Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Bexley
“ S o, you’ve been here for four days,” Tamsin, Garrett’s girlfriend, pointed out just before she bit into her sandwich. “How’s it going?”
“I love my job,” I replied, holding out a bag with carrots and celery in it.
“Have those two been mixed in that bag the whole time?” she asked, staring at it like I was holding out a rattlesnake.
Looking into it to see if there was a bug or something in there—which would make both items inedible—I nodded. “Well, ever since they were cut up this morning. Why? What do you see?”
Shuddering, she held a hand up. “No thanks. I have personal issues with celery. It tastes like hell, and those stringy bits are the Devil’s pubic hairs.”
“Gross. I only took some because Logan kept saying it’s good for me, and I like carrots when they’re in little pieces.” Obviously. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten celery.”
“Oh, you’d remember.” The barfing noises she added were unnecessary, seeing as how I now had no intentions of ever eating the Devil’s pubic hairs, but it also got our table glares from the other teachers in the teacher’s lounge.
Picking up my sandwich, I unwrapped it and peeled back the top layer to make sure none had gotten into it. Thankfully, no, it hadn’t.
“How’s living with Logan going?” she asked after I’d taken a bite.
Chewing slowly, I thought about how best to answer the question. Ever since I’d started work, Tamsin and Tabby had been good to me. They were supportive, helpful, hilarious, and made me feel comfortable from the moment I’d pulled up on my first morning. I could be honest, couldn’t I?
“Hey, girls,” Tabby greeted, dropping down into the seat beside mine. “How’s it hanging?”
Tamsin pointed at me. “I was just asking Bexley how things were going living with Logan.”
Tabby looked at me expectantly, so I caved. “It’s going okay, and he’s great when it comes to helping out with the work I’m doing on the house, but…” I trailed off.
Both women leaned in closer to me. Looking around us, Tabby whispered, “But? Girl, don’t keep us hanging.”
“But he’s in a perpetually bad mood.” There, that wasn’t worded badly, was it?
Tabby shocked me by nodding. “Yup, Dave says the same thing about him at work. The guys have some theories.”
“Oh, I heard about those,” Tamsin added, making me more curious.
Don’t ask and be a gossip, Bexley Anne Heath .
As if listening to your inner angel ever worked. “What are the theories?”
“Well, the tamer ones are like the thing that happened with his apartment,” Tamsin shrugged, sharing a look with Tabby.
When neither of them said anything else, I hissed, “And the others? ”
Tamsin blushed and looked over at the wall. “Tabby can tell you those.”
Shooting her a glare that bounced off the back of her head, Tabby mumbled, “They think he’s got man issues.”
“Man issues? Like the happy little chappy blue pill type of requirements?”
“No, as in the opposite of that.”
What was the opposite of…. Ohhhh !
Dropping my half-eaten sandwich back onto the plastic wrap, I whispered as quietly as possible, “Is that something he should see a doctor about? I mean, if he can’t get it to go down, maybe he needs—”
“Sex,” Tamsin huffed, not meaning to say it as loudly as she did and turning bright red when people turned to look at us again. “Uh, that is that sex education should always be taught with an understanding of its impact on students and how they perceive sex in general.”
When people went back to their conversations, she smiled weakly at both of us.
“What the hell was that?”
Glaring at me, she snapped, “I panicked, okay? Everyone was looking at me like I was a deviant. But you need to understand what Logan needs is probably sex. Are y’all in the same bed still?”
When I nodded my head, Tabby grinned at me. “Well, guess you’re going to have to break out some moves for him to help cure him of his ailment.”
Blinking at her, I looked at Tamsin to talk some sense for her, but she just shrugged. “Sorry, I agree. You can’t tell me you guys aren’t in the same sex zone—I’ve felt the tension.”
Were we ?
Before I could say anything else, the bell rang, making me jump.
“Well, I say you’ve got some food for thought, honey,” Tabby said as she stood up. “And if you need any help, just shout. ”
Mutely, I picked up the remnants of my lunch and walked over to the trash can to dump it, my head spinning the whole time.
Sex.
Logan.
Sex.
Logan’s penis.
Sex.
My vagina and his penis.
Joining me, Tamsin got rid of her garbage. “Have you got what you need to help out my classes this afternoon?”
