Page 88 of Dock

Her confusion.

Her.

The dark liquid flows toward my tongue, yet the second it touches the tip, I pull away.

Lower the drink.

Close my eyes in brief frustration.

I don’t wanna fucking drink.

I don’t wanna fucking bury my dick somewhere it doesn’t belong to forget her.

I don’t want to forget her.

I can’t.

And I tried.

I. Fucking. Tried.

I even went to class on Thursday to prove that I could.

That I didn’t need her.

That what went down between us wasn’t the shit I hyped it up to be.

What happened?

I was fucking miserable for two hours.

Between my dick swelling anytime she turned to grab something from her desk and my vocal cords forgetting how to work whenever she laughed – both genuine and nervous – I was in hell.

My own personal fucking hell.

I should fucking quit.

I’m sure I could find some other bullshit to take online.

Except I don’t wanna fucking quit.

I started this shit for me…I wanna finish it for me.

Plus…she may be done with me, but I ain’t done with her.

Even if that means just sitting in the back of the class listening to her ramble, watching her move, and daydreaming about what might’ve been.

Could’ve been.

Would be if I weren’t a fucking Misfit.

If I didn’t have to choose between obligation and fascination.

“Please take his awkward, unresponsive stretch of silence as his way of politely telling you to fuck off,” Lady speaks on my behalf.

Rather than risk getting kicked out for arguing with Lady, the Cookie merely nods her understanding.

Turns and sashays her hips away for one of the many, many other men at the party to chase after.