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Let Me Touch You	By : ElizabethAshbury Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Korn Views: 4010 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Korn. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch 1
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-Ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-ch 6
- 7-ch 7
- 1
- 2
I ran in late to my English class. I was still so tired from working so late at the morgue. It was almost worth it to get away from my stepmom, Sharon. I made it to the door, only about 10 minutes late.

“Jonathan Davis,” the teacher called me out in front of the class. Several of them snickered of course, I was used to it.

I turned around, not really caring what she wanted.

“Do you have last night’s homework?”

“Um…no…I was working late.”

She sighed heavily like I was the cause of all her pain as I took my seat in the back.

“Mr. Davis, I suggest you get it in to me tomorrow, I’ll still have to count off. Okay where were we?”

“You mean before the faggot came in late, Ms. Moore?” I rolled my eyes. Here we go again, I thought as the class roared with laughter. It was Holly Murphy’s voice, she was the girlfriend of one of the jocks that teased me all the time. I used to have a crush on her, before I saw what she was really like.

“Holly, that’s not necessary,” Ms. Moore said, she seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh. The Bitch went on with her lecture over last night’s reading assignment which I didn’t do either. After she had droned on for a while I suddenly felt a sharp pain hit the side of my neck.

“OW! FUCK!” I screamed, going on pure reaction. I looked down and saw where a bottle cap had been thrown at me. Whoever threw it must have been pretty good because it hurt like hell. That kind of pain that gets deep under your skin and pulsates throughout your body. I had inupteupted class once again.

“MISTER DAVIS!! JUST WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? Do you ENJOY interrupting class?”

“No, he enjoys a dick up the ass!” Chimed in Chris Green. Laughter flooded the room at my expense once again. I continued to act like it didn’t bother me.

“Hey! That rhymes!” Added another one of his asshole friends. The laughter picked up once again. I rolled my eyes.

“Whoa, is that a hickey on your neck FAGGOT?!” Teased another one, his name was Carson Jones, he sat next to me. He was referring to the red spot that appeared on my neck from where someone threw the bottle cap. Now I was pissed.

“Listen, FUCKER!” I got up from my seat. I grabbed his shirt.

“Oh don’t hurt me little girl!”

“JONATHAN DAVIS, GET OUT OF MY CLASS! GO TO THE OFFICE! You have been disruptive enough.”

“Yeah, your pets over here are totally innocent, huh?”

She ignored me as she scribbled an office referral. I gladly grabbed my shit, snatched the slip from her and left the room. I heard snickering on the way out, I didn’t care. I made my way to the office. I sunk down in the chair. The secretary, Mrs. Flatt didn’t even look up.

“What now, Mr. Davis?”

“I’ve disrupted Ms. Moore’s class once again, I suppose.”

She looked up with a frown, a normal expression for her. She reminded me of a small, yappy dog.

“You SUPPOSE? Or don’t you KNOW?”

“I wasn’t the one who threw the bottle cap.”

“Let me see that referral,” she snapped, frowning even harder. I got up and handed it to her. “I don’t see anything about a bottle cap, but I do see where you yelled obscenities and grabbed another student. Wait here.” When she left the room to give the referral to the principal, I was glad to be rid of her, even if it was just for a few seconds.

“Mr. Davis,” Mr. Stanfield gestured for me to follow him to his office. I reluctantly got up and found my way to it. I threw my backpack down and sank into the chair.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Okay, I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business when someone threw a bottle cap and hit my neck.”

“Hit your neck?”

“Yes. Right here,” I pointed to the spot where I had been hit. “Do you see anything?”

“Well…it’s…red.”

“That’s where it hit. Anyway, this jock called me a ‘fag’ and…”

“Just what do you mean by that? Who was it?”

“Carson Jones, Sir.”

“Mr. Jones is a good student, I’ve never heard another teacher OR student complain about him.”

“I forgot, he’s a jock, he’s a great guy.”

“That’s enough sarcasm from you Mr. Davis. You will have detentifterfter school today and tomorrow until five thirty.”

“I work…I go to work at six, Sir and I have to walk home.”

He sighed. “Okay, five then. Now go on.”

