"…Mason?" I asked from atop the porch as he and two others walked out of the alleyway.
At first glance, you could have fooled me that it was Mason, wearing a trench coat. But on closer examination, there was something off about him. His cheekbones were too low, his eyes were more sunken, his face was just a little bit plumper. A Mason-lookalike. One that looked just a few years older than Mason, and also taller.
"Is that… uh… yeah, I'm, uh, Mason. That's who I am," he said, doing his best to give me a smile. It came out more of a kind you'd put on a creepy Halloween mask that you'd find in the 99 cent bin. "I'm scaring you, aren't I? Alright, I'll stop smiling."
Behind him were Greg and Sarah Marie, also lookalikes. Their faces were similar, yes, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"Greg? Sarah?" I asked.
The two exchanged quick glances, before looking back at me.
I got in the position to run. There wouldn't be time to fish my keys out of my pocket, and I don't trust my skill with my switchblade to take on three people at once.
"Alright," Mason said. "This going to sound weird… but we're from the future trying to stop World War 3."
There was a moment of suspended silence in the air.
I took a deep breath before I ran right the fuck out of there, down the porch stairs and down the street. I pumped my legs harder, willed myself to go faster. I heard the frantic sounds of running behind me, and I didn't bother to look back.
I had only ran a short distance when I was suddenly tackled down from behind, the breath knocked out right of my chest, and slammed down on the soft lawn floor.
"Just stay down, kid!" The Mason-lookalike said, trying to grab my hands and pin them against the grass. Evidently, he wasn't very good at this, only covering half of my body. I got one hand free and pushed myself with my elbow to roll over on my back, and used my hand to fish my knife out of my pocket.
With a click, the knife blade was secured and out, and I made a stabbing motion against Mason-lookalike's torso atop mine. Upon seeing what I had gotten out of my pocket, he inhumanely stood up onto his feet, much like a cat.
I looked like a stupid jackass as I laid down on the floor, my switchblade out in a stupid stabbing position as Mason-lookalike hounded over me. Behind him, Greg-lookalike and Sarah-lookalike were catching up, taking their leisurely time walking.
Sarah-lookalike took something out of her trench coat pocket. Something that looked sleek, black, deadly. It looked like a sci-fi space laser launcher, the kind you see in the early Star Wars filmed.
My eyes bugged out of my head. "Is that a gu-"
And immediately, Sarah pointed at my nuts and fired, sending a painful arc of electricity to my genitalia and electrocuting me with more electric energy then my genitalia had any business dealing with. I had a spasm on the lawn floor, gripping my knife harder as my muscles reflexively contracted. I grit my teeth, as a soft white light began to fill my vision.
Soon enough, the electricity let up.
I felt my fingers grow soft, and the knife slipped out of my fingers and rolled onto the grass. I laid still down on the lawn grass, looking up at the night sky, the pain in the lower half of my body receded, growing softer.
The sound of heavy panting filled the air, and it took me a little while to realize it was me.
The lookalike-trio slowly stood over me, carefully, their stature saying they were ready to pounce back – or onto me – if they needed to.
"Is he out?" Greg said, his voice uncannily deep.
Sarah scratched her head. "How were we supposed to make sure, again?" She readied the science fiction gun again. "Do we shoot him again?"
Mason reached forward, and moved her hands downward. "Relax, another round would stop his heart."
"Sooooooo…" Greg said.
Apparently tired of having such a stupid conversation – I mean, I was too, and I wasn't even involved it – Sarah lifted her leg backwards and kicked me right in the nuts.
I groaned loudly as the fiery pain rose up from my lower body again, as Greg and Mason each grabbed one of my hands and dragged me to my feet. Sarah took my switchblade and held it gingerly from the corner, as if it were a used baby diaper or something equally radioactive.
The lookalike men handcuffed my hands behind me back, and almost knowing as if I couldn't walk or move my legs, held me up by my armpits.
"Why are you guys so fixated on my balls?" I moaned, as they dragged me – in the direction I had been running in. Oh, wow, their black van was right there. I'd been running in the direction we were going in anyway. The universe hates me, doesn't it?
