#illi mcr

"This seat is taken - sorry." You drawl out with a hint of annoyance, glancing up at the black haired girl clutching her tablet. Her silver rings press into her delicate fingers as she digs them into the plastic, staring down at you and your friends gathered at the table. You hold her gaze, hazel eyes quivering beneath her dark and long lashes as she tries to respond. Pushing her, your eyes drop down to her trembling lips and further to her adam's apple bopping in a nervous gulp.

"Maybe-", you nod your head to the table at the window, "- there's something free. Hm? Next to your brother?" You hint at the hunched over figure sitting alone on the broken chair at the window table, Mikey McMillin. Illi's brother, not any less of a loser than her.

"He looks like he needs some company.", one of your friends snickers into the silence, nudging your side with her elbow. "Tch.", you shake her off and return your attention to Illi, raising your eyebrows impatiently.

She doesn't respond, her lips simply pursing in a shaky inhale and then falling open.

"Hm?", you try again but she doesn't bother, turning around and walking off into the distance, her skirt swirling around her legs. You watch the shadow of it ghosting on her soft calves, tainting her pale skin. You watch for more than a simple moment - a second too long and a blink too less, studying how she manuveurs through the crowd of clinging students. It feels like your gaze is glued to the back of her blue blazer, to the gentle crinkle falling down her side and scrunching up with every step she takes. It's near painful to tear your gaze, you simply can't, not until your teeth clench in a sudden burst of nausea crawling up your spine. You cough - a little too loud and a little too high, and finally part way from Illi's frame, returning your attention to the half-eaten sandwich on your plate.

"What a freak. I don't even get why she still asks to sit with us." The voice of your friend echoes in your mind, blurry and silent, like you're much farther than those lousy two feet that feel like two miles. "Yeah.. same..", you mutter and poke at the bread, your stomach churning at the thought of eating that thing.

"You have it a lot worse though, don't you?", your friend chides in, pointing at Illi now sitting in front of her brother, hair drooping at the side of her face. "She's in your history major, right?"

"Oh.. yeah, she is.", you mumble, staring down at your plate, anxious to lift your gaze again. "She sits at the back though."

"Of course she does.", her high-pitched voice screeches out a chuckle, long nails shedding wood off the table top. "But can't judge her too hard on that, I mean that used to be your place before." She pats your shoulder and laughs.

You roll your eyes and straighten your back in a hasty motion, pushing her arm off. "Chill out - not like her of course.", she cackles, and picks at your elbow nonetheless. "You don't look at girl's asses."

Lunch rushes past you after the moment with Illi. You don't mention it again but it lingers in the back of your mind, in the stiffness of your muscles. You can't help your thoughts from flickering back to her unkempt hair and the quiver in her pink lips. You hate her, wholeheartedly - you couldn't help it when she forced her way inside your mind almost daily. You yearn for her to break, to finally scream at you for being such a fucking bitch, for being senselessly cruel - but she never did. She follows you still, and she looks up at you with the same wide-eyed expression, a strangely hopeful glint simmering above her tear line. It never really changed, until today.

Today her eyes went darker, and her lips, oh, her lips - they quivered. They trembled and fell open for a sharp exhale, a quiet but defiant one. You could practically smell the silent words of resistance dancing on her tongue, you could see how the pushed against her lips. Hence, why they quivered.

Knowing you had pushed her this far, this furious - it makes you nauseously satisfied. And you wouldn't stop now that you're this close to seeing her lips part in a yell. Maybe she'd tell you she hates you too, maybe she'd even hit you - slap your face like you deserved it. For being the goddamn cunt you are.

A poke at your side.

You flinch, blinking yourself out of your thoughts.

"Huh?", you mumble and turn around, met with a face you really didn't need to see right now.

"Hey, you've been in a fucking trance, I swear.", the man grins, flashing you a teethy smile.

"I suppose."

"Well no time for that - we gotta go to class, you know what Mrs Smith told you." He sing sangs, laying his broad palm on your shoulder, the heat of it burning through your shirt. It stings your skin, and it buzzes through your veins like a saw - it hurts.

"I know..", you grunt and get up, sharply turning around and forcing his hand back to his side. "..won't be late today."

