Pucker Up, Buttercup | Jaeyong

e s o t e r i c

When my grandma returned home, I was drizzled with oozing and sticky (like caramel) affection. So much so I actually wanted it to stop at a certain point, even when I enjoyed it... mostly. I felt like I was floating in the clouds for a few moments, which is a relief. I was not aware of what was happening to me, yet I managed to react to it with a nod or a slight smile curling across my lips as if it has been painted there miraculously. In all honesty, I am not happy. I am scared. Scared for the people around me, scared about the people around me, scared that Jaehyun might give up on trying to be friends with me, I enjoyed having his company, scared that I will probably have to attempt to make another friend somehow, scared that I will fail my exams, scared that I am behind in class compared to everyone else, scared about questions that people may ask me, scared that the dancers will notice me outside of the practice room again, scared that they will confront me. It is overwhelming and tiring to feel this much fear. I wish I had someone to fix my problems for me, but that would be self-indulgent, who am I to turn my problems onto someone else just because I am a wimp?

My P.E. teacher has trained his sharp eyes on me for a large chunk of time during this lesson. It is beginning to make me feel extremely uneasy and troubled, especially since I am sitting out. There should be no particular reason as to why this strange man should be gazing at me like this. Unless if he has something to say to me. Apparently, he does; "When was the last time you actually did P.E.?" He asks me, despite being the one who insisted that I should not take part in the first place due to the amount of stress that it brought upon me. I stay still, keeping myself ready on the edge of my seat just in case if he tries to approach me any more. He always makes a disgusting feeling inside of me grow, don't know why. "Two months ago?" His hand is on my shoulder, I flinch immediately.

"If you want, you can come to the after-school club tonight, not many people are there. I could find a private room... Just you and me?" He announces this in a way that... Makes me wince as a sign of being revolted.

I say nothing, do nothing. He should know better than to look at me like this and ask me questions as if I will genuinely answer him. My hands are sweating, yuck. I am so uneasy, hence, I avoid him completely, eyes fastened on the chronograph ahead as it ticks closer and closer to the number five that signalises the lesson has ended, only a few seconds left and I won't have to watch everybody play basketball with an uncertainty that the ball might land near me, and I also will not have the troubles of this teacher bothering me.

Five. Now he has absolutely no chance to speak to me, even though he was previously forming his words, the buzzing bell shrieks with a horrible sound as it always does - every day of school.

I had gathered my belongings as rapidly as I could, having very minimal time to spare, my belongings were; my book, my tissues and my notepad - easily I had chucked them carelessly into my - stupid - mucky bag with little time to spare, I do not want to waste it here with my creepy teacher who will not stop chatting me up as if he is in my age range! Something is not right about this man and I am not here for it, I don't want to be here for it, never. If he actually stands in my assumptions, being a creepy old man who wants to touch me up; then I would be the perfect victim for him, seeing as I do not speak, I do not tell anyone how I am feeling and I am not new to the idea of somebody causing me to suffer from uneasiness... Hell, I am not even new to the idea of being put in this position, full stop.

I do not intend to run, but I am. I am running as I collide the side of my body with the swinging doors, they are so delicate to my harsh hit that they swing backwards in a slam when they meet the wall - this causes attention to be drawn to me. My arm hurts. I did not know that my P.E. teacher simply just chatting to me would cause me to become upset and panicked. I feel my heart racing, my breath is becoming shorter, my lungs are squeezing as if thousands of hands are gripped around them. I know these symptoms oh-too-well. A panic attack. I hate these, you never see them coming, just one small trigger and off it goes; like an explosion. It won't be long until my vision either goes blurry or my eyes keep darting between everything. I don't have anybody to help me - just that thought alone has made me tear up. Overwhelmed with emotions, I continue running, slamming my way through doors and sliding down corridors, for once, giving no care for the beady eyes that score their way into my bones and criticise every ounce of my possessed looking, skeleton body. Another trigger: being watched, it causes more of a riot to spill into my head.  I must look pathetic... I think. Maybe I am just paranoid... Maybe I am- no, I am just paranoid...