Chapter Text
Sky Young was a good, well-adjusted woman.
She reminded herself of this fact while she stirred the Splenda into her thermos of green tea. The decal on her bottle read Nevertheless, She Persisted in gold cursive. The air of the staff lounge still smelled of the broccoli from yesterday’s lunch, and, of course, Coach Talis had forgotten to throw out the coffee filter, again. Which meant that the communal Keurig was likely brewing mold.
She sipped her tea. It was lukewarm. She didn’t mind it.
Her dress today was a long, floral thing, Anthropologie-bought, covered by a chunky beige cardigan with sleeves long enough to fiddle with. She liked the softness of the fabric. Around her neck was her lanyard– keys, security ID, and an enamel pin with her pronouns, she/her.
It was 2015. Being safe meant being visible.
She had voted blue since she reached adulthood. She recycled. She was a subscriber to The Atlantic. She listened to the NPR and kept a pride sticker on the back of the bumper of her blue Prius, even if she worried, quietly, it’d make her car a target in parking lots.
Sky was the type of person who always meant well, which had to count for something.
The school bell hadn’t rung yet, but the halls were filled with the echoes of squeaky light-up sneakers and laughter from students who were much too early for school. She stepped into her office across from the nurse’s office and shut the door behind her.
Her room was a Pinterest board come to life. Soft-toned motivational posters of cats dangling from trees, a rainbow-colored rug, a bookshelf filled with educational books and fidget toys for the children. A framed quote on the wall read Be the person you needed when you were younger.
Sky looked at that quote often.
Sky Young was a promising woman with a job she loved. Problem was, she was also a pedophile.
Sky was strictly no-contact, that was important to note. She never, never acted on it with the children of this school. She wasn’t a monster, she was simply a victim of her own biology. She believed in harm reduction, she was clear in her values. She was in therapy (Skype sessions with a very expensive woman who specialized in sexuality-informed care).
And yet, no matter what she did, nothing could get the urges out of her own head.
But thought crimes weren’t real. They couldn’t be.
So she took a seat at her desk, turned on her laptop, and pulled up her inbox. The district emailed out another mandatory training, about signs of grooming and abuse within students.
Sky was highly trained in this field. She watched all the training videos like a priest reading confessionals. Or perhaps more like the confessioner. Every slide and every case study nauseated and thrilled her both at the same time. Like being aware of a gas leak and not telling anyone.
At 9:35, her first student arrived. Powder L., age six, brought in by her homeroom teacher after breaking out into tears during morning circle. Her chubby fingers were messy with syrup, and she kept rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her Minecraft Creeper hoodie.
Sky smiled, soft and practiced. She offered Powder a fidget spinner and a box of tissues.
“Hey, Powder,” she said gently, her voice honey-dipped. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Or do you just want to sit here with me for a while?”
Powder sniffled. “Vander– My dad – forgot my library book again.”
“That sounds really frustrating,” Sky said. She tilted her head downwards just a bit. “Sometimes grown-ups forget things, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care.”
Powder nodded, half-listening, twisting the fidget spinner. Sky took advantage of that distraction to finally look at the polka-dot panties Powder was wearing. Girls her age hadn’t quite learned to keep their legs together when wearing skirts.
Just as quickly as she looked, Sky glanced away. Be the person you needed when you were younger, she repeated to herself. She needed to be her own deterrent, the one to stop her from falling into the deep end. The thoughts throbbed behind her eyes like a headache.
She did not touch her students. She did not hurt them. She had never acted on her thoughts about them. She took pride in that.
Sky and Powder kept talking for the next twenty or so minutes. About her homelife, her sister, and about the latest “build” Powder had made on her Minecraft server.
Sky wrote notes as she listened to the little girl. Expand trust-building activities, speak to Vander during pick-up time today.
“These are really big feelings, Powder. You’re doing such a great job sharing it with me.”
And she meant it. Truly. Powder was a child, a little human being. Hurting, confused, vulnerable. A being with unlimited potential and spongey morality. Sky admired that. Loved it, even.
Not sexually. Not like that. Never like that. She was allowed to experience attraction without acting upon it, that was the difference between her and the people like her.
Five minutes later, Powder was stable enough to go back to class. Sky handed her a sticker – a holographic rainbow unicorn – and sent her off.
Later, it was recess, which meant that teachers who weren’t assigned to watch over the children were finally allowed a break. Elora, the school librarian, sat down beside her at the table in the break room. “Can’t believe how hot it is for November.” Her breath smelled faintly of cinnamon. “Feels like April.”
“Climate change,” Sky replied with a polite chuckle. “We’re all going to die but at least all the white people will get their tans first.”