"Because of me, yes." His hands find back to your waist and he confidently guides you through the hallways, blabbering on about his stupid hockey game you didn't even watch. He invited you, but you were "sick" that day. Like you were "sick" every other game before.

It's like he just doesn't catch on, like he's still hung up on the fact that you went on a date once - and that you kissed his slimey lips. It haunted you mentally, and he haunted you physically. If you have to be completely honest - his presence is much more of a nuisance than Illi's could ever be.

"Fuck, our seats taken.", he grumbles into your ear, staring at the small table next to the flashy, big window. Two girls sit there already, giggling into each other's hair and rubbing their hands against the tabletop in a haze of laughter. Your gaze follows his, looking at the duo and then drifting further into the back, the only table there taken as well. Of course, by none other than Illi.

Her black backpack leaning against her leg, her hair falling over her face as she's buried in her sketchbook once again. She always draws, always hunched over with greasy strands covering her concentrated gaze, and with her hand steadily guiding that same, red pencil. You hate that you've peeked into that thing before too, you hate how you've only seen women inside. It disgusted you - seeing those pretty faces plastered all over her pages, their dolly eyes and long hair, and it disgusted you how every single one looked so very different from you.

"Let's go over there.", he drags you with him once again, sitting you down on the other side of the classroom, your gaze forcefully ripped to the front - away from Illi and her stupid drawings. "Much better, actually, I get so easily sick next to the window, y'know?"

"You do?", you ask because you don't care, rummaging around in your bag and fishing out a lousy pen and some loose pages to write on. It's not like you bothered with aesthetic.

"Yes, my neck y'know.. very sensitive to cold air. I get a cold just from my ventilator.", he explains and never stops, going on about his past few colds and how his right ear hurts just so much more than his left and that he doesn't really know why. It bores you to the point that it drains you, and that you couldn't be more thankful for moody Mrs Smith finally stepping into the room and stuffing her bag under her large desk.

"Good day, class.", she announces in a firm tone, staring down at the students through the tiny lenses of her round glasses. "Today, we will be discussing the U.S.' role in the Nazi trials in Germany - the Nuremberger trials. I want you to get a closer look at the development of the Law those trials followed.., to get a bit more familiar with what legal basis they had." She steps up to the board and the chalk screeches the tasks into the room, your eyes lazily moving along the broad letters.

"Read the law, research historical context, write a summary -> group project as homework"

- your quiet reading stutters, your gaze flickering back to the last task. A group project? As in pairing up for a following homework?

You peer at your neighbour and press your lips together, a silent huff falling from them. You really don't want to work with this guy. Aside from the fact that he's a prick who couldn't care less about school, you really don't want him to come to your house, or worse, go to his. That bullshit would only fuel his delusions. However, there's little you can do about it - he's in the chair right next to you, so, naturally, you'd work together for a group project. And to be fair, there's not really another possible partner sitting around either.

"Can we choose our partners for the homework?", a high-pitched voice pushes through the silence - one of the girls who stole your window seat.

Mrs Smith purses her lips, eyes flickering over the room and stopping at the girls - raising her eyebrows in a questioning glance. "Have you ever had that liberty in my class before?"

The girl sighs, and falls back into her chair, fingers moving to her side as she hesitates with the given answer. "No..", she drawls, rolling her eyes.

"And there you have it.", Smith tsks, "I will pair you up at the end of the lesson." -

"By lot."

A loud groan erupts from right next to you at her snappy answer, hot breath hitting your cheek as he draws closer to you - whispering at the loudest volume. "That bitch can't be serious.." His tone drops to pure annoyance, head turning into all kinds of directions, peeking at everyone around. "I don't want to work with some random chick.", he rolls his eyes provocatively, a hint of desperation slipping into his voice.

You shrug your shoulders, relief prickling at your chest. "Maybe you'll get lucky - end up with a guy, ya'know?", you dare to throw a cheeky grin at him, his face scrunching upwards as he pulls back from you.

"Hell nah."

