Chapter 6: Timothy

She sat on the hard metal bench in the late spring sun, warm fragrant air caressing her face. She watched bored as Jake ran around the field chasing his balls and flirting with the cheerleaders. The girls soaked up the attention; Sarah was reasonably sure that Jake was cheating with Katie, the captain of the cheer squad. Even from here, she could see the glances they shared.

Beside her, Tim leaned back on his hands, more interested in the game than Sarah was; his eyes followed the play, but also lingered on the cheering girls.

Sarah ran her fingers along Tim’s hand, tracing up his arm. He turned at her touch, eyes widening.

“You’re with Jake,” Tim remarked.

“Supposedly,” Sarah replied with a shrug. He was with Katie at the moment, but he always seemed to find his way back to Sarah in the end.

She rested her hand on his and he didn’t move it away. He watched the next play, while she watched Jake wave to Katie on the sidelines. After the play finished, she grasped Tim’s hand, rose to her feet, and tugged him to his. He followed without further comment.

Under the bleachers, hundreds of students above, she kissed Tim. His lips were warm and soft, warmer and softer than Jake’s. After a brief hesitation, he kissed her back, his breathing quickening, tongues fighting.

“Jake is going to kill me,” he breathed as she broke the kiss. “Really fucking kill me.”

“Jake will never know.”

She sank to her knees in the dirt, and unzipped Tim’s jeans, reaching inside and working his dick from within. She took him in her mouth, applied gentle suction, and began to bob, her tongue working about the head and shaft. Her right hand stroked his balls, while her left gently squeezed her own breast.

She rose out of her body, hovering above them, Tim standing, another blonde girl kneeling in the dirt, squeezing her chest, the fans cheering above them as someone scored on the field.

“Fuckkkk,” Tim moaned.

The kneeling girl continued, picking up her pace as she sensed his excitement rising.

“I. Can’t. Stop...” he warned.

She gently squeezed his balls, her tongue swirling over his engorged penis.

He shot into her mouth. It tasted bitter and familiar. She didn’t swallow, but kept working until he moaned and finished. The girl released him, and spit discreetly to the left, a mixture of his seed and saliva.

She snapped back into her body. She passed the back of her hand across her mouth and smiled up at Tim.

“Fuck. Thank you,” he said, looking down at her as he tucked himself back hurriedly into his jeans. She pulled her left hand from beneath her shirt. She stood and kissed him again. When she separated from the kiss, he gazed at her. “Did you want...” he stammered.

She shook her head with a slight smile. “I’m good.”

She was far from good, but Tim didn’t need to know that. He was simply a Machiavellian means to an end, and at the moment, she had no desire to be touched, except by her own fingers later. She grasped his hand and pulled him from beneath the bleachers, returning to their seats. There, she released his hand and kept a reasonable distance. They watched a few plays on the field in silence. Jake seemed distracted out there, fumbling plays and still waving at Katie. While he watched the field intently, Tim also seemed distracted.

After a while, Tim turned to Sarah.

“Why?”

She shrugged easily. Because of Katie? Because she was bored? Because she could? Because she’d been gang raped a month ago? Because she’d seriously considered swimming out into the lake and never turning back? Because Uncle Patrick had visited her again last night? Because her mother and uncle-wannabe constantly screamed at each other? Because she felt numb inside? Because she didn’t belong anywhere? Because she’d never belong anywhere?

Because her life was completely and utterly fucked up?

There were so many reasons, she couldn’t pick only one.

And Tim didn’t expect a coherent reason from her.

She didn’t answer him, simply returning her eyes to follow a useless game she failed to understand.

Brady didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at her with pity either, for which Sarah was grateful.

His fingers flipped to the next sketch.

It portrayed an endless corridor, lockers converging into the distance, broken by the occasional classroom door. A teenaged girl and boy sat together on the floor, knees tucked up, their backs against the hard metal doors. Students flowed around them, oblivious to their presence. There was no sense that the two seated students were lovers, or even friends. The boy had typical unkempt hair and wore thick glasses. The girl bore little resemblance to Sarah, but the seated girl was her, without a doubt.