Whoa am I up late.
Gregory’s next period was lunch. He went down to the cafeteria and took to a circular table where he sat down alone and buried his head in his arms. He could only remember the shame, the embarrassment. He was sure that he hadn’t been saying anything out loud about Tiffany, yet everyone laughed at him. They laughed at him. Like they knew. How could they know? Greg shot up straight in his chair. What if they could hear me? A girl at a nearby table turned her head to look at him and he glared back at her. She curled her lip and turned back to her friends. This possibility shocked him. It can’t be true he thought. No, that’s not right. I’m just being paranoid. He lost his glare, but kept his eyes fixed on the girl at the table near him. A tall, skinny, busty blonde slipped into a yellow t-shirt and cotton shorts that read “CHEER” across the rear. He stared at her, sure that no one could see him due to his position behind a column. He began to imagine sitting before her, running his hands down her sides; she leaning over him playfully, a mischievous smile on her face, placing a hand on his chest as she advanced closer, placing the other hand on his shoulder as she came closer still. Their faces nearing, her nose grazing his as she moved, and she kissing him lustfully for a few long moments. Then slipping in the tongue.
Greg snapped out of his thoughts. The girl was turned in her seat and gaping at him. By her mouth, she was startled and horrified; by her eyes, she was startled and confused. Greg looked down for a few moments, then looked back up at her. She was staring at the wall near the table now, trying to comprehend. She had been merely sitting and chatting with her friends when all of a sudden a vivid, unprovoked image popped into her head. She saw flashes of herself leaning over someone, getting closer and closer, then finally kissing that weird kid who had been talking out loud to himself moments before. The thought had seemed so unfamiliar that she had turned and gaped at the boy, yet since she had known that it was a thought that had formed in her own mind, her own thought, her eyes had acquired an appropriate look of bewilderment. She was simply aghast that such a thought could be hers, that it would ever have occurred. Looking at the boy again, he wasn’t too bad looking, but nothing to have sexual fantasies over.
The girl’s friend sitting opposite the girl at the table spoke up. “Kayla, is something wrong?”
“I don’t know…do you know that kid? The one who was talking to himself?”
“What kid?”
“Back there.” She pointed. “Just now, he was talking to himself. Didn’t you hear?”
“No, I didn’t hear him.”
She turned to the friend at her right. “Did you?”
All the friends she asked at her table agreed: none of them had heard him, only a few of them had seen him before, and one thought that he was cute.
“I can’t believe I’m the only one that heard him.” She looked down at her lunch tray. “It was so weird. I mean I—I like, started thinking about him all of a sudden. Out of nowhere. I don’t know what came over me.”
The event confused the girls for some time and made Gregory the topic of their discussion for the duration of the period. Gregory, aware that they were now talking about him and making furtive yet obvious glances in his direction, tried to ignore them. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, then went back to his thinking. I wonder if she knows I thought that. That was a really big coincidence, otherwise. No, it can’t be, I’m just crazy. I’m just paranoid, that’s all. I’m just paranoid. Just paranoid. I’m just paranoid. Paranoid. That’s all. He repeated the words over again in his head. He felt safe thinking them. Like no one could hear him. That’s crazy. No one can hear me. I’m just crazy. Later in the day, he began to actually feel as though people could hear his thoughts, as though becoming aware of it. To combat the feeling, he did all he could not to think anything personal, or insulting, or sexual. His mind became a torrent of repeated words, over and over again, his tongue moving inside his mouth like he was saying them. He screamed things in his head, just to get the feeling to stop, to stop thoughts before they happened, to drown thoughts out. The only time he felt at peace was when he was alone.
Over the coming weeks, he discovered that in trying his best not to think anything insulting or sexual, powerful thoughts arose in his head to the contrary, as if just to be contrary. Every time he passed a girl, he began screaming safe thoughts in his head. For some reason, when he felt as though his thoughts were safe, people didn’t seem to hear them, but when he wasn’t paying attention, his head became a stereo to all. He had to keep on his guard, be aware of his thoughts all the time. Keep mentally screaming at himself to stop thinking bad thoughts. It was difficult, and every day became a trial. He sometimes felt that it was simply too much for him to handle.
Cool, I learned how to quote.
