Andrea - Part 1 (Patreon)

(Image is from a DeviantArt stock image model that deleted her account five or six years ago. I believe it was X_Succubus_X?)

Before I ever started writing, I spent a ton of time roleplaying, mostly in chatrooms, and there were a few characters that meant a ton to me. One I explored extensively was a girl named Andrea. I used this image for her profile on Eka's Portal, where I did most of my playing.

I've written about other characters I played before, but Andrea really hasn't had a time to shine and recapturing her hyper-dominant, sadistic energy is something I've wanted to do for a while. This is a sort of take on a twisted romance, and I have enough planned with it that I think I can have it ready for publishing by next year.

Enjoy!

**********

I'd seen her around school several times throughout the first semester of my senior year, with her wild and artificially bright crimson hair, dark makeup and even darker fashions. She stood out in the hallways of our small, rural high school, but despite her bold and loud style, she always seemed quietly stern, always moving with a purpose and never once stopping to chat or loiter between bells. She was serious, reserved, maybe even withdrawn. I thought about her more than a few times over the autumn months, somehow captivated by her... her mystery?  Maybe she was lonely, so beautiful and alone...

I was lonely enough, that was for sure. I'd had a girlfriend or two over the past few years, but everyone I was truly close to had been a year ahead of me, and now they were all off to colleges across the state and beyond. I filled the time with books and thirdhand friends, but there was still a lot of emptiness in my life that I expected I'd fill with college next year.

When the spring semester started I had the chance to spend a couple periods of the day as a teacher's assistant for a couple different English classes, and when I sat down at the teacher's desk in my first class after lunch and saw her sitting out in the back row, one of only four students who'd beaten me to class. I was shocked enough that I didn't notice my messenger bag catching a cup of pens on the desk until they all noisily fell and scattered across the floor.

She was the only one who didn't look up. I stole a few more glances at her while I cleaned up my mess. She had on these huge black platform boots, buckles running up their length to her knees and above that, tights that perfectly matched the striking hue of her hair. A relatively short black corset dress, just long enough to appease the sensitive administration, with long, lacy sleeves and a simple red leather choker completed her outfit. She continued to keep her head down, focused on writing in her notebook as I glanced again and again, and when I was done I slipped back into my chair and pulled out a book I was reading, trying to focus on something else for a while.

Throughout the class I continued to steal glimpses of her over the edge of my novel. As far as I could tell, she didn't look up once, staying completely focused on her writing or her drawing or whatever she was doing. When the bell rang, I made a point of getting out of the room quickly. I liked getting to my classes quickly, but I also worried that if she walked out first I might find myself following her, and I knew that no part of me was prepared to talk to her if she happened to suddenly notice me. I hurried off and kept my nose in my book for the rest of the day, but that didn't keep my mind from wandering back to her more than a few times. I was lonely, and she was beautiful, that much was true, but it was so much more than that for me. Something about her was just completely... enchanting.

I distracted myself well enough after I got home, but when I was drifting off to sleep I found myself trying to remember what color her eyes were. Hell, I didn't even know her name. I thought about making one up for her, or at least some title I could give her so that I could have something distinct to file my musings under or... whatever. I wasn't even really sure what I was trying to do, but nothing I imagined seemed good enough. She didn't deserve some made up name or label. She was better than that, and so she became "She" in my mind, and I drifted off vaguely hoping to dream of Her.

***

Weeks went on like this, with me sitting at the teacher's desk, doing my best to seem disinterested while stealthily staring at Her every chance I got. Rarely was She ever doing anything besides working in that notebook of hers, and I spent hours wondering what might be in it. The way her pen moved definitely implied more than simple handwriting, so it became easy to imagine Her as a profoundly talented artist, bored by the simple world around Her and disinterested in anything but her work.

One of my tasks as a teacher's assistant was grading the weekly vocabulary quizzes, and the minute that stack of papers landed on my desk I knew I had a tremendous opportunity. She didn't have to remain nameless in my mind anymore. I quickly flew through marking the clumsy linguistic blunders on the twenty-some quizzes, then spent the rest of the class sorting them out, first removing all the boys and then filtering out the girls whose names I'd already heard. The teacher never once dared to call on Her, so any name I recognized I could instantly discard. In the end, there were only three papers left, but I instantly knew which one had to belong to her.

Her handwriting was beautiful but efficient, no superfluous lines or curls, and of course her work had been flawless. I hadn't noticed on my first time through, as I'd been grading the papers in such haste, but in the section where the students had to use each of the week's words in a sentence, she'd even pieced together a little loose narrative about a tiny lost frog. It ended rather darkly, with the frog being splattered across the highway by a passing car, but it still seemed a wonderfully whimsical and creative thing to do.

A wonderful thing for Andrea to do.

Andrea.

A rush of warmth ran through my body as I let my discovery sink in. I looked up at her, staring at her angelic face as she undoubtedly worked on her next masterpiece, her pen moving in short, smooth strokes on the surface of her notebook. "Andrea" I silently mouthed, smiling softly to myself as I continued to watch her work.

