The Slut's Story (#wattys2019)

Chapter 5

~Chapter 5

"Ooh, that is some hot meat."

"Damn, how can a girl get this hot?"

"Everything around me just gets so hot that when I see your pictures, I have to take a cold shower."

"Sex must be great with that fine piece."

I tried my hardest to ignore the constant messages and notifications that I get on my social media apps. I've never liked social media in the first place. I just had to seem like I was a normal person.

Even if I had social media, I would have drawn and painted thousands of pictures and post them online. One of my passions is art, and I'm not able to do it, one of the main reasons I can't take art class. Last year, I took art, and I either ended up skipping classes or the guys wouldn't let me do anything.

It reminded me of that time I was bullied for the first time because a group of guys said I had cooties.

But there was nothing wrong with me. Of course, I just told my mom and she told them off, but I was still bothered. Same when I wasn't allowed to do anything.

I tried to listen to what my English teacher was trying to say. I can't though since my mind seems to go back to that one day.

I looked around myself, trying to find out where the colors that I needed were. I loved with all my heart, and it's what made Mom and I very close. I would sketch, and she would paint most of the time.

"Good morning everyone. I hope you're all doing pretty well. Since it is your second day of the second semester and second day here, I doubt you would remember because you are kind of immature as well." Her eyes traveled to the side to look at two guys using sponges to dab the paint onto each other's faces. The teacher sighed and shook her head in disappointment.

"Well, you have to remember that the paint will be over there in that cabinet, and all the colors are sorted out. All the shades of blue, red, and other colors are organized nicely, and we will keep it that way. If I see anyone undo it, I will paint the floor with acrylic paint, and I will watch you clean it after it dries."

Everyone knows how it is almost impossible to get rid of acrylic paint after it dries. It can't even be cleaned up with water.

I glanced at the students around me, who just gulped in nervousness at her comment. Well then.

"Go on, you can draw or paint whatever you want for the rest of this week."

I grabbed a thick piece of paper and a pencil, using it to sketch something that I have wanted to sketch for a long time. I didn't even need a picture as a reference. I sketched a picture of my mom. I sketched her so many times, I could almost do it with my eyes closed... actually, not really.

But as I was in the middle of sketching, I was interrupted, very rudely (if I might add). I felt someone hit my ass.

I was naive. I didn't know how to deal with this type of stuff. So I let it go. But it happened again. This time, I turned around as I felt pain shoot up my right arm as my hand connected with his cheek, the end result of a red handprint on his face.

"Shayla Dawson! What do you think you are doing?!" I almost jumped when I heard the art teacher yell my name in front of the whole class. I turned around and gulped at how furious she looked. "How dare you slap my son, that too in front of everyone?"

My face flushed a bright shade of red in embarrassment and my mouth became so dry I couldn't talk.

"You are getting detention for that, young lady and the principle will think of what to do with you. Get out of my class. NOW!" Her voice boomed throughout the class and it even echoed for a couple of seconds.