"Sorry," Greg-lookalike said. "We never received formal combat training on account of our whole military installation getting blown apart by a warhead in the middle of our upbringing. The fact that all our friends and family that we've known and love are all dead doesn't really help. Guess that's a story for another time, though." Greg frowned, and the mood in the air got dark and sullen as Sarah and Mason trudged along.
"I guess going for the balls makes sense," I said. "You guys really time travelers?"
"In the flesh," Mason said. "Not that that really counts for much, but you know what I mean."
Sarah threw open the side-sliding van door as Greg and Mason moved my limp body in, then closed the door behind her.
The inside of the van what I always thought a CIA mission van would like. Various small television screens, radios with headsets, rectangular machines with knobs on the front, low hanging, dim orange lights, a couple beer bottles in the corner.
Mason and Greg sat me down in a metal stool near the back of the van. Sarah handed Greg a vial of some kind, before placing her sci-fi pistol down on the bench and taking it apart.
Mason took an extendable bench out of the underside of a table and sat down on it, while Greg remained standing, crossing his arms.
"We need you to go back in time, kid."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"We kick your mind backwards for a little bit. If you mean the detailed minutia of time travel, then, uh, no, we don't know how exactly it works."
"…are you guys really time travellers?" I asked, squinting at them.
Sarah slammed the pistol back together again, pointed it at me, and yelled, "HOLY FUCK, KID, YES, WE'RE FUCKING TIME TRAVELLERS ALREADY, STOP ASKING!"
"Shhh," Greg whispered, pushing her hand down. Sarah stared at me angrily, before sighing, putting the pistol back on the bench, and ripping another extendable chair out. Greg crossed his arms again, staring at me intently.
Unfazed by Sarah's commotion, Mason continued. "Like I said, we need to you to go back in time. I… think you already know when."
I cocked my head. "The time I was blacked out drunk?" I didn't bother asking how they had known about it. "But why me?"
Mason stroked his chin. "Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?"
"Oh, don't tell me you're a fucking philosopher," I groaned. "Don't fucking tell me it."
"You know what, kid?" Mason said.
I stared at him, worried he was going to do something like knock me cold.
"Thanks. I hate explaining that part of this job. So!" Mason clasped his hands together and taking out a notepad from his sleeve. "There are some things we absolutely need you to do. I think you know some of them, but I'll tell you the full list, kid."
And then the Mason-lookalike started listing off some really stupid objectives for me, proving once again, the universe hated me and my guts.
I'll start by listing off the ones I already know.
Confess to, and dance with Milly. Not hard. I mean, really, it's just a few words and a few body movements here and there. Whatever.
Make out with Milly on top of a table at the dance. Okay, this one might be a little bit hard, but whatever. I have some experience with girls, albeit, outdated by about 3 or 4 years, which might as well be a couple lifetimes in this day, age and setting. Sure it might ruin my reputation at school, bu- HAHAHA what fucking reputation?
Get a hand job from Milly. I shouldn't have to explain why the universe hates me for this one, but I'll explain anyway – why THE FUCK does the universe demand I have to ask Milly for a hand job in order to prevent World War 3? Stupid butterfly effect. Suck a dick, philosophers. It's bad enough that Drunk Me did this, but now a sober version of me has to get a hand job from her?
"Are there any special instructions for this one?" I asked, thinking about that Kenny had said earlier about me calling myself her daddy.
Mason looked up at the van's ceiling for a moment, muttering something about a rulebook and procedures. "Did that Kensley girl say anything particular? Like a quote or something specific like what you did with your hands?"
"Yeah," I said.
A moment of silence passed between us. The trio looked at me curiously.
"If that was your cue for me to repeat what Kensley told me, then no, I'm not going to repeat what she told me."
Cum on her dress, as close as possible to the skirt. I'm not going to bother explaining this one. I just wanna say, the universe could suck my dick.
"Can't I just, like, get her to kneel down so I can just jerk myself off and cum on her?" I asked. I never thought those series of words would come out in a sentence like that ever in my life.
"No, sorry, it doesn't count if you do it yourself," Greg said. "Actually, you know what? This might be hard, but don't touch your penis at all at any time during the dance, okay? Think you can manage that?"
Get Milly's panties in some way, shape, or form. Not going to explain this one either, because that's going to make me feel really fucking stupid. And more of a depressed asshole than usual.
