Chapter 17:

"Aftertaste"

The Teacher:

I should have stopped.

But I didn't.

Because when your mouth opened beneath mine,

I saw the future I wanted

curled around your name

and trembling.

Your silence now is not quiet.

It is a scream across the hallway,

a bruise behind my eye.

You won't meet my gaze.

That delicious defiance

you once wore

is now avoidance,

raw and flushed.

And still

you glance.

You always glance.

It's the kind of glance that ruins careers.

That paints stories across thighs.

That says: "Do it again."

I know what your lips taste like

with truth between them.

And I know

you dream of me now.

Not with innocence.

Not with shame.

But hunger.

I smile when you flee.

I'll be behind you eventually.

There is nowhere to go.

The Student:

I've been avoiding mirrors.

They show too much.

They show a girl

with your mouth still on hers.

They show a throat

tight with wanting.

They show a girl

who liked it.

I can still feel your hand.

The slow, criminal way

you touched my face

like I'd already said yes

and you were just claiming

what was yours.

You didn't ask.

You didn't need to.

My body begged before my voice ever dared.

And now

I can't think.

You pass behind me in class,

and my stomach flips

like I'm a child

and danger tastes like perfume.

I hate that I want you.

I hate that I ache.

I hate that when you walk away,

I hope you'll come back

and ruin me

again.