Friday, August 9, 2013

John Holiday

Girls whispered his name in the hallway. They talked about his dark, silken ringlets and the slight cleft in his chin. Lia couldn't escape from the mania. Every time she turned a corner, she heard his name on their lips like its utterance might charm those baby blues their way.

John Holiday.

John Holiday always ate the fruit cups in the cafeteria on Thursdays. John Holiday would expound on the importance of knowing the past as to not repeat the mistakes of our fore fathers when asked about the classic literature he caried around. John Holiday had an oral fixation because he always had something in his mouth from the end of a pencil to a piece of gum.

Lia barely said two words to John Holiday, but she became familiar with his habits because of the surrounding narrative. In fact, she decided to study him since he seemed to be the source of admiration for so many.

John Holiday ate a fruit cup in the cafeteria on Thursdays, his gaze trailing behind any skirt that past him. John Holiday read his classic literature, girls sighing amorously as they passed by. His eyes flicked up from the pages with a cocky smirk on his lips. John Holiday chewed his gum, certain to leave it precisely on the seat of a desk chair so the groupies' skirts would stick and expose a little more than what it should. Then he would chew his pencil, staring, with a pleased smile.

Lia felt her skin crawl at the smile, but the more sexual energy he stirred up, the better for her to harvest in the future; very beneficial to a young, budding succubus. So until then, she had no problem with a hormone-addled skirt chaser, especially if it benefitted her.

Until one day she heard John Holiday say, "I totally went to third base with Chelsea," to a group of boys.

"Whoa, really? She wanted it?"

"Well, she didn't say no."

Lia shared math with Chelsea, a girl that did not stand out in any way, but Chelsea always doodled in the margins of her notebook. Her assignment papers were covered with flowers some days, spirals the next, and Lia always noticed. That day she didn't draw. That day, she stared at her desk blankly, avoiding any eyes on her. Lia reached out a hand to get her attention for a pencil. Chelsea flinched.

Lia felt the slow beginnings of anger boiling in her belly.

Between hearing the boys laugh and Chelsea's shame, Lia silently swore one thing: she wouldn't just feed from John Holiday, she would suck him dry.

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