Elora laughed, a little too loud for Sky’s taste. Her eyes flickered down to her chest, then back up again, sheepish. “You’re funny, Ms. Young.”
Sky smiled, just wide enough to be acceptable. “I try.”
By noon, she had emailed two parents and filled out four incident reports. In her office, she ate a microwaved vegan burrito while reading the newest article on Vox about toxic masculinity in Pixar films.
Sky was good at her job and good at being a decent person. People told her that all the time.
“You’re a saint,” the principal for this school had told her once, and Sky smiled, demure, modest, but still very pleased. Goodness was a performance, she knew that, but it still counted if you meant it.
And Sky meant everything she did. She was honest and hardworking. She had even volunteered to be the one to present the district-mandated slideshow to all her coworkers after the school day had ended.
She stood at the front of the small, mildly overcrowded teacher’s lounge. It was the closest they had for a meeting room. Sky had smoothed her cardigan and adjusted her glasses for the second time that hour.
Coach Jayce took a seat in the front row of the mismatched chairs she had arranged. Sky smiled warmly at him, nodding in both acknowledgement and approval. She knew Jayce was a well-meaning man, a liberal who would undoubtedly praise her work the next time they had the chance to speak. Sky appreciated that. It made her feel like she was truly making a difference.
“Hi, everyone,” Sky said, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Thank you for coming. I know we’re all busy, but this is really important work.” She felt her peers’ eyes on her, their unspoken, unworded expectations laying on her. Sky took a deep breath, carefully composing her posture. She wanted people to trust her. Wanted them to see her as their fellow being. She wanted to be seen as an ally. She was one. She always had been.
She clicked the mouse, and the first slide appeared on the projector screen. Signs of Sexual Abuse in Children: Emotional and Behavioral Changes.
A few of the teachers leaned forwards, others winced in collective faux disgust. Jayce was already nodding, though Sky wasn’t sure if it was because he genuinely wanted to understand the material or because he was playing his part as the diligent, open-minded man. It didn’t matter to her either way. They were all playing their parts in society.
“The first thing we need to be aware of,” Sky began, her voice a little louder now. “Is the emotional and behavioral changes in children. A sudden drop in academic performance, a heightened fear of being alone, unexplained mood swings. These are all signs that something may be wrong.”
She paused, looking over the room. The faces staring back at her were mixed. Elora was the only one writing notes– albeit half heartedly. She always seemed to be looking for public approval (or, rather, Sky’s approval). It felt unnerving, like she was looking into herself.
Sky clicked to the next slide. “It’s also important to recognize children who’ve been abused might develop a sudden awareness of their own bodies. You might notice them showing an unusual interest in sexual behavior, or becoming overly focused on areas in their body that were never a concern before. These are often signs of confusion or trauma, and it’s essential that we approach the situation with compassion.”
She felt the smallest smirk tug at her lips as she spoke those words. Compassion.
Sky went to the next slide. Physical Signs of Abuse: Bruising, Cuts, Difficulty Sitting/Standing.
She felt the air in the room shift a little, as though everyone was paying a little more attention than before. The room felt hotter. The wording seemed to strike a chord with everyone. She could see their discomfort, their resistance to seeing the ugly truth. It felt strangely pleasant.
“In many cases,” she said softly, a touch of sympathy she had practiced in front of the mirror. “Abused children will attempt to hide physical signs of trauma. They’ll cover up bruises or cuts with pants or long-sleeved shirts, or they might come up with excuses for their injuries. That is why we, as educators and caregivers, have to be vigilant.”
She paused and let the words settle for a moment. Sky was good at this. No one would see through her. She clicked again, and the next slide came up; How to Respond to a Child Who Discloses Abuse. This was her favorite part. It made her feel giddy.
“Always stay calm,” she said with a confident tilt of her head. “That’s the most important thing. Children who are disclosing abuse need to feel safe and believed. They need to know they can trust you. You need to listen.”
Sky wondered what it would be like to have someone really listen to her. To feel understood and seen.
The rest of the presentation had went well. Sky knew it by the looks everyone gave her– respect, gratefulness. They looked at her like she was the next great Erin Brockovich. Or Lisa Ling. She hadn’t decided yet, nor had she read up on them.
Sky sat in her Prius (hybrid, because she cared about the environment), engine idling in the staff lot. She exhaled. It felt like the first real breath she’d taken that day.
Lorde’s Royals hummed from the speakers of her car, background noise to her watching as the parking lot emptied behind her. Minivans and Sedans slipped away like leaves in the air. She waited until the last brake light blinked out, shifting into reverse. Sky didn’t like to be watched as she left. She made a point to always be the last to leave.