Shaking it off, I pulled the book I was bringing with me out of my purse, holding it up for her to see.
“I do. And if this isn’t a good example of what you’re talking about, I don’t know what is. All of the parents returned the acceptance forms, I guess what happened recently has shaken a lot of them up.”
I’d agreed to help her out with a class that dealt with psychology and helping students understand it. Her current project was understanding the impact of words on people and educating students on how deep the ‘reality’ of the internet went. Principal Teller had even agreed to let me speak to them while my regular class finished up a project I’d set.
“I’ve never read that,” she told me as we walked to her classroom. “The title’s kind of… brutal .”
“It’s a perfect example of how words were used years ago and comparing them against their severity now. But it’s a great book if you can get past the title.”
As soon as her students were seated, Tamsin settled them down and then pointed at me.
“I’m sure some of you already know her, but for those of you who don’t, this is Miss Heath, our new English teacher. I was speaking to her about how we’ve been discussing the impact of words on people, and she knew just the right example, so she’s going to be talking to you today. Your parents have been notified and gave their consent, so don’t panic.”
Smiling stiffly at her, thanks to the nerves that were swirling around in my stomach, I waved lamely.
“Um, hi? I recognize some of you already, but my name’s Bexley. I mean Heath. No, it’s Bexley Heath, but you can call me...” I groaned internally at how much of a loser I looked, “Miss Heath.”
Flashing what I hoped was a smile that screamed at them to take pity on me, I took a deep breath in. “I know Miss Waite’s been talking to you about how the meaning of some words change, or we start to use them differently, and the impact saying things can have on people, even if you don’t mean it badly. The example she gave me was a phrase I gather y’all are familiar with: go kill yourself.”
One of the girls threw her arms up in the air. “I hate it. People keep saying it, and I’m like, do they even realize how bad it still is to say that? No way does it mean to shut the f—” she stopped and looked between Tamsin and me. “I mean to shut— Uh, STFU.”
Nice!
“Let’s keep it PG, Kenya,” Tamsin suggested.
“I did. But people are still saying it means that, and, like, no way.”
One of the boys sneered at the girl. “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a kiss ass?”
“Ben,” Tamsin snapped. “One more of those, and I’ll send you to the principal’s office.”
I braced for an argument, but he blushed and looked down at his desk instead. “Sorry, Miss Waite. I understand what you’re saying and how good an example that is, but she’s always digging away at me and my friends.”
Not wanting to dwell on it and run the risk of making things worse, I continued with my plan.
Holding the book up, I tapped the front of it. “Who here has heard of an author called Alexander Pope?”
All of them looked back at me blankly .
“Alrighty then. Pope was an English poet who died in 1744, but he wrote a satirical piece that’ll always be one of my favorite books in the world called The Rape Of The Lock .” The title had the intended reaction as all of the students' eyes widened. “Exactly. The word rape is brutal and ugly, and back then, it was probably the same, but he managed to create something from it that highlighted how affectatious and vain society was.”
One of the boys held his hand up. “What does affectatious mean?”
“Pretentious, fake, and like it’s being done for show,” I replied, tapping the book again. “See, in it, the man cuts a lock of hair off the girl—”
“I’d kill him,” one of the students snapped, holding her ponytail in her fist. “My brother cut my hair once with those scissors that don’t even cut through paper. I glued him to the toilet seat.”
Everyone burst out laughing, including Tamsin and me.
“Understandable. I’m an only child, but my best friend’s male, and if he’d cut my hair when we were younger, I’d have done the same.”
Don’t think about Logan . Too late, there goes the blush.
Clearing my throat, I continued, “Anyway, the woman reacts by being overly dramatic, and society does the same thing. It’s like everything comes to a stop, and it’s the worst thing that could ever happen.”
This time they all looked at each other dubiously.
“For real, back then, it was all about how you looked, and any action against that was the kind of thing that would win trophies and long speeches at award ceremonies nowadays. That’s what Pope was aiming for when he wrote it—to highlight how vapid and pretentious society was. They all wore wigs to prove their stature, even the men spent hours powdering and putting red blush on their faces, and without that, you were nothing.”
One of the boys sitting at the back raised his hand. “That sucks. Who cares if you look great? I haven’t showered for three days, and I’m okay.” He sniffed under his arm and lowered it quickly.