-

The hour passes by in an instant, your head reeling from all the legal speak you had to read through - still not finished with the whole text. Looking around, you find most of the students still buried in their books, searching for the definition of yet another foreign word. Mrs Smith had stopped observing them long ago, lazily snipping off tiny pieces of paper from an unused copy of her worksheet. She scribbles short words onto them - your names - before scrunching them all together in a tiny ball. You watch her for a while, her eyes jumping through the room and her red pen ghosting over the lots. She looks more serious than that homework could ever be, you think, smiling to yourself at the thought.

Eventually, she snips the paper away for a final time, writing the last name and then pressing the shiny lid on her pen to place it right next to her folded glasses. You notice how she clears her throat almost silently before speaking up.

"Class, you can pack your things up.. but don't leave just yet, we still have to pair you up for the homework."

The room slowly awakens at her words, a low rumbling filling the quiet air - zippers being pulled open and paper rustling in the hands of tired students, stuffed into their bags. You mimic them, folding your worksheet and closing your dictionary, pushing it away from you and then falling into your seat - stretching.

"I will pull two pieces each, and the last group will be a group of three since..", she counts silently, eyes flickering to the table at the back, ".. we're not even."

You relax back into your chair - it couldn't really go wrong. The possibility of him and you being drawn from the pot is near zero percent, and everyone else was liable, you'd even work with one of those giggling bitches.

"Alright.", the room goes quiet again.

"First two uh.. Y/N and.. Illi." Mrs Smith reads from the pieces in a loud voice, throwing them to the side and already grabbing for the next two. "Next we have.. Justin and-"

"Bruh.. you're real unlucky today.", he mutters, pushing his elbow into your side and nodding at the table in the back. "Being paired up with the freak."

You glance to the left and your body freezes immediately, a gentle thrill crawling up your spine and through your legs - cold and stinging, with that familiar nausea prodding at your stomach walls. They twinge and turn, your heart cramping up in their rhythm until you gag, spit curling up like foam between your teeth. You couldn't look further, your surroundings blurring into a messy scene of blue and black - you couldn't turn around and face the hazel, round eyes probably staring up at you already.

"Man.", he comments, laughing loudly, "I know she's bad but you're overdoing it. No need to puke all over my shit." The sharp bone of his elbow rips you away from your trance, hitting the sensitive tissue between ribcage and hipbone.

"Ow!", you cough. "You idiot!", you cough again, your hand coming up to rub the spot he poked.

"Sorry.", he shrugs.

"That should be everyone, am I right?", her sharp voice asks and the students nod compliantly, already peering around for their partner. "Very good..", she adds, "Remember, I want this done by Friday, so you should start tomorrow at the latest. Better would be today, okay?" One last glance in the room and she scurries off, her bag wooshing after her into the hallway.

"Tsk.. Thursday's early enough.", he pushes back his chair and reaches for his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder. "She's stressing for no reason I swear."

"Sure..", you roll your eyes but don't bother correcting him - his own fault if he fucks up his grade. You simply watch him get up and stuff his papers into the large pocket of his pants, crossing your arms as you notice how it gets ripped apart by the bulgy zipper.

"See you then, Boo, good luck with that freak.", he chuckles and ruffles through your hair, completely messing up your bangs.

You jump up and hiss after him, hands pushed into your sides. "Don't fucking call me that and I told you not to touch my hair, you..", you trail off into a heated breath - he's long gone. You drop back into your seat, your arms crawling to your chest and covering it in a feisty gesture, ribs still heaving against your hands.

The empty chair besides you weighs heavy without him, your heart hammering loud against your bones with every passing second. You know how little time there's left without a soft voice calling out to you and-

"Y/N?"

The voice floats into existence, even softer than you imagined - insecure, wavering as she spells out your name.

A shuddering breath ripples through your body.

"Illi-", you choke out, clearing your throat as you slowly get up in your chair, "uhm.. we got paired up, I suppose."

You finally look up, met with the exact picture you've been painting in your head. Glistening, light eyes and rosy cheeks, smushed eyeliner darkening spots above her dainty nose. "Yeah..", her reddish lips breathe.

You stare again - tongue lolling between your teeth as you watch her eyes flickering around on your face, never meeting your own. You wonder if she notices your eyeliner's smushed as well, and you really hope she doesn't.

"You can come to my house this afternoon.", you spit into the silence - all too sudden and a bit too loud, her eyes twitching in surprise. "I- I mean my parents aren't home and..", you swallow and avert your gaze, ".. it's better we get it done as quick as possible."

