Page 21 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

The sun shone through the small gap in my purple curtains, casting a streak of light across the wooden floorboards. I couldn’t remember the last time the sun was this bright or the last time I blinked my eyes open, only to shield them from the beam of light on my bed that happened to hit my face just right.

“Fuck,” I groaned, rolling over onto my side and checking the time on my phone. The dream lingered, still vivid in my mind. I flopped back down and stared up at the ceiling. I’d dreamed of Nate going down on me and owning my cunt with his wicked mouth. It felt so real that I could feel him between my legs this morning. My clit tingled and throbbed, a need growing inside me.

Sliding my hand beneath the quilt, I released a soft moan when I pressed down on my beady pearl, but then I paused, frowning.

In the next flash, I sat up, threw off the quilt, and looked between my legs at the dried cum on the insides of my thighs. At least, that’s what I thought it was. I’d overheard the other girls talking about how cum dries crusty.

“What the hell?” I whispered, running my fingers over a dried patch above my slit. Unease churned my stomach—that and something else. Excitement.

My eyes grew wide as I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. More was on my cheek, but not only that, my hair had been cut.

Scrambling out of bed, I scurried up to the mirror mounted on the door. I looked a fucking mess, with bite marks on my thighs, crusty white semen–I assumed–on my cheeks, and noticeable strands cut from my hair. I would need to cut bangs to salvage this.

Blinding fury coursed through me. I scanned my room, my eyes snagging on the brown hair on my desk, neatly tied with a piece of red string.

Gritting my teeth, I stormed over and grabbed it, closing my fist around the strands until my knuckles turned white. Nate had been in my room, touching me, masturbating over my body while I slept, and cutting off my fucking hair.

It had to be him.

How dare he? How fucking dare he?! Wait, did he fuck me, too? No…

I hurried through a shower and dressed before jogging downstairs for breakfast.

Dad raised an eyebrow when I entered the kitchen. “You’re up early.”

The sting between my legs let itself be known when I lowered myself onto the chair and reached for the carton of orange juice. I filled up my glass in silence, then put the juice back down.

Dad looked rough today, wrapped in his navy robe, his messy hair standing in all directions. He needed a shower, a shave, and a good night’s sleep.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied with a shrug, buttering a slice of bread. The ham was out of date by two days, but beggars can’t be choosers, and since it didn’t smell bad yet, I put three pieces on my bread.

My father watched me closely while the coffee machine gurgled and sputtered.

The kitchen soon filled with the aromatic, rich smell of coffee beans—a significant improvement from the sour reek of alcohol coming from my father.

I ate quickly, wolfing down my sandwich before grabbing my bag and leaving the house. Normally, I would catch a lift from Evelyn, but it was still early. I didn’t want to wait around. Not when I was this pent up with a shit ton of emotions I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Not now. Not ever.

The walk to school took me a little over half an hour. By the time I arrived, the sun was hiding behind the clouds again, and the cold wind had picked up.

As I approached the weathered gray building, leaves in a myriad of browns and oranges blew across the sidewalk. The paint had flaked in places and shadowy figures of tired students, ready for the upcoming weekend, shifted behind the cloudy windows that needed a good clean.

I jogged up the front steps, entered the building, and made a beeline for Nate’s locker. I didn’t know what to say to him, but I knew I wanted him to speak to my fist.

So that’s what I did. The moment Nate walked up to his locker with a knowing little smirk on his lips–a smirk that thrilled me–I clocked him.

It felt so fucking good to ram my fist into his stupid face, but then he grabbed my arm so fucking hard that I thought the bone would snap in half.

He hauled me into the nearest empty classroom and tossed me inside, causing me to fall to the floor. I was barely back up on my feet, when he grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing me to bend over a desk.

“What the hell are you doing?” I all but shrieked as he secured my wrists behind my back with his free hand. Nate held me like that, gripping my hair tight and pushing his growing erection into my ass.

“Did you like my gift this morning?”

I could feel slick blood coating my split knuckles, and I hoped his cheek throbbed with pain as much as my core yearned for the hard dick inside his jeans. I hated my overwhelming physical reaction to him that couldn’t be explained logically. It was ridiculous to grow wet when he hurt me like this.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, the table’s edge digging into my hips.

“And steal your virginity in Mrs. Jones’s classroom? Tempting, but not the right place.” He rolled his hips, grinding his cock against my ass.

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