I was seeing red as I walked out of there. My whole day dragged on forever. I always look forward to the end of the day and now I had to be in detention for two hours. I dragged myself to room 328. I’m glad I had my notebook with me so I could write. What kind of punishment was it anyway ake ake a person sit for two hours?

I noticed Sam Watson was looking at me. He was friends with the guys who picked on me regularly. He never talked much and he never picked on me, but he was usually with his friends when they did, standing off to the side doing nothing about it. To me that wasn’t any better. He almost looked at me like he wanted to say “hi”. Oh well. I gave him a raised eyebrow and sat down. The only available seat was next to Sam.

*********************************************************************

I watched Jonathan Davis walk into the room. I didn’t like the way my friends talked about him or to him and I could never try to stick up for him without them making snide remarks about me having a crush on the school fag. I wanted to say “hi” to him now that my friends weren’t around, but the look on Jon’s face wasn’t exactly welcoming. I secretly had an admiration for him. He didn’t really care what people thought of him. He was unique. He wasn’t very athletic, not really, but he played in the pipe band. I had heard him practice before and he was really good. He could make those pipes sing. Whether he really was gay or not, I didn’t know and I don’t think anyone really did. They just thought they knew.

I felt strangely glad as he took a seat next to me. He wore torn jeans with fishnet hose underneath and a purple T-shirt and black shoes. He reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. As he pushed his long, dreaded, dark brown hair from his face, I saw that he had a little bit of eyeliner carefully drawn around his eyes. He had been growing his hair out since last year, log veg very different from his sophomore picture even though he still dressed the same. When he started to write hastily in his notebook, I saw his nails were painted black, the polish was chipping. I was so curious to see what he wrote. I wondered what kind of things went through his head. He fascinated me, really. I was almost jealous of him. I wished I didn’t care what everyone thought. What would my parents say if I brought Jon over instead of my football friends? I began to wonder what it would be like to be friends with Jonathan Davis instead of the guys I normally hung around.

I wasn’t even thinking as I looked over at Jonathan. I could see a few words written, some small drawings. That was it. I noticed he had pretty good handwriting. Mine looked like I wrote with my left hand all the time, and being dyslexic didn’t make it any easier. I didn’t realize I was probably looking at him a little too long because he looked over at me and gave me a “you weirdo” look. I looked away and he shook his head and went back to his writing.

I took out my homework and decided to work on English. I sucked at it. I didn’t understand ANY of it and my dyslexia only made it worse. I stared blankly at my homework without the first clue what to do. When we were dismissed, I shut my book with frustration and left. I didn’t get anything done.

*********************************************************************

I had to run home if I was going to make it in time to get a ride to work. As I ran, I wondered why Sam stared at me so long? It creeped me out. He was probably thinking of things he could tell his friends. He would probably tell them I wrote gay love stories or some stupid shit like that. Maybe he was afraid he would get AIDS because he sat next to me. He didn’t seem like that type really, but he DID hang around people who were. He seemed like a follower.

I was completely out of breath when I reached the front door. Alyssa was at her new boyfriend’s again. Dad was actually home and for once, Sharon wasn’t. Dad met me in the entry way.

“Where were you?”

“At school. Detention.”

“What?!”

“It’s not how it sounds. Some kids were picking on me and I tried to stand up for myself and I got in trouble. I have to stay again tomorrow too.”

He sighed. That sigh hurt enough, I knew he was disappointed.

“Well, let’s go, you’ll be late for work.”

I ran into the bathroom and pulled my hair back and left with my dad. We barely talked, my dad asked if I was dating anyone right now. I told him I wasn’t. He seemed disappointed that his son didn’t have very many friends, just a couple people I sat with at lunch in the corner. I never brought anyone over because I didn’t want anyone to meet my stepmom. I couldn’t get that through to my dad. I hated that woman. She got off on making me miserable. Her latest thing was how she didn’t want me living with them anymore and that I was almost grown and would be gone in another year. She had brainwashed my dad, too. Just as I was thinking of how I would like to see her laying on the slab my dad asked when I would come back to church with him and Sharon.

“I’m not going there.”

“I think it would be good for you Jonathan.”

“I don’t like it. I’m not going.” I wanted to change the subject, or just not talk at all. Dad didn’t say anything after that.