Then she looked up. My heart instantly froze. My whole body seized up and my breathing totally stopped. It couldn't have been for more than a second or two, but her eyes definitely locked with mine. Eventually she looked back down at her work, but I was filled with nausea and dread. She'd seen me, and not only had she seen me, she'd caught me grinning like an idiot and staring right at her. I hadn't even been able to look away.

I wanted to get up and leave, or somehow totally disappear, but asking to be excused would just make me look even worse. I sat there for the rest of the hour, turned to the side and pretending to read my book while my insides churned, and the moment the bell gave me an excuse to spring up from my seat and scurry out the door that's exactly what I did.

That night I did my best to distract myself with my Playstation and a few shows, but by the time I was drifting off to sleep I kept coming back to two things.

Her name was Andrea, and her eyes were dark... huge eyes as dark as her dress and her boots. I couldn't decide if I wanted her to remember me or forget that she'd even seen me looking back at her. Either way, I lived through that moment when our eyes met again and again, reliving the thrill and the shame again and again.

*****

It had been a Friday when Andrea caught me staring at her, so I'd had a long while to consider my next day in that sophomore English class. Andrea was there before me as she always was; I figured she must have her previous class somewhere close by. I found myself wondering what other classes she might be taking, which was just one more thing to distract me from worrying about what, if anything, she might think of me.

I sat down at the teacher's desk to find a torn piece of notebook paper laid out on its surface with a familiarly elegant and efficient script.

    You don't have to hide your gaze and pretend. I like the way you worship me with your eyes, so go ahead and stare.

I instantly flushed and noisily crumpled the little note into a ball, throwing it down into the depths of my bag. Of course I looked up at her. It was a reaction, coming just as quickly as the sharp breath I took, but Andrea kept her head down this time, continuing to write in her notebook.

I was certain I saw the hint of a smirk on her downturned face, though, and even thought I might have heard the faintest chuckle, but before I even had time to process what had happened, the remaining majority of students rolled in and the bell rang, shaking me out of my stunned stupor.

I didn't even think to take out the current novel I was reading this time. All I could do was stare blankly at the desk before me and try to wrap my mind around what was going on. I definitely knew that she'd noticed me now, and of all the reactions I'd feared or fantasized about, this particular one had never even come close to entering my mind. She wasn't repulsed by my somewhat inappropriate attention but she clearly didn't seem particularly interested in me either.

Did she? I mean, this was a girl who didn't seem to talk to anyone, but she'd left a note just for me. I didn't even know why I was so interested in her. It wasn't like I was infatuated with her or dreamed of wrapping her up in my arms or anything like that. It's just that she was so... so intriguing? I didn't want to love her, but I definitely wanted to be closer. I wanted to understand her.

The period passed quickly with me left to my own musings, and when it was over Andrea rose with the other students and left the room without so much as glancing in my direction. I didn't get it, not one bit, but I knew one thing.

I was totally and completely fascinated.

*****

For the next several days I wasn't bold enough to even really glance up from my books and schoolwork when I sat in the same room as Andrea, but eventually I worked myself up enough to let my eyes really take her in. Her brilliant red hair was pushed back in a black metal studded headband, and she wore a black slender-strapped tank top emblazoned with some metal band's skull-centric logo and a heavy bracelet that matched her headband.

Her top wasn't exactly dress-code appropriate, which probably helped explain the flannel shirt tied around her waist. Her sheer black stockings reached up past where it hung down and stretched down to her boots... ankle height, as usual with a heavy platform sole and this time featuring a tall, thick studded heel.

Nobody here dressed like her, but I'm sure that's because nobody here was remotely like her. I let myself watch her for a while, and even though she still didn't look up or give any indication that she was aware of my attention, it seemed like there was a little more motion--a little more energy in her. I might have been completely imagining it but it seemed like her head was swaying just slightly as her pen danced around her notebook's page, and she might have been smiling, if that tiny curve of her mouth could be called around smile.

*****

Another week passed and I continued to grow bolder, spending most of my free time simply watching Andrea. Every day I found something new to appreciate in her, whether it was the shape of her slender, delicate arms or the way her huge, dark eyes narrowed to a squint when really focused on some element of her work in that notebook of hers.

Her little narrative on that week's vocabulary quiz brought a smile to my face as well. It wasn't that it was a particularly well-crafted tale or anything, but using each of the week's words in consecutive sentences to relate some unfortunate events befalling a lost young boy in the woods just demonstrated this creative spirit that seemed totally delightful to me.

It was a Tuesday when things finally changed. I was at lunch back in the little grove of trees, smoking with some friends of my ex. We were only loose acquaintances, but they were fine enough and didn't mind having me around if I was the one packing the bowl, so we sat like this a few times a week, laughing about stupid things and making it through another day of school.

I didn't see her coming, and the soft earth quieted the normally resounding impacts of her massive boots that I'd grown accustomed to perking up for. I didn't notice the others quieting somewhat, but when I went to pass the pipe to the left and a set of slender, feminine fingers with immaculate black nail polish snatched it from my grasp, my heart caught in my throat while my eyes followed the glass piece to her face. She held it before her darkly painted lips and extended her other hand while she stared at me impatiently, and I don't know how long it was, but for a long moment I was completely and totally paralyzed by her presence.

