Teenage (3)

Say that you’re a 15-year-old boy who just walked from a hospital ward to its lobby. Just as you’re about to leave, you coincidentally run into a schoolmate who happens to be trying to get into the high school of her dreams — and you’re 99% sure she’s angry at you for an undisclosed reason.

Because you’re such a loser, you pull out your phone instead of attempting to meet her gaze, learning the time is 17:03 in the process. It takes you 30 minutes to cycle to work, you’ve been late three times in the past month, and you’re sure your boss is picking up on the fact you’re not actually old enough to legally work night shifts. Given that your reporting time is at 17:15, do you even bother showing up?

“I’m in a hurry,” said Jiwoo.

“H-hey!”

We were standing on opposite ends of the same sliding door and going in opposite directions. On a more normal day in a more ordinary mood, maybe I would’ve just listened to her and carried on with my life — you know, to try and keep my job. Or perhaps it was precisely because everything felt so mundane that I decided something had to change about the boring flow of time.

It could’ve simply been defiance as well. Who knows?

Who can explain why they do certain things, knowing full well they’re just inconveniencing themselves?

Like getting upset over people who are already dead?

Like getting interested in the most popular girl in your school?

Well.

The point is that I grabbed her arm as she passed by.

“Feeling frisky, Darren Chong?”

She didn’t even tense up or turn around. In fact, her voice carried the exact same tone as it did in the staffroom two hours ago… when she was smiling.

I decided not to get sidetracked. “Why are you so angry?”

“I don’t like ignorant people.”

“That’s good. I’m not that sort of person.”

“I don’t like guys who sexually assault girls either.”

How about girls who molest girls?

“Fine, whatever.”

I let go of her arm, and after making a show of dusting her sleeve, Jiwoo proceeded to walk away without so much as a care in the world. I guess that much was expected.

However.

Just because something is expected doesn’t mean it magically becomes a desirable outcome.

“I really, really don’t understand why you’re being like this,” I said, running up next to her.

“…”

No response.

“Did I do something to offend you?”

Still no response.

I wasn’t about to give up so easily, so I decided that I’d follow her until she got to the check-in gate. After that, I wanted to give her some privacy — not because I cared, but because I didn’t want to get arrested for stalking her. Medical confidentiality is a big thing in this part of the world.

Decent plan. Abiding by the law usually is, or so I’ve found.

As we walked, I bombarded her with questions in the hopes of making a breakthrough. Hey. How are you? Would you prefer a cucumber or an electric toothbrush? Unfortunately, her expression never wavered. She maintained that same unreadable look she always wore — the same gaze which charmed the entire male population of my school.

A gaze that told you she wanted to be anywhere else.

A gaze that screamed she was thinking of another place.

But even though she was supposed to be somewhere else, she was here.

And not for a lack of ambition.

When we reached the check-in area and I was on the precipice of giving up, she finally decided to speak.

“You’re a very stubborn person. But you know what? I respect that. So come with me.”

“Huh?”

She abruptly made a 90-degree turn, then walked to a section of the hospital that was definitely off-limits.

“We’re here.”

“…”

“Suddenly feeling shy?”

From how confidently she moved, I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“You… want me to follow you into the toilet?”

“Did I stutter?”

“N-no, but I think I’m good…”

She let out a sigh while smiling.

“For someone who’s been harassing me non-stop, you’re being awfully thoughtful now. Well, I guess I understand. The more I think about it, the more I realise how uncomfortable it’d be for a coward to enter this place.”

Jiwoo walked about three metres (9.84 feet) to the right, then pointed to a sign that displayed a stickman in a wheelchair.

“Unisex. Now you should be fine.”

“But that’s not—”

“No ifs or buts.”

She grabbed my arm and yanked me into the toilet.

It wasn’t that I didn’t resist or anything like that — sure, I probably could’ve tried harder than I did, but the truth was that Jiwoo was surprisingly strong. I don’t know what sport she played, but her grip strength was probably on par with that of a below average guy’s.

In other words, we were at the same level.

Then, if you factored in that I was terrified of her, plus the speed at which the situation unfolded… Well, you got a scenario where a girl was pushing around a guy instead of vice versa.

And so we ended up in a handicapped toilet.

“Sit, doggy.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I meant to say, ‘Doggy, I am going to kill you.’”

“...”

“Maybe I got it right the first time.”

“No, I don’t think the sentence structure is the problem…”

“Hey. Is your memory as scuffed as your face? ‘No ifs or buts.’ If you disobey me, disagree with me, or do anything that remotely suggests you might be feeling negative about this situation, then I’ll have no choice but to expertly bring you up to speed.”