As I worked, I thought about school and home. This was the only place where I could have time to myself. The morgue was slow tonight. Only a few people, although one in particular bothered me; another car crash victim. I didn’t know her, but she was my age. She was pretty. I felt a lump in my throat as I worked on her. This was why I didn’t like to drive.

Dad picked me up from the morgue and I fell asleep with my clothes on before my head hit the pillow. I woke up to the sound of my alarm. I showered quickly and found something to throw on. I didn’t have time to eat breakfast. I never did. I hardly ever ate. Sharon didn’t cook, she and my dad were always going out. When I would get home from school, I just grabbed whatever I could find that didn’t sound too disgusting, usually a microwave dinner, and then went to work or tried to catch up on the homework that I missed when I had a night off.

When I arrived in English class I slapped down the homework that Ms. Moore had called me out about yesterday. Even though I couldn’t stand her or hardly anybody in the class, English wasn’t a very hard subject for me. I faintly heard someone mutter “cocksucker” as I sat down. I ignored them. I made it through this class today without anything being thrown at me.

I went on with the rest of my day knowing that I only had one more day of detention. I knew that if it had been the other way around, if Carson had grabbed me instead, nothing would have happened. Ms. Moore would have fought back a laugh like she usually did.

When I walked into the room for detention after school, once again, the only available seat was next to Sam. What was he in here for anyway? Forget to wash his jersey? Oh, well. I sat down and pulled out my notebook and pen to pass the time.

*********************************************************************
Jonathan wore black pants and a black, long-sleeved shirt today. He sat next to me again. I just took out my English and tried to make sense of the story we were supposed to read. Jonathan was in my class. Even though he came in late often, he seemed to understand it. His grades were pretty good.

I tried so hard to concentrate, but I just couldn’t. Jonathan was writing feverishly next to me. I could hear his pen scratching the paper. If he wrote any faster, smoke would be coming off the pages. His hair veiled his profile. I looked away before he could catch me looking at him again. Why was I so worried about him seeing me look at him? As I was tapping my pen with anxiety, it flew from my hand, hit Jon’s leg and fell under his desk. He looked utterly annoyed and looked down to see what it was. After the bottle cap incident, I’m sure he thought I did it on purpose. I reached under his desk and grabbed it.

“I’m SO sorry Jonathan.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay.” He said it like he didn’t believe me. Now I felt bad. But WHY? Of course I felt bad that my pen hit him, but I felt like I didn’t want him to be mad at me. Why did I care that much?

Now I REALLY found it hard to concentrate on my homework. Not only did I not understand it, but I couldn’t focus. I shut my book hard in frustration. Jonathan was a little startled, but he kept writing. I whispered another apology to him. He shook his head.

We were dismissed and I really wanted to let Jon know how sorry I was. I didn’t want him thinking that I was some jock out to get him. He was walking fast. I kept asking myself why I cared so much.

“Hey, Jonathan,” I ran to catch up to him, and grabbed his thin shoulder, pulling him back a little. Standing next to him, I realized he was taller than I thought. I stood at six feet. Jonathan looked eye to eye with me. He was rail thin though.

“Can I help you?”

“Um…listen, I just wanna let you know that I wasn’t trying to throw my pen at you…and I’m sorry I scared you when I slammed my book. I’m just frustrated, I hate English.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know…I guess…well, I know that Chris threw that bottle cap at you and…I felt bad…and…I didn’t want you to think that…”

“You saw him throw it?” He looked straight at me.

“Yeah…” I looked down. “Sorry.”

“Why are YOU sorry?” His eyes were intense, looking almost black. I think he already knew. I was sorry I didn’t do anything about it. If I didn’t like what Chris did, I should have the backbone to say so. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to lose my status at school, which was shaky anyway because I was shy. I was ashamed of feeling that way. I felt I needed to do SOMETHING to make it up to him.

“I don’t know…I just…feel bad…”

“Don’t worry Sam…” he said with sarcasm, “you know, you better go, you don’t want people to see you talking to the school fag. See ya.” He started to walk off.

“JON! Wait!” I caught up with him again. Damn, he walked fast, then I noticed his thin legs were a mile long, making up most of his tall stature. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“What are you trying to do?” He sensed some ulterior motive. I had none, other than not wanting to feel bad about my pen hitting him.