“Exactly. Not only did Pope strike a blow with the content of the piece, but he struck a blow with the title of it, too. Rape—it’s one of the ugliest words, isn’t it?” All of them nodded. “Back then, it was ugly too, but they didn’t have social media or the type of mentality we have today.”
“Because they were too focused on their appearances?” One of the boys shouted.
Clapping my hands together, I pointed at him. “And there you have it. We’re conscious of how we look now, but it doesn’t define our society. Well,” I added with a smile, “not as much as it did back then.”
This made most of them laugh, and the others who didn’t still smiled.
“He was bringing attention to what was important by using it while making fun of how affectatious society was at the same time. What do you think would happen if an author wrote a book with a title like that today?”
A pretty girl at the front shyly raised her hand. “No one would buy it. We don’t like that word.”
“You’re probably right. Not many people I’ve spoken to have read or heard of this book, and when they hear the title, they look appalled by it. That’s because the weight and knowledge of what the word means are well known.
“Would you ever throw a sentence with it in it at someone? I mean, I can’t even bring myself to give you an example, but think back to the ‘go kill yourself’ one that we’re trying to get you to stress to people you meet online is unacceptable, and think along those lines.”
“Do people still buy that book?” another girl asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “But for the content alone, they should. It’s an amazing piece of literature, and it shows how values, ideals, and society have changed in comparison to back then. ”
Glancing behind me at Tamsin, I raised my eyebrows to see how I was doing, getting a nod and smile in return.
Focusing back on the students, I added, “Just so you know, the principal spoke to parents about us bringing in an old piece of literature with this title for you, and the emails we received back encouraged it. Words carry weight. You don’t know what someone’s been through or is going through, and you don’t know how your words will impact them, even if you don’t mean for them to.
“Think things through before you say them, weigh your words properly, and consider other people’s feelings. I’m not saying that Pope got everyone to understand how bad rape was and how vapid society was back then, but I’ll bet you he opened a lot of eyes when he published this.”
I held the book up again for them to see.
“Do you think we could read it?” A kid wearing a football shirt asked, nodding at the book. “Like, can we download it?”
“More than likely. I know the paperback is still available to buy at least.”
“Cool.”
After discussing it more with them, hearing examples of things kids were saying, and the other stuff they were dealing with online, we moved on to my least favorite part of any discussion. It didn’t matter whether it was me doing the talking or someone else, the words ‘do you have any questions’ just made me want to shrivel up.
Of course they had questions.
“Are you going to teach us about the book?”
“Can we study the book?”
“What other books have weird names?”
“Was Pope a pope?”
“How much of her hair did he cut off?”
“Couldn’t she, like, just get hair extensions? That’s what my mom does. ”
And then came one that re-opened up the thoughts I was trying to ignore.
“I saw you with Logan Richards. Are you dating a deputy?”
Looking at Tamsin for help, I glared when she just smiled at me and asked, “Well, are you?”
“No, I’m not. He’s been my best friend since I was little, so that’s why.”
The girl who’d asked the question raised her hand again. “But he’s hot. Y’all look cute together.”
Before I could even think of anything at all to say to that, another one of the kids yelled, “Why’s he staying at your house? My dad said you’re hot, and he’d totally—” he stopped and cleared his throat.
This time Tamsin did help me out. “Why don’t you tell us about your name? It’s unusual.”
It was obvious that the kids wanted me to answer the previous question, but I held onto hers like I was Tom Hanks with a volleyball.
“Bexley Heath is a place in London where my family was originally from generations ago. When I was born, my parents thought it would be cute to name me after it, so here I am.”
I looked down at my watch at the same time the bell rang, and finally relaxed.
At least, that’s what I thought I could do, but none of the students moved. They just sat there staring at me.
“Uh, don’t y’all want to go? I always ran out the door when the bell rang.”
Then one of the boys in a football jersey with the school team’s logo on it stood up. Holy shit, he was tall.
“We just wanted to say thank you to you and Miss Waite. We get what you’ve been talking about, Miss Waite, and you’re right. You know what happened to those two students who joined that group—”
Two students had recently attempted suicide after joining a fucked up group on the web. Thankfully, they hadn’t succeeded, but schools were being instructed to educate students about the issues with groups like it and what they said to each other because of an increase in the number of cases. “
“And we just want you to know that we’re listening and applying what you’re saying.”
