Great. All I need now is a syringe.

What if the tips of my shoes scrape the backs of her heels? I could make a sudden jerking motion. I do that sometimes. When I’m uncomfortable. What if I step on her panties? They’re down there, stretched between her ankles. A lace hammock. A bottle of amonia might fall. What if it hits her in the head? he thinks.

“Hurry,” she says.

It is noon. They are in the janitor closet for the second time today.

“Jason,” she whines.

He drops the condom. “Shit,” he mutters and leans to find it. She stays leaned over the boxxes of bleach for just another moment before standing up and making herself look presentable. He finds it disappointing listening to her panties slide up past her knees and into the skirt that was just moments ago bunched up on her back.

Why isn’t she laughing? Not even a giggle. Shouldn’t she laugh a little? Kind of funny, isn’t it?

“I’m going.”

“Jen, wait, I…”

The light in the hallway cuts across her body for just a moment, then the door shuts behind her, and she is gone.

View this story's 1 comments.