Okay, that covers the ones I already know. Let's take a mother fucking look at what other bullshit the universe has in store for me. Probably a box of dildos I have to pour over my head like that ice bucket challenge.
Start a miniature riot. Not a full scale riot, but a riot big enough that the ballroom staff has to call for additional police officers. Shouldn't be hard. This is what Oscar said about starting a coup in a smaller country, right?
Set a table on fire in the middle of the dance floor. Easy. Whatever. This is like that stupid free middle square in the middle of Bingo cards, except when you fill out five in a line, instead of yelling out "BINGO!" like an obnoxious asshole, your grandchildren get to live in a world that isn't a radioactive wasteland. Okay but seriously, why is Bingo so big? It's not even skill based like other gambling games are like poker. Unless we're talking about Mario Party 6 Bingo, because if you were the kind of losers like Emily and I to play it, it was pretty fun de-
Rob someone in the bathroom. Okay, wow, Drunk Me is slowly becoming the biggest asshole I've ever met. And I know a lot of people on Student Council. Did absolutely no one notice me go to the bathroom at all?
"There's one more on here, but we've already done it though. 'Have Kensley take back Milly's panties.' Check." Mason scribbled a little bit on his notepad.
"Question." I tried to raise my hand behind my back, but I forgot about my hands being cuffed and got a spike in my shoulder for my troubles. "Why are so many of these focused on Milly?"
Greg answered. "She's the direct influence, but it's not her we're aiming to affect, it's Kensley. Milly is the easiest way to get to her."
"Iiiiiii guess that makes sense." I was going to ask what Kensley had to do with World War 3, but quite frankly? I'm not surprised. Fucking Student Council kids. What a bunch of assholes.
"We've researched this part of the time area for a while now, so don't question it, okay?" Greg said.
"Another question. Aren't you guys technically speaking already done? I've already done this stuff earlier, right? Some other version of me has done this already? We can just go home?"
"No. Well, technically yes," Mason sighed. "The thing is, you haven't. You, as in the one who's mind was born an x amount of hours ago, has yet to do this. The you born an x +3 amount of hours ago is already done everything we've needed him to do. Close the time loop, basically, so that there's no paradoxes or anything."
Greg spoke up. "Wait, hold on, time doesn't work like that, what the hell? You literally cannot make paradoxes because the universe just throws its hands up and goes 'who gives a fuck?'"
Sarah and Mason turned and faced him, a worried look on their faces. "Greg, where did you hear that?"
"From our physics teachers?" Greg said. "You know, from before the bombs fell? Hello?"
I couldn't believe I was going to be sent back in time by three stooges who couldn't get their time travelling theories straight.
Mason muttered. "What the fuck?" as Sarah face palmed.
"Look," Greg said, "You guys are the ones acting like we're in a science fiction novel having to close the paradox or some shit. The problem right now is that there's an x +3 hours version of this kid somewhere, but we don't care about him, right? We only care about the x version in front of us, and we need to turn him into our own x+3 version."
"I'm so fucking lost," I said.
"You think you're lost?" Mason muttered. "Fuck, let's just send you back right now before we start taking out the whiteboards."
"Yeah, about that…" I said. "I'm suddenly feeling not so confident in you guys… what if I want to, like, give up right now, and like, go home?"
Sarah-lookalike picked up her sci-fi pistol again, and pointed it at me. "YOU GET A GODDAMN TASTE OF THIS HERE LASER PISTOL."
Did I mention the Sarah-lookalike acts nothing like Sarah? Yeah, they're two completely different people when it came to personalities. Although the one thing they do share is their trigger-happiness.
And once again, Mason and Greg subdued her, telling her to put the pistol down onto the table and to stop picking up the goddamn pistol.
"Alright kid," Mason said, sticking his hand out. Greg gingerly placed the vial from earlier onto it. "You see this?"
I examined it closely as Mason held it up. It had a little rat silhouette on it, with a skull right underneath in red.
"Rat poison?" I asked.
"Not really, but close enough. It'll stop your heart for about 10 seconds, then bring it right back." He snapped his fingers, before placing his hands on top of one of the machines with the graph monitor, "and this machine will pick up on your heartbeat stopping, which will be our cue to grab you out of there."