You huff, loosening the grip of your hands - you didn't notice how hard you had digged your nails into the sleeve. You jump from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder and kicking the chair back into place. Being on eye-level now, you dare to take a closer look at her, pursing your lips when your eyes fall to her crooked tie. She doesn't react, but you catch the shallow exhale she does when you move slightly forward.

"Be there at 4, okay?", you hiss, lightly brushing her shoulder as you rush past her into the empty hallways.

"Wait."

You stop, sighing and then glancing back at Illi. She looks like a lost puppy in the big, empty classroom, her frame sunken into a droopy stature with only her arm slightly extended towards you. It angers you how your chest tightens at the innocent glimmer in her round eyes - at the twitch of her fingers before her arm falls back to her side.

"I don't know where you live."

Shit, you totally forgot. Of course she had no idea where you live - why didn't you think of that?

You reluctantly turn around completely, staring at the raven-haired girl, your lips opening in a quiet groan and then closing again. You don't plan on answering her immediately - instead your gaze averts from her in annoyance, flickering over the furniture in the room. It takes a second until an idea forms in your head, eyes snapping back to the teacher's desk and lazily tracing the contents on top.

Finding what you were looking for, you step past her once again - this time making sure you're far away from her shoulder - and lean over the table, reaching for the pen Mrs Smith left. With a stupid grin on your face, you spin on your heel and beckon Illi towards you with your finger.

"C'mere.."

She eyes you hesitantly, only slowly stepping over to you standing against the wood, the red pen swinging between your pointer and thumb. "Why?", she asks, a tint of suspicion plastered across her pale features.

"Bit more, Illi, I can't reach you..", you simply hum, your gaze dropping to her right arm - the one she had been reaching out with.

"Okay.", she follows your command and shuffles closer, finally within reach. You nod, satisfied.

"Good..", you mumble and snap your hand forward, catching her arm and pulling it up. She winces quietly but her muscles stay soft in your grip, allowing you to guide her even further towards you. Your fingers lazily push up the material of the sleeve - all the way up to her elbow, exposing the plush skin of her underarm.

You swallow.

You didn't expect your stomach to drop to your knees at the sight, you didn't expect your hand to subconsciously dig into her delicate wrist until she winces again. You didn't expect to react at all.

Her skin looks as rosy as her cheeks do in the sunlight, somehow looking even more soft, and slightly lilac - like the sweetest flower of hibiscus.

You want to crush it. You want to scratch it, bite it - taste it. You want to bury your teeth deep into her stupidly plush flesh and rip it open, spit it out just to dive in again. You feel lightheaded smelling the faint of her scent - you swear it has the same hint of honey a summery morning breeze does. And it kills you that you can even think of that parallel.

"What are you doing?", Illi whispers, her breath pushing against your hair, stray strands shivering under the hot air.

You bite your inner cheek, pain rattling through your body and forcing you back into the stiff tune of the empty room. Your shaking palm tightly wraps around the red pen, hastily carrying it over to her white skin and gently nudging the tip of it against her arm.

"Giving you my address, of course.", you grunt through clenched teeth, trying not to focus on the dip of her velvety tissue - bright red color pressing down on it.

Illi just watches - silently, her fingers shivering beneath you but never reaching out, never touching you. She patiently waits until your full address is enthroned on her arm in that nasty teacher's color.

"So pretty.", you mutter, slowly withdrawing your pen, your hand still sitting around her wrist - you couldn't let go, feeling glued to her smooth skin.

"Pretty?", she says, her voice so very quiet.

"I-", you promptly let her arm fall in a rush of heat, your eyes snapping up to her face. You feel nauseous, so very, wholeheartedly, deeply nauseous - you can only try to breathe at the sight of her face. "I should go to my class.", you choke out and stumble forward, clutching your backpack as tight as you held her wrist, taunting. "I have another class.", you repeat hastily, standing in the door now.

"Okay.", Illi says.

You hurry outside and through the hallways and finally - after you sit on a new chair in a room full of people, the pressure on your lungs seems to fade.

But the past touch.. the past touch lingers - still burning into your side even after another long lesson.