“You mean… by telling me what’s going on?”

“No.”

She flipped her hair.

Looks hot.

“Well, actually yes,” she corrected. “But with my body.”

She pointed her knee towards my crotch.

Wait.

“Rule one. If you break a rule, I will break you. And your family tree.”

“…”

Then she pointed to the toilet bowl and whispered, “Doggy.”

Although I had slight reservations about its cleanliness, I did as I was told. Based on what little I could glimpse of her legs, Park Jiwoo made the existence of a real life Chun-Li look like a genuine possibility. She would absolutely vasectomise me.

“Rule two,” she continued. “Do not speak when I speak. Actually, let me correct myself — do not speak at all, not even when spoken to. In fact, no sounds allowed. Not even a whisper. Not even a breath. Not even— well, ideally, you should just ball yourself up and die. You maidenless cuck.”

“…”

“Okay, the last bit was a bit mean, even if it was true. As a token of apology I’ll allow you to breathe. But no further concessions shall be made. Also, if at any point the breathing begins to suggest that you’re having fun, I will end your life.”

“So I can’t be happy or sad about this? Just neutral?”

She lifted up her skirt a bit. “Hey, doggy. Rules one and two.”

Fine. Fair enough. I could do that. If shutting up meant this would go by faster, then so be it. It’s not like I wanted to be in this place with a girl, no matter the context. Toilet sex, herpes, hurts when I pee, yadda yadda.

But seriously… what the FUCK was going on? One moment I’m trying to bully the pretty girl so she gives me attention, the next moment it turns out the pretty girl is actually a repressed dom who likes performing CBT in disabled toilets. At the very least, I guess if I actually did get injured here, then I’d be as close to A&E as I possibly could.

“Rule three. This conversation didn’t happen.”

“...”

“That rule’s probably the one I mind you bending the least. After all, if you did tell someone that I, ex-student council president and perfect student Park Jiwoo, pulled you into a handicapped toilet and made you her bitch, they’d look at you like you were insane.”

Fair enough.

Not like I’d tell anyone.

She still wasn’t telling me why I was here, though.

I guess if you wanted to be pedantic, you could say I was here because I decided to play hooky from work to hit on a girl. Technically true, but that’s the same kind of statement as “World War 2 happened because Hitler was born”. It leaves many fundamental aspects of the question unanswered — for example, the aspect of what the fuck is wrong with this fucking girl?

“You claim to not be an ignorant guy, yes?”

I nodded.

“And you’re wondering why I’m — in your words — angry at you. Correct?”

The sarcasm was physically sickening, but I nodded again anyway.

“Well, the answer to your question lies in your silly projections.”

…What?

“For starters, I was never angry at you. I simply act like this to everyone I perceive as being of low value. And it’d be impossible for someone as important as me to get mad over an insignificant person like you.”

“I’m getting sick and tired of your fetish, pa—”

Thunk.

A vibration emanated from the toilet seat, and water splashed onto my butthole.

Holy fuck, she’s strong.

Her kick was definitely more powerful than anything I could generate with my body. She was packing. More importantly, if she’d aimed it any higher, Darren Jr. would surely never see the light of day again.

“Doggy, doggy.”

“...”

“Darren Chong, you dirty doggy.”

“Ugh…”

“It’s so sad, isn’t it? Shelly is doing all she can to recommend you for the project, and here you are spitting on her efforts by biting on the hand that feeds you. Oh well. I thought you’d be a decent guy, but your true colours are shining through — now I know you’re just an idiot. And you know what they say, no need to be diplomatic to people beneath you.”

No one says that except eugenicists and Hitler.

But that aside, I was barely following. Shelly? Project? I vaguely understood the recommendation part, but why would a teacher be liaising with a student over this sort of thing?

“I should’ve known better than to put my hopes in a last minute replacement,” Jiwoo sighed. “But I’ll live and learn. Not you, though.”

You'll die, she said.

Finally retracting her leg from the toilet seat, Jiwoo dusted off her skirt, then walked over to the door. In the time it took for her to do that, her face had morphed from a devilish glare to its usual nondescript look.

“I’m going. Remember that this never happened.”

“…”

“Did it or did it not happen?”

“…It didn’t.”

“Sayonara, doggy.”

Bitch.

Jiwoo opened the door and scurried out, leaving me with only my thoughts, a damp butthole, and an erection I’d been expertly concealing.

“…I should have gone to work,” I sighed.