"So how is this going to help me get to 3 hours ago?"
"Oh, no, it's going to help bring you back. It should be somewhere taped underneath your table. Don't forget it. Meanwhile, your other mind, the one at the dance, is going to occupy this body here, after we get you knocked out. You better hurry up or your two minds are going to occupy the same body."
I panicked. "Wait, hold on, what the fuck, that sounds like something you should have told me earlier." I made a very obvious attempt at getting out of the chair, before Sarah picked up that stupid fucking sci-fi pistol, aimed it right at my balls, and yelled out, "GET READY!"
She pulled the trigger, and once again, an arc of electric energy spit forth from Thor's asshole himself.
"AHHHH" I yelled as pain shot through my entire body, wave after wave of electricity coursing through my groin – AGAIN – until, this time, I mercifully passed out.
I blinked back into existence. Loud classical music filled my ears as I looked around. Some teenagers were dancing on the dance floor in pairs, and the tables were filled with lonely single people. I was back at the ballroom, sitting amongst Milly, Anna, and Oscar. Beside me, Milly was giggling. I couldn't help but notice that… she was really cute. How had I not noticed this before?
…didn't I have a thought like that earlier?
Something that could only be described as a headache flew right threw my brain, as if someone were bashing at it with a rock. I lurched forward held my head in my hands, willing it to go away.
Oh, god, did it really happen? Was I kicked backwards in time?
Beside me, Milly stopped laughing and placed a concerned hand on my shoulder. "John?" I felt Anna and Oscar move from their seats, "Jesus, dude, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," I heard Oscar say.
The pain receded as quickly as it came, and I stared at my own hand, flexing it open and closed. I looked back up and at my friends. "S-sorry, what… what just happened?"
"Um… you gave Milly some of the punch, with a stupid accent, and we danced before that," Anna said, a tone of worry in her voice. "You okay?"
"No, no, I'm fine," I said. My brain was thinking quickly now – I didn't want to make a scene, but I needed time to adjust back into my new – old? – surroundings. "I'm just a little drunk."
Oscar chuckled. "Explains your dance moves out there."
"You know," I said. I was drunk, and I figured out a plan to use that to my advantage. "I think I'm drunk enough to say some stuff I've really been itching to say but never found the courage to do while sober because I'm a actually a piece of wet tissue paper when I think straight."
I took Milly's hand on my shoulder and gingerly held it in my own. Milly blushed incredibly easily, her face going red as she looked down at the carpet, a small smile playing at her lips. Oscar and Anna looked at us with curiosity – they knew how I felt about Emily, but Milly? That right came out of left field. Or… something. That's how that expression goes, right? I'm not a big football fan.
"Milly," I continued. "Would you take a dance with me? Where I can say what I need to say…" I glanced over at Oscar and Anna in mock spite, "… in private? I think I owe you a proper dance after all."
I'm going to be honest with you, but I'm sure you already know this – I'm not sure what the rules of time travel were when it came to sober minds in drunk bodies. I certainly didn't feel drunk, but from the heat I felt on the tips of my ears, I knew there was a decent level of alcohol in me, and that on some physical level, I did look drunk. Probably from drinking so much goddamn alcohol out of the punch bowl. If I'm going to do that stupid 8-step checklist, I might as well use my drunkenness excuse to explain why I was setting a table on fire in the middle of the room.
Or act as lecherous and sleazy or as romantic as I want without losing my reputation inside The Corner Dozen.
Milly broke out in a little smile, and hurriedly said "Yes!"
I stood up from my chair, and carefully led the lady off her own. She carefully gripped my hand in her own as we got on the dance floor, much to the inquisitive glances of the majority of the student body.
Somewhere in the crowd of people on the dance floor, I felt the violent eye of Emily on my back. I shivered a little bit, then placed one hand on Millicent's waist as she placed one hand on my shoulder, our other hands intertwined together a little distance away from our bodies.
Slow dancing, I thought to myself. One. Two. One. Two. I got this rhythm down.
Milly's flushed face – was she red out of embarrassment or was she blushing from being with me or was she just drunk? God, I'm thinking too hard about this – looked so cute. She was smiling as we stepped in beat together as slow piano music continued in the background.