“Nothing…I just feel bad and I want to make it up to you.”

“Don’t waste your time.” He shook his head. He tried to walk off again. I caught him. He looked mad now. “Let go of me!”

“Jon…wait! Please…” I begged and he eased up and I put my arm down from his chest. “I don’t have anything in mind, my friends are NOT waiting on me, I just want to give you a ride home. I know you walk everyday and I just…want to help out…please.”

“That’s all?”

“I swear!”

*********************************************************************

For some reason, I believed him. I’m not sure why he felt THAT bad about a pen, oka okay. I was tired of walking home everyday anyway.

“Okay…if that’s what you really want to do…”

“Cool. C’mon.”

I followed Sam to his car. A little black Honda Civic. We got in and he started the car. He put it in gear, but it wouldn’t go.

“Shit!” He looked scared. I couldn’t help but smirk as I grabbed the parking brake and pulled it down for him. He laughed. “I guess that would help, huh?” He drove away from the school parking lot. I told him the street I lived on and pointo tto the direction of it.

“That’s just a block away from me.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway…”

“So why DID you slam your book?”

“Oh, well…” he looked embarrassed, “I don’t…understand it. I suck at it. In fact, I’m failing it.”

“Oh…”

“I try to concentrate and…I just can’t…you seem to be pretty good at it.”

“I do okay…I don’t really like it, but I don’t find it too hard. I guess I could help you if you would like it. I could try.” Wthe the hell did I just offer to do and WHY?

“Oh…well, um…yeah…when? It’s Thursday now.”

“I don’t know…I’m not working Saturday…but my house isn’t exactly the ideal place.”

“Oh…okay…I guess you could come over to my house. I just live a block away…on 35th.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll drive by my house so you can see it. So you know where to go.”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

He pointed his house to me and I nodded. A minute later, we were in my driveway.

“Shit, my stepmom’s home.”

“Oh…don’t like her?”

“Understatement of the year…well, see ya.”

“Bye.”

I braced myself for Sharon, the last person I wanted to see. She was reading a book on the couch. When I walked in, she looked up.

“Where have YOU been?”

“School.”

“Until…” she glanced at her watch, “FIVE FIFTEEN?! What were you doing?”

“I had detention…do you have to know everything?”

“What did you do this time?” She slammed her book shut. I hated how she tried to act like it was her business. It really wasn’t, she wasn’t my mother, definitely not.

“Ask my dad, he already knows. He and I already talked about it.” I walked off to my room before she could say anything else. I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed on my bed. I kicked off my shoes this time just in case I fell asleep early. Suddenly my door flew open. It was my sister.

“Got in trouble, huh?” She grinned.

“How did you know?”

eardeard you talking to Sharon.”

“Hm!”

“So what DID you do?” She came in and sat down on my bed.

“I didn’t do anything but stick up for myself.”

“Oh, just tell me,” she whined.

I sighed. “Chris Green threw a bottle cap at my neck and Carson Jones made another ‘gay’ comment at me and I grabbed his shirt. The teacher saved him from getting punched in the face.”

“Which class was it?”

“English, Ms. Moore.”

“I hate that woman.”

“You think YOU hate her hop hope you don’t end up with her.”

“Me either. So she just picked on you, huh?”

“Yup…sent me to the office and I got detention yesterday and today. I’m not working again until Monday, so I can rest when I get home. Saturday I’m helping someone with English.”

“Who?”

“Sam Watson.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s friends with Chris Green.”

“Jonathan! You better be careful.”

“It’s fine Alyssa. I’m not saying I want to be friends with him, but he gave me a ride home and…”

“Why did he do that?”

“I really don’t know, sis,” I shook my head. “He said he felt bad about what happened in class.”

“Weird.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, well. I wanna hang out in my room for a few minutes.”

“Cool, I’m going over to David’s anyway.”

“Have fun.”

“Bye,” she kissed my forehead and left. She was a pretty sweet sister when she wanted to be. It was good to know I had an ally somewhere. I stayed in my room the rest of the night only coming out to grab a microwave dinner. I wrote, drew, and listened to music until I fell asleep.
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