Part of me wondered if he was just saying it to get her to change the subject, but part of me wanted to believe that they really got what she was working on with them.
Then, he looked at me, and I noticed how red his ears were. “If, um, if you can, would you be able to go over that book with us during one of our classes? I figure learning about society when they were like that would be good for us.”
“I’ll talk it over with the principal and see what he says, but it might not be a bad thing. Well, aside from the title.” When I smiled at him afterward, his ears went darker, and his cheeks joined them.
Before I could ask if he was okay, they all started toward the door, waving at us over their shoulders. Once the last student was gone, Tamsin burst out laughing.
“Well, at least you’re guaranteed one student who’ll pay attention.”
Frowning at her, I closed the door until the next round of students arrived. “What do you mean?”
“Fraser Brown’s got a crush on you.”
“Gross!” No teacher wanted that, ever.
“I know. The good news is that he’ll be over it in a week and going out with a cute girl. I know she’ll be cute and not a vixen because he’s got that sort of gentle personality that’d probably balk at one of the more savage girls in the school. Until then, he’ll listen in class.”
I could totally see him with a pretty, quiet girl like she described.
Moving to sit on top of her desk, I swung my legs back and forth. “Is that what happened with you and Garrett? ”
The laughter stopped almost immediately, and when she looked at me, her eyes were wide.
“Girl, no. Shit happened—literally. Baby shit, dog shit, lots of both. It was awful, and I swear I was starting to think that’s all life had waiting for us, but then we grew closer over it all, and the rest is history. Well, recent history, but in a few years, we can say it’s history.”
I hadn’t heard about the finer details of their relationship, so this response was a shock. “Shit?”
Nodding her head, she said slowly, “Yeah, shit .”
“As in shit shit?”
Tilting her head to the side, she repeated, “Dog and baby.”
I didn’t even know how that would bring a couple closer together, so I asked her.
“Well,” she started and then stopped. “Actually, I don’t know how, but we became a team to clean it up, and somehow that just,”—she waved her hand around in a circle—“brought us together.”
I guess stranger things had happened.
“You know what they say: the couple that shits together sticks together.”
She walked over to the door to open it back up as she looked over her shoulder at me.
“Yeah, no, they don’t. And if a couple does shit together, they probably have accounts with Victoria’s Secret and lingerie companies all over the world, ‘cause that’s some nastiness.”
Tamsin wasn’t wrong there. With Logan staying, I had to be careful what I was eating in case I needed the bathroom to poop. I couldn’t relax about it. At this stage, I existed on nothing but the blandest stuff I could think up because I was so paranoid.
I couldn’t go in the morning in case he needed to use the bathroom after me. I couldn’t go when I got home just in case he came home early. I had shitranoia. Yes, I could use another bathroom, but he never stuck to one, he tried them all.
Wait, where was he pooping ? Did he do it at work ?
It’s fair to say that I was distracted during the next class and the one after it while discussing the book. I know the kids took it on because they were active during discussions and came up with some great questions and points, but I couldn’t have given you a rundown of them afterward if I tried.
My first issue was that Logan was in a bad mood at work because he was horny. But he was sleeping in the same bed as me, so did I make him horny?
Did I want to make him horny ? I knew the answer to that question, but it was one thing knowing how I felt and another thing knowing his penis was involved.
Then I was wondering about him pooping, which was weird and gross.
Somehow I managed to make it home in one piece, the questions going round in circles in my head.
To distract myself from it all, I picked up the design magazines I’d bought when I went to the store on Saturday for inspiration and started flicking through them.
I hit gold for distraction and my living room on the eighth page.
“What are you doing?” Logan’s deep voice asked behind me, making me wobble on the stepladder.
I’d seen a photo of a room with white walls and a cool blue, six inch border around them. A small strip of carved wood had separated the two. It suited the house and my style so perfectly, I’d gotten straight back into the car and headed to the hardware store before I could talk myself out of it.
That’s probably a strange thing to say, but I didn’t know what my style was, if I was honest. I kept humming and hawing over things I saw but hadn’t decided on any of them.