I thought about what I was going to say before I pulled her closer to me, our hips touching at this point, as I leaned into her ear. "Hey. I know I said I was drunk a little earlier and that was the only reason I was doing this, but I gotta tell you something."
"Uh-huh," Milly whispered into mine. "Well, what is it?"
"I'm… not drunk at all," I said. "I'm completely sober right now."
I gave her some time to absorb the information.
One. Two. One.
"Oh," Milly finally said. "Oh, my."
I pulled her even closer to me, which I wasn't even sure was possible at this point. "I really like you, Millicent."
And before the words were even out of my mouth, I felt like an asshole for saying them. It wasn't the truth, I still had some of the hots for Emily. Don't get me wrong, I think Milly is a cute girl, but, well…, she was cute. I didn't have any feelings for her at all beyond the platonic level. I was leading this cute girl on, who undeniably didn't deserve any of the shit I was going to give her in the next three hours.
Milly was silent, and goddamn, I could feel her face heat from where my face was. Admittedly, it was right beside hers, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised.
Internally, I bit my tongue, but kept talking out of my open asshole. I needed to make this confession work, after all.
"I think you're really fucking cute," I said. That wasn't a lie.
"You've got this great smile that really cheers me up whenever I'm feeling down, and you don't even know it." Okay, I'll peg that as half a lie, rounded up to not a lie – her smile was great, and on some level, emotional or hormonal or chemical or otherwise, seeing her smile did make me feel marginally better.
"Your laugh is so goddamn adorable, and I love it. It's so fucking contagious, and it makes any day better." I'll freely admit it, I was approaching the lie line here.
"You're just so easy to get along with, and I feel like I can talk just about anything with you." Actually, no, not a lie. We have talked about a bunch of stupid shit together. Is the shell of a watermelon really edible and nutritiously viable? Do you think a watermelon is fuckable?
"You're a really good person, and I'm so thankful you exist." Not a lie – Milly puts up with my stupid actions a lot.
"And I- I've fallen in love with you, Milly." This is the biggest fucking lie I've ever told anyone, and that's saying something. My god, I felt like shit.
"Millicent, will you make me an incredibly happy man and be my girlfriend?" This is not a statement and cannot be assessed by John's patent-pending bullshit detector.
Milly quietly squealed like a girl i– oh, sorry, she is a girl. Duh. Lemme try again.
Milly quietly squealed like a young baby pig that had just seen it's mother get her head chopped off – not cleanly, mind you, but had to take multiple chops to the neck region, squealing violently and spewing out blood everywhere the whole time, most of the blood splashing onto the baby pig's face – and was currently being held down by the same brutal butcher, a knife ready to come down in a swinging position. And the butcher didn't have any pants or boxers on, of course, just for good measure.
The point is that Milly made a very high pitch, but still quiet, squeal right into my shoulder, muffling out most of it. Some nearby couples' turned to face us, wondering what exactly was it that dared to ruin their stupid perfect semi-formal dance fantasy. I glared at them angrily.
Did I mention I thought Milly was really fucking cute? Because she was cute as hell. Not in a 'drop dead gorgeous' kind of way or 'hot bombshell' kind of way. It was more… she was cute, okay?
As she excitedly squealed into my shoulder, I felt the need to hug her close to me, and protect her. I wanted to protect her smile. Her innocence.
Man, her hand felt strangely soft. I wonder what lotion she uses.
Actually, now that I think about it, her hair did smell pretty good. Like strawberries, or lavender. I wonder what shampoo she uses. Did Milly always smell this good and I've just been ignorant of the nerve endings on my skin and the smell receptors in my nose?
No, I realized as I thought about it. It's just that I've never had the opportunity to be this close to the cutest girl.
Some sort of primal masculine urge passed through my spine, and I shivered a little bit.
Oh, no. This wasn't happening.
I hurriedly pushed the thought out of my mind – I'd deal with it later, when I knew for certain I was sober and didn't have any alcohol left in my body. And after a good night's sleep and a couple of Emily-tier slaps to the face, I'd deal with it then.
Milly finally stopped squealing, and picked her head off my shoulder, whispering, "I love you, John," right into my ear.
