Left side, Right side.

      Calvin Gabriel? No, I will never love him. I will never love his flowing locks of hair, like the sunlight on a spring morning, blinding everyone within its reach. I don’t care that each strand is like gold wire tangled together to form a beautiful web of light. His hair shines and shines, as if he himself was made of pure gold. His hair is like the waves of the ocean on a clear day, constantly swaying and fluttering in every moment when even the lightest warm summer breeze blows. I don’t care that his hair is a masterpiece by the hand of nature, created to perfection in every way.       I don’t care at all that his eyes are like a vast ocean on a hot day, a bright canvas of limitless possibilities and soft images, a window of the soul. To look into these eyes is to get lost in a blue sea, a world of wonder and discovery, a reflection of the limitless potential within. These eyes shine like stars at night, a brilliant reminder of the vastness of the universe and the power of the human spirit. In these eyes you can see a small lonely world living its own life. These eyes are almost doll-like, as if they were made by a master of his craft — carefully painted with the lightest shade of blue, carefully varnished the surface, and then covered it with a thin layer of playful glass, shimmering with every turn of the head in any direction. It’s disgusting.       I want to vomit when I see Calvin Gabriel’s smile. It disgusts me when a slight grin plays on his thin lips, when his white teeth are visible while he laughs, when he licks his lips while he thoughtfully looks at the terms of a problem on a math test that he cannot solve. I will never be able to tolerate the look of him when he pouts his lips slightly, pretending to be offended by one of his few friends, and then he giggles again, all so joyful, full of life, as if nothing had happened. It disgusts me even more when he jokes something lewd and vulgar, and then, slightly narrowing his eyes, bites his lower lip, as if he is the most affectionate whore who is being fucked for the last time in her life, and then, when the topic of conversation changes, there is a barely noticeable mark left on his lip from his fang, and if you look closely, you can see how a little of his saliva is visible on this mark, which gives the impression that he tinted this part with a girly transparent cosmetic gloss.       I will never be tolerant of the way Calvin Gabriel puts his hands on his waist, a position that accentuates his too-narrow, almost slutty waist. I don’t want to stand the sight of him turning his head back to look at someone who was shouting insults at his back, and then showing the middle finger, expressing no emotion other than pure indifference and not caring.       In general, it seems to me that he lives to spite me.       Me? Loving Calvin Gabriel? No… Not in this life.       …Wait.       

***

      I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but three bastards from the thirteenth grade locked me and Gabriel in the mop room. At that moment, there were enough students around that at least someone would tell one of the teachers about this, or, at worst, open the damn door themselves.       Actually, they only picked on me then. I didn’t even know that Gabriel was standing in the same corridor. Moreover, I didn’t know that he would try to stand up for ME.       The room was tiny, but spacious enough for me to stand without touching Gabriel at all. I pressed my back against the wall and angrily hit it with my fist (which I instantly regretted when, milliseconds later, a dull pain engulfed my wrist). There was a dim light in the room, so dim that I had to strain my eyes to peer and get a better look at my “savior,” who was pressed against the opposite wall.       “Apparently, we’re here for a long time…”              “They won’t fucking let us out of here.”       My voice is cold, full of anger.       “Do you know why? Because you shouldn’t mind someone else’s business!”       He shrugged his shoulders, as if wanting to reinforce my opinion of him as a frivolous person.       “We’re unlikely to die here, are we?”       Out of anger, I grab him by the collar of his black T-shirt with the word “ARMY” printed on it. The most caustic and malicious curse that I can think of almost escapes my lips, but the barely visible blush on his porcelain cheeks stops me, forcing me to freeze in stupor and look blankly into his frightened blue eyes. My hand involuntarily lets go of Calvin, and he immediately moves away from me, hiding his gaze. Obviously, he realized that I noticed the heat in his cheeks at that moment when I pulled him towards me, almost intimately, perhaps.       The last thoughts in my head have melted away, and only an insatiable animal curiosity takes over my brain.       I take a step closer, thereby driving Calvin into a corner. He tries to press himself against the wall as much as possible, but it doesn’t work. What a pity.       In a ridiculous attempt at bravery, he looks at me. I don’t hesitate, I don’t think it’s necessary, and, grabbing him by the shoulders, I pull him close to my body, intercept and now hold him by the waist, kissing him passionately on the lips.       I never, ever thought that during my first kiss I would struggle with the obsessive thought “I hate you” and the incredibly strong desire to strangle my partner.       Cal’s lips are indeed very soft and sweet in taste, it seems to me that they almost melt on mine. His body is warm, as if I really were holding the sun in my hands. I miss those measly five seconds of this childishly innocent kiss, so I almost immediately deepen it, pushing my tongue into Cal’s mouth and passionately licking his smooth teeth, almost teasingly caressing the roof of my mouth and touching his tongue. I soon pull away. My vision seems to blur.       I stare at him for a few seconds, completely dumbfounded by my action. I regret what I did, as if a realization comes to me.       I hate it. I despise it.       “Fuck you.”       Cal whispers in a hoarse voice, but doesn’t move back:       “It would be better if you said thank you. Dumb bastard.”       “Shut up, fucking whore.”       “Fuck. You.”       We look at each other for a few seconds, and then, as if thinking about the same thing, we kiss passionately again right there in the narrow mop room. I tangle my fingers in his hair, and he digs his nails into my cheeks.       I let go of Cal’s soft hair and wrap my other hand around his pelvis, reaching into his pants. My hand pulls his underwear down slightly and begins to lightly touch his groin as Cal moans softly into my lips.       The door suddenly opens, and the voice of Cal and my classmate Rachel is heard.       “Cal, I’ve been looking for you everywhere…”       Cal and I turn to look at her, and she looks at us in quiet shock without saying a word, after which she silently closes the door, and then only her steps can be heard away from the mop room…