Seeing one that finally screamed yes at me was a sign, and the sooner I did it, the better I’d feel .
At least, that was today’s excuse.
Yes, I loved the look of it. Yes, I thought it would look fabulous in the room and house. Yes, it kind of did suit my style because I’d intended to give it character with accessories, but I’d also wanted the living room to be the heart of it. To do that, a cool style was necessary, and this was definitely cool.
But there was also the small fact that in two weeks, the floor dude would be doing his work, so I needed to get as much done as possible.
And had I mentioned that I hated skidding around on the plastic sheeting taped down? You try walking out of your room pre-caffeine and skidding in your socks. That shit was no fun. It woke you up, but it also made you walk like you were trying to escape a psycho in a slasher movie.
All of this meant that as soon as I had what I needed, I’d come home, put music on, and started painting the border from the ceiling down. I was in the zone, and the music was loud, so I hadn’t heard him come home.
Doyle had reached an impasse with Logan yesterday after he found him chewing on his work socks and lying on his pants. After a tug of war and some evasive actions on Logan’s behalf, he’d managed to leave for work with a slightly mangled uniform and wet socks.
Last night, Logan had come in with another bone for Doyle, this one filled with marrow. This meant that the dog was docile-ish when he saw Logan, only lifting his head to growl at him instead of attacking him like he usually did.
Prince, on the other hand, just flicked his tail and glared at Logan before curling back up again in a ball.
With my hand braced against the wall to steady myself, I twisted at the waist to look at him, seeing him frowning as he looked at what I’d done.
“I’m painting?” Why was that a question ?
“I can see that, but what are you painting? ”
Dropping the cute little roller I’d picked up into the pan, I carefully got down the steps again.
“I picked up some design magazines because I wanted to get an idea of accessories to give the house some pizzazz.” Yes, I used my jazz hands for the word.
Picking up the magazine in question, I held up the double-page photo for him to see.
“This border looks killer with the bright white walls, so I got some paint and the little wood doohickey like this,” I pointed to where it split the colors on the photo. “Cool, right?”
Glancing from the magazine to my walls and back again, Logan rubbed his forehead. “I don’t exactly hate it, I just haven’t ever seen anything like that before.”
“Right? The house has always been one of a kind in Piersville, so I thought the inside should reflect the outside somehow. I know I can make a statement with the accessories and shit, but the living room should be a feature.”
It was obvious that I was excited about my plan, and whatever he saw on my face made him grin.
“Well then, let’s finish your feature.”
Two pairs of hands made the work go much quicker, and within an hour, we were both finished with the first coat of paint.
Ruffling his hair with his hands, Logan grumbled, “How did it get in my hair? I wasn’t even close to the wall, and none of it’s on the white area.”
Holding my hands up to show him the amount of paint I’d gotten on them, I shrugged. “Who knows, but it gets everywhere. Why don’t you have a shower, and I’ll put the food on?”
Such an innocent question, but one that got genuine panic from him.
“What? I can do it when I’m done or before I go in.”
“I bought one of those already cooked chickens from the store on the way back from getting the paint, and I’m probably okay to put frozen fries in without killing us. ”
Looking relieved, he moved toward the door. “I won’t be long, but maybe put them in the oven in about ten minutes.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Prince and me to stare at the work. The tape was still up because it was only the first coat, but I liked it already.
“It’s going to look awesome once we pull the tape off and put the wooden partition between the colors, kiddo. What do you think? Suits the fireplace and light fixture, right?”
Ever the mute, Prince just blinked at me.
“That’s what I thought. You’re welcome to give an opinion at some point, though, so feel free to hit me with what you really think.”
To that, he lifted his leg like a ballerina, toe pointed out and everything, and stuck his head between his legs.
“Well, that’s rude.”
Looking away from what was a private moment between him and his crotch, I turned in a circle one more time to take in the impact of the work we’d done and stopped when I found a patch that I’d missed.
“How did that get there?”
Picking up the brush from the pan on the floor, I reached up and painted over it. Unfortunately, this also meant I was now committed to making sure there weren’t any other spots that needed extra work as well, so I went around touching them up so that we had a good first coat down.
Finally, I took a step back to look around again and stood right in the stupid pan of paint I’d left behind me.
Why would someone do something so stupid? Because I was too lazy to walk five steps to the right, that’s why.