That was probably the worst thing Milly could have said to me at that moment, as it's effects started coursing through me. My heart flared up, some chemicals activated in my brain, some hormones travel through my body, an early homo sapiens killed a Neanderthal.
I know it's just a result of the mood, the music, the physical proximity of our two bodies, the alcohol inside of me, the fucking time travel shit and the stress that came with it. I know it's all just a program in my head that I can't control, I get it, but I so desperately wanted to not feel like this right now.
Shit, did I just fall in love with Milly?
What the actual fuck?
This isn't how I wanted things to be – I was here to trash this dance, not to develop emotions for the fifth most important female to me in my age group. You might think that's pretty high overall, but I only count, like, seven or eight.
Seven! Or eight! And she's fifth! No matter how you look at it, she was less than half!
What the fuck, universe?
I held Milly close to me, holding her tightly. We had given up on slow dancing, and the classical piano music was slowing down anyway. More curious eyes glanced at us.
I gave Milly a kiss on her forehead, then realized I was unsure about why. Was I doing it to make my confession seem better, or because I felt the urge to kiss her? Either way, it didn't matter right now, only mattering later when I would be questioning my sanity and my emotions.
This is one of the reasons I got out of the dating game. Because I hate myself, too, was one of them.
I spotted an empty table on the other side of the hall, near a door that said "Side Hall", and my sick, unfortunate mind acted and thought quickly. I had already finished one of the damn requirements – dance and confess to Milly. I figured that I might as well finish another requirement while the iron was still hot.
"Hey, uh, do you mind if we do something right after this?" I asked, whispering into her ear.
"That depends," she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. "What is it?"
"Secret," I said, teasingly.
We pathetically attempted to step to the song, but didn't work as our feet kept smacking over each other as we giggled stupidly.
One. Two. One. Oops, sorry, I accidentally kicked your shin. No, it's fine, whatever. I don't need it anyway.
And as soon as the slow classical song was finished, and while the teenagers were still clapping on the dance floor (why were you people clapping? Come on, already, stop embarrassing yourselves), I let go of Milly and grabbed her hand, pulling her along with me towards the empty table.
"Wait," Milly said. "What are you doing?"
With my free hand, I grasped one end of the table cloth, and with all of my strength, pulled the red velvet sheet off as fast as I could.
Milly gasped as a fantastic crash of plates and utensils and glasses were pulled off the table and thrown onto the ground. I felt the gaze of the plainclothes and the servers and the guardian parents and teachers as they saw two kids from the quiet Corner Dozen throw shit on the ground. And worse enough, somewhere, I felt the violent, but curious, stare of Emily on my back. It guess one way to describe Emily's stare was something along the lines of a violent inquisition?
Whatever. I'll blame it on the alcohol later.
"John," she said. "What are y-"
And then I kissed her. I pulled her closer into me, embracing her as Milly closed my eyes, and I did the same.
I'm not going to say that kissing Milly was like rainbows and sparkles, but her lips were as soft as her hands. I could taste that stupid strawberry lip gloss that she put on because she didn't like how red Kensley's lipstick made her lips.
And I wanted more.
And I felt like an asshole.
I was putting on a front for her, of which I didn't know was a front anymore. I knew that Milly had secretly dreamed and wanted this moment with me for a while, and I was giving it to her and it made her happy. But I was doing this out of obligation – I would never have done this if it weren't for those stupid time travelling trios.
Shit, can you look at me? I'm making out with a girl and here I am discussing the morals and ethics of it. I was surely not doing what Mason had told me to do earlier – just let go and have fun and forget abou-
I pushed Milly onto the table, grabbing her butt and lifting her onto the seat of the table. I was doing most of this blind, feeling out my surroundings using my one free hand.
"Isn't that our table? What the fuck?" some dude in the back said.
"Shut up, dude, let them be romantic. See – this is why your girlfriend dumped you. You don't have a romantic bone in your body," another voice said.
"…that's low, man. That's real low."
I pulled myself off Milly's face and looked at her. Her cheeks were even still a deeper shade of red, and she was panting as she regained her breath.
"I can't believe we just did that," she said, shakily.
I took a look around, and saw that a curious group of teenagers had gathered around us. I glared at them angrily until they went away with their hands in their pockets. I spotted some of the servers and teachers awkwardly standing around, scratching their heads and wondering what they should do. They clearly didn't want to interfere with our PDA – it WAS a dance, after all – and that even though we had ruined one group's table, we clearly were making out on top of it.
