You wake up, tied to a tree in the middle of the woods.
Tugging at your restraints, figuring out that some bastard has bound you with a rope. You kick, you scream, and nothing happens.
Last thing you can recall was riding the school bus back home, looking forward to wading the night out curled up on the couch, high on paracetamol, on account of one motherfucker of a migraine.
You’re trying not to panic over the fact you’re totally powerless, so if you starve, freeze or a wondering bear decides you’d make a good snack then Christ, there’s not a lot you can do.
Okay, you ask yourself, who’d do something so nasty? Prime candidate is Harry Ebert. You and Ebert got in a fight last week which ended with you kicking his ass. So, is this it? Is this the little bastard’s revenge? He’s hardcore enough to carve his ex-girlfriend’s name into his naked arm so probably.
Actually, you’re soon proven wrong when a dark cannonball leaps into your line of sight.
Jesus, Debra Jenkins, your school’s resident goth girl. Lips pitch black, hair pure purple and eyes like raw fire. She wanders the hallways face locked in a permanent scowl. Nobody talks to her because she’s a shimmering volcano.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she gloats “Finally gotten you all alone.”
Maybe she’s going to carve a Z on your forehead, maybe she’s going to press cigarettes against your tender skin. Anything’s possible with this psycho.
“Wanna know why I’m doing this?”
You nod.
And her face changes. Her eyes are no longer burning but turn big and dreamy. She gazes hopelessly at your ugly mug.
“I love you,” she says “I’ve always loved you. You’re all I ever think about. I love you so much it hurts!”
You never saw this one coming. Debra doesn’t talk to anyone, you included. She’s just another face in the hallway, an extra in the background of your life.
“Not an hour goes past when I don’t think of you”, she moans “My heart aches when you’re not around. I’m sorry but it’s true. I can’t live without you.”
Jesus, all of a sudden you understand why Daisy ran out on Gatsby, you’re in the presence of someone trapped in fantasy land.
Without warning Debra lunges at you, shoving her tongue so far down your throat, she can tickle your stomach.
God, her breath reeks of smoke but to your shame, your own uncircumcised member springs to life. Can you blame it? You’re a teenage virgin who’s never been kissed before.
You’re too chickenshit to talk to any girl, and now one’s got her lips smacking against yours. The plan you tell yourself is to earn her trust, let her undo your straps, then tie her up and toss her ass into the nearest river.
But at this moment making out with a woman, even one as batshit as Debra Jenkins is, you have to admit, kind of nice.
