalty. A person could drop a coin, and watch the fascism mount. It roared through the steamy classroom as tongues silently oppressed mouth piercings, fingers linked messily under desk lids; toying with chipped varnish, pulling off school rings, stroking palms with one manicured finger… Girls school in all its glory.
Intricate and odd yet easily broke by the simple crash of a bell. Leaving chairs falling to the floor, paper planes still in mid-flight, the silence still stationary as was before it was peaceful commotion. History now over, lunch the lesson ahead, Lilith slid the legs of the chair flawlessly over the wooden laminate, swooping for her bag at the side, and catching up with the gaze of Lorna. She swallowed and stood in mid stare, unable to break the trance. "You’re strutting round here, like you think that all we think about is you. Making up foolish lesbian gestures to me, is a sad ploy to make Lilith. Don’t do it, unless you want your reputation breaking. Or your legs." Lorna whispered harshly, so the teacher wouldn’t over hear her humiliated tone. "What reputation. Do you mean YOUR rep, Lorna? Now now. What would happen if everyone knew about your secret sexual fantasies you play out scene by scene in a certain boiler room? With certain best friends." At the follow up of a heaving chest and incredulous expression from the listener, Lilith continued with "Ohh, don’t worry about a thing, I’m sure your friends wont grass up on you, unless you do of them. We don’t want the school thinking you could be a, gasp, a lesbian now? No, whats a simple purr of p***y now and then between friends. A simple lick of the neck between comrades, a little, little, squeeze of a soft bottom between mates. I’m sure they’re soft aren’t they Lorna. You’d know. Just remember to use a condom, god knows what these females or should I say SHEmales have hiding in their knickers. You’d like to know though. Wouldn’t you. What about whats in mine? Id like to see whats in yours." The trance snapped, the wink, malicious, Lilith snatched her black shoulder bag, rubbed the strap of a chalk stain and walked camly out the classroom. Long legs flowed beneath the battling green tinted kilt, breeze wrestling with the upkeep of such an appendage. Class fell empty. Lorna’s mouth fell open, closed and then opened in a sigh of desperation. She finally picked her backpack up, walked hurriedly out of the room and left Hammerdrill to hang herself from a light fixture 30 minutes later.
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