And speaking of making out… ah, fuck I had to do tongue, right? That's what Kensley had said I had done earlier. Or later. Or something. Fuck off.
I was on Milly again, attacking her mouth with my own, pushing her down onto the table so we were lying on top of it.
I'm going to be honest here, I've never French kissed before. Maybe if I was drunk enough to lose my memories, yeah, I could do it. Just straight out of the gates while clearly sober? No way. No experience.
But my god, people thought I was drunk, and that was good enough for me as I rolled with the punches and I slid my tongue into Milly's mouth.
I felt a spasm from Milly as she realized what I was doing, before pulling me in closer herself with her arms around my head and actually tonguing me back as well. She moaned into my mouth as I started questioning how innocent Millicent really was.
I knew that somewhere in the room, Milly's best friend Kensley was watching us intently.
We went at each other for about five minutes, but please don't misunderstand. I was here to check off "Make out with Milly on top of a table" on my checklist, and I was ready to pack my bags and get back to The Corner Dozen's table anytime. Of course, I wasn't in any way going to break it off first – I was done already, doing my best to enjoy myself. Just waiting for Milly to say, "Wow, you're a great kisser but we should probably sit down now, I mean we haven't had our first date yet but we're already eating each other out."
Hold on a second, was Milly drunk? Was that the reason we seemed to just keep kissing and grabbing each other's hair? Because she didn't want to stop? I guess this was her dream after all.
I'm doing it again, aren't I? Examining a situation critically instead of just letting my emoti-
"Alright, you two, that's enough," the deep, rough voice of our school principal finally said as he pulled me off Milly. "You've been at it for ten minutes now, go sit down and let this group sit down at their table again."
Wow, ten minutes? How weak was this school's administration to let us continue for a good ten minutes?
Milly giggled, her face flushed as all hell as she hugged my torso. I pulled myself onto the ground, bringing Milly along with me and onto our feet.
This time, Milly was the one who dragged us back to our table. I walked to the direction of our singles' table, but Millicent laughed at me when she saw, and continued to hold my hand as we sat down at the couples' table. Dane and Oscar were waiting for us there.
"Holy, hell, you two," Dane said as we tucked ourselves into the table properly. "Jesus christ, what the actual fuck?"
"Guys, how much have you two had to drink from the punch?" Oscar asked, worryingly. "I mean, I thought I was the drunkest here, but evidently not."
And at Oscar's question, I secretly grabbed Milly's hand under the table, holding her firmly as our fingers intertwined.
"I'm so fucking gone, man," I lied.
Milly giggled lightly beside me. "Sorry, I've had a couple when you guys weren't looking." Oh. So she was kind of drunk. That explains it. "Where's Flo and Emily, by the way?"
Dane thumbed behind him at the Side Hall door. "In the bathroom, doing whatever girls do in the bathroom. I dunno. Smell their own farts or something."
"Oh, yeah," Oscar said. "I should go check up on them. Be right back." Oscar pulled himself off his chair.
"I'm gonna go get snacks for when Em comes back." Dane pulled out similarly, walking to the tables of food.
Em. Ugh. Nicknames on the first date. Disgusti- I should stop doing this, shouldn't I?
So now it was just us two, the newfound fledging couple.
"Hey," Milly said. "I'm gonna go freshen up actually, sorry." She rose out of her chair and gave me a kiss on the forehead, but I pulled her on the back of her neck and kissed her lips passionately.
I briefly thought about asking her for that hand job right now, but thought against it. I would do that one last. Yeah, that's a good idea. Do the ones where I break her heart and/or make our relationship incredibly strained from here on in last.
"Don't be long," I said. "I might get lonely here."
I watched her as she walked away towards the Side Hall door, admiring her from behind.
And when I was sure that no one was looking – or rather, no one important was looking – and dove under the table and hiding myself under the table cloth.
"Where's that fucking rat vial?" I muttered to myself, checking under all the pointless stupid nooks and crannies the table seemed to have underneath it.
"You mean this one?" a girl's voice asked as a pair of legs slipped underneath the table and sat down on the chair.