The drive home took thirty-three minutes (give or take) if she didn’t hit traffic, which she didn’t. The world was kind to her today. Raised Catholic, she felt the urge to praise God, but quickly held it down. Perhaps this was karmic reward for doing such a good presentation.
As she passed the local Starbucks, she thought about going in, but the memory of the barista who always called her ma’am with the most slimey smirk made her keep driving. He was probably a high school dropout. Probably a misogynist.
Sky’s house – a little thing in a quickly-gentrifying neighborhood – was tasteful, just as she was. White trim, yellow door. Succulents in reused mason jars lining the windowsills. She pulled into her driveway and killed the engine.
She slipped off her shoes at the door, lined them neatly against the wall, and hung her cardigan, just as her mother would. She enjoyed such routines. It helped her maintain structure.
She ate a salad. She didn’t particularly like it, but it was cruelty-free. It made her feel better about herself. She chewed slowly while scrolling through Twitter. Another teacher in Wisconsin arrested for sexual misconduct. Men, she thought. They always get caught.
Sky thought of herself as different. She wasn’t violent. She believed in consent.
Once finished, Sky washed her plate and placed it in the drying rack. She brushed her teeth with a biodegradable bamboo toothbrush, cleaned her face, and slipped into a Cornell University t-shirt that had belonged to an ex-girlfriend that didn’t matter. She didn’t wear pants. Just cotton underwear and the shirt. The chill against her thighs made her feel present.
Sky got into bed and lied on her back. Eyes on the ceiling, breath slow. Her room smelled of lavender and something like anxiety.
Now, that she was alone, she let herself feel anything else but sanitized satisfaction. She didn’t feel guilt. That was important. Guilt was for people who did something wrong.
She rolled onto her side and stared at the wall.
She wasn’t evil. Evil was a republican from Kentucky. Evil was the father in that documentary she never finished watching. Evil was disorganized. Messy. Stupid.
Sky was disciplined. Organized.
Sky’s fingers traced the hem of her shirt, her touch lingering on the smooth skin of her flat stomach.
Unlike others, she had coping mechanisms to help herself.
She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander to the students she saw daily. Little Powder, with her chubby cheeks and wide eyes, came to mind first.
Sky imagined Powder’s tiny hand clasped in hers, guiding the girl’s fingers to the warm, wet folds between her legs. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Sky cooed in her fantasy. “Mommy’s going to teach you something special.”
Her own fingers mirrored the imagined motion, slipping easily into her heat. Sky’s breath hitched as she pictures Powder’s innocent blue eyes widening, then shutting in pleasure as Sky’s skilled touch helped bring her to climax.
Sky’s digits moved with an increasing urgency, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she was losing herself. Powder’s face morphed into another student’s— Viktor, the shy student who had transferred a month ago. The boy with a gentle smile and a cane covered in stickers from a cartoon she hadn’t recognized, possibly a children’s show from the country he immigrated from, Serbia.
Sky had noticed him more and more lately. His quiet disposition and the way he struggled to play with the other children stirred something protective and possessive within her.
In her mind’s eye, Sky thought about Viktor sitting on her lap, his small body pressed against hers as she whispered something dirty into his ear. She thought about lifting up Viktor’s shirt, revealing his smooth, baby-like skin, blemished only by beauty marks.
Sky’s other hand snaked up to her breast, kneading the soft flesh through her t-shirt. She pinched her nipple, sending ripples of pleasure straight to her core. Her hips bucked against her hand.
Her fingers worked feverishly, plunging in and out as she imagined Viktor’s small hands exploring her body, discovering the secret spaces that brought her pleasure, his gentle and hesitant touch sending shivers down her spine. It was her greatest fantasy to teach a little boy how to pleasure women.
Her thumb circled her clit, applying enough pressure to drive her wild. Sky bit her lip to stifle a moan, her hips lifting off the bed as she arched her back. Of course, there was nobody to hear her, she could be as loud as she wanted, but in her mind, she and Viktor were in her office. Viktor was kissing her neck, his lips pressing against her as he whispered her name with that adorable accent. This time in her daydreams, he was a willing participant, excited to have someone to finally play with.
“Good boy, ” Sky murmured out loud, voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breathing and wet squelching. “You’re doing so well, Viktor.”
Viktor had squirmed from the praise, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone. Sky pulled out of herself, and plunged two digits inside her cunt, imagining it was Viktor’s little cock.
Her fingers curled, stroking herself. She imagined Viktor to be small, just as all the boys