Eventually she reached out on her own and pulled the lighter from my loose grasp, properly judging me incapable of handing it over on my own. The thud of her heavy boot on the bench next to me was like a thunderbolt as she climbed up onto the picnic table I was seated at, the  numerous metal plates stretched across its tall shaft rattling as she turned around and settled onto the tabletop itself.

We all watched in silence as she gave the lighter a flick and put her mouth to the pipe, taking a long, crackling draw and then letting a slow, steady stream of smoke just spill from her lips. After giving the bowl a few taps with the bottom of the lighter, she passed both back to me with a bit of a scowl.

"That's beat," she declared in a firm, low, melodic voice that instantly struck me as perfect for her. "Pack it again."

The others started to filter away, though I barely noticed them until the distant sound of the school's electronic bell tone announced the end of our lunch period.

"Don't worry," she added, her eyes staying locked on me as she spoke. "We're not going to class today."

I wasn't the sort of person that ever skipped a class, but I wasn't going to let a little thing like school interrupt this moment. I was already unrolling my baggie before she even informed me of our plans.

She watched me work as I picked the seeds from my weed and packed the bowl for her. It was only after I'd handed it back to her and she'd taken another deep toke that she spoke again, but I certainly didn't mind sitting and dumbly staring. I didn't quite feel capable of anything else.

"So, what's your deal?" She leveled the question at me, simple but fair. Her fingers wrapped around my lighter, keeping it cradled against the bowl of my pipe in one hand, and she didn't seem to feel the need to hand it back to me just yet. "Pervert? Stalker? Romantic? Maybe some mixture of the three?"

I should have been stunned, but instead I instantly and reflexively replied in one swift exhalation, "I think you're fascinating."

There was this terrible pause after I spat out that phrase, and I felt the immediate need to say something further and explain myself, but Andrea only gave the slightest smile as she lifted my pipe back to her lips and sparked the lighter once again. It didn't feel right to speak while she was smoking, so I held my tongue as she slowly blew the sweet smoke back in my direction.

"Fascinating," she repeated. "What, you're you're a senior, right? Isn't that a bit old for a puppy?"

I blinked a few times, not really sure how to respond at first, but she took care of that problem for me, giving me a bit of direction. "Feel free to go ahead and elaborate on this fascination of yours."

I already felt like an idiot, sitting here and staring up at her sitting on the picnic table. Her legs rested on the bench just inches beside me, and she was leaning over me with her elbows on her knees, forcing me to keep my head at a bit of an awkward angle to continue meeting her eyes. "You're not like anyone else," I began, and already she was starting to roll her eyes.

"No!" I hastily continued. "Like, your hair and your eyes and your clothes and your boots..."

Her interest, though still not particularly powerful, seemed to quickly return. "You like my boots?" she quipped, lifting both into the air and stretching out her legs to admire her large, extravagant footwear, bits of sunlight that made their ways through the trees to reflect off now off the silvered plates and give some shine to the spots of black leather they touched. "Look at that, we've got something in common."

She turned to face me a little more when she brought her legs back in, and I gasped when one of her heavy platform soles firmly settled on my thigh. "I love my boots," she declared with a little more of a grin.

"It's not just that, though," I responded hastily again. She was still leaning forward a little and putting a lot of weight on my leg, maybe even purposely pushing her heel into my thigh, but I was far more concerned with explaining myself than I was with the aching pressure. "There's this, this aura about you. The way you move and act, your nature, the way you seem just totally separate from the mundane world around you. There's just this captivating mystery that surrounds you and draws me in, and..."

She listened halfheartedly, turning over my pipe and tapping it against the side of the table to dump the ash before setting it on the table, once again not handing it back to me. "Mystery," she sighed, shaking her head as she interrupted my stammering. "So here I am, Puppy. Andrea the Mysterious. What are you so obsessively curious about? What do you want to ask me?"

I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to settle myself down before I tried to start talking again My heart was pounding and blood was rushing in my ears and I was keenly aware of every minute shift and movement of her heavy sole against my thigh, which seemed to be more than just idle motion. Was she teasing me with her heel?

"What's in your notebook?" I finally asked, keeping my voice steady and serious, and her eyes widened just the faintest bit as well, seemingly just the faintest bit interested in my inquiry.

There was silence for a moment and I took another breath as I watched her lean back, bracing her hands on the edge of the table and also, as a result, reducing the pressure of her heel propped up on my leg.

"Dreams," she eventually declared. "My dreams, and they're just for me."

I was quickly back to speaking without thinking. "Why?" I immediately asked. "You're always writing and drawing, don't you want to share those dreams?"

She let out this heartbreakingly derisive snort and shook her head. "I know all of your dreams are simple enough, since they're clearly about me, but I wouldn't begin to trust you with mine."

I hastily shook my head, but Andrea was already lifting her boot from my leg and pushed herself up off of the table. I rubbed my thigh where her heel had been, feeling the bruise that was already beginning to form but also somehow missing its presence. She was well on her way back towards the school building before I managed a response. "They're totally not!" I protested. Not all of them.