I was only wearing socks, too, so I felt the paint almost immediately and screamed.
This was a disaster. If I took my foot out, I’d get paint all over the plastic sheeting, which Prince and Doyle would then track through the house .
What if it didn’t dry overnight and I walked through it in the morning? I was going to have to take my sock off and drop it in the pan until I could get a bag to throw it into.
It might have sounded like a dramatic reaction, but the frustrated, wailing scream that came out of me was warranted given the circumstances.
I was so focused on my tragedy that I didn’t even hear Logan running down the stairs.
In fact, the only warning I had that he was reacting to my screams was when he ran into the living room—wearing only a towel and with shampoo still in his hair—and his bellow, as he put his foot in the paint pan he’d been using on the other side of the room.
I looked up just in time to see physics work against him.
His forward momentum meant that the pan skidded forward, separating his legs as it shot forward, leaving a trail of paint behind it. Then, his arms came out and windmilled around to try and balance him, but as he put the now paint-covered foot down, it slipped on the plastic sheeting.
With the toes of his paint-free foot on the ground, his blue-footed leg came up into the air before he fell onto his back. Almost like it happened in slow motion, his body hit the ground, the towel came undone, and I stood open-mouthed as his penis lifted then dropped back down.
I wish I could say there was a noise that accompanied it, but the air leaving his lungs followed by the gasping breath he took and his limbs all connecting with the ground kind of drowned it out.
Nothing would ever drown out the visual I’d likely have for the rest of my life of his dick dancing, though. Oh hell no, nothing would get rid of that.
It was like watching those Newton’s Cradle balls hitting off one another on a desk.
Finally, once everything had stopped bouncing—outwardly, not inside my mind—he rolled onto his side and gasped, “Fucking hell, Bex. What the fuck?”
“That’s a lot of fucks.”
And a lot of penis, but I was too much of a lady to say that out loud.
I wasn’t too much of one not to make a mental note of it, though.
Still panting, he pushed himself up to sitting, with one arm braced on the floor to support him. I’d like to point out—not to him—that his towel remained open, but at least his leg was supporting his cock and balls now.
“Why the hell did you scream?”
Who could think about whatever he was talking about with what he had going on right now in front of them?
Then I remembered my foot. Looking down at it, I groaned. “God damn it.”
Seeing it, he scowled at me. “That’s your issue? A blue foot?”
“And what would you have done in my socks? Walked on it? Hopped on one leg to the trash can, dripping paint on plastic sheeting that’d get tracked everywhere else?”
“I wouldn’t have made that mistake in the first place. You need to look where you’re going.”
“Remind me how you fell again?”
Unfortunately, with that reminder, he looked down at his own blue appendage. Well, technically, one blue one and one pretty pink one with a darker pinked head that was waving at me.
Being too much of a lady to wink back at him, I made a point of looking up at the ceiling while he covered himself up.
“I only stood in the paint because I thought someone was attacking you when you screamed,” he clipped, and when I looked back down at him, he was easing his way onto his feet, doing his best to stop his paint-covered foot from slipping on the plastic. “Now, how am I going to get this cleaned without making a mess everywhere? ”
Sticking my foot out, I asked, “See the problem yet?”
Tipping his head back, he glared up at the ceiling. It seemed that between us, this tended to be our reaction of choice. Interesting.
Then, not saying a word, he limped out of the room, only putting pressure on his toes to keep his balance instead of placing his whole foot on the ground.
I’d just leaned down to pull my sock off, figuring that it would probably slip more on the plastic than my foot would, when there was a manly squeak and thud in the hallway.
From where they were sitting in their corners, Prince let out a mewling noise, and Doyle grumped.
“Oh, don’t you worry, I already knew to watch it on the corners. He was the one who was so sure having paint on your foot wasn’t that big of a deal.”
That was a tiny lie, sure, but in my defense, I was kind of rattled still from the whole falling penis log that I’d witnessed.
Once you saw the dick of the guy you liked, was there any going back?
Eight hours later…
I was in the middle of a great dream, one where I was safe, warm, and comfortable.
And then the ground moved, and I heard a deep, “Ah, fuck it,” before a weight rolled on top of me, and I opened my eyes to scream…
Right in Logan’s face.