Victoria just cocked her head, her shit-eating grin getting wider and shit-eating-er. She expected Victoria to respond with 'I don't see your name on it', whereupon Taylor could triumphantly point out the initials she'd carved into the plastic underside for this express situation. A smile that made you know deep down in your soul that everything was going to be all right. A sincere, infectious, hundred-megawatt smile. Victoria glanced Taylor's way as she approached the desk, flashing her a smile. You might forget that Victoria Dallon was a fucking cunt. You might forget about the lump of coal smouldering at the monster's core, the anglerfish at the end of the bulb in the endless black. If you focused on all of that, you might forget that however infinitely those rays extended as you followed them out, they must narrow to a single point when you followed them in. Who could fault the admirers? Who could resist, when her aura was slithering in through the gaps between your ribs, caressing the parts of you that were made to be caressed? When those wily phantom appendages had already plunged their hooks into your heart, exhilarating the muscle as vigorously as any defibrillator? Like the sun's rays, her love-me beams projected ever outwards, and their tendrils lured in any straggler who might object. Taylor's thin lips framed the syllables as they would a swearword. Another twelve percent voted for 'regal', a solid seven percent for some variation of 'exquisite', and three students submitted the uncensored text of their unspeakably graphic yet utterly jejune X-rated capefic, but Taylor refused to acknowledge the rights of people who didn't know what an adjective was. In case it wasn't, Taylor had anonymously posted a poll in the comments of the school blog to confirm it. If pressed to describe Victoria Dallon in one word, most would say 'radiant'. It ran through Taylor's head now, as she stood in the doorway of her classroom and watched her arch-nemesis giggle herself into a stupor with her posse. She said it again one Monday morning when Taylor was so sick with nerves at the thought of going back to Winslow that she was dry-heaving into her backpack. She whispered it into Taylor's ear when she was a child, lulling her to sleep, concluding their nightly ritual of reading pages from Lustrum's prison journal together. Taylor's mother first imparted this wisdom to her after picking Taylor up from daycare, when she complained that the other kids pulled her hair and kicked over her block fortress. Our thanks to quip for sponsoring MacStories this week.There was an intimacy you had with your enemies that you would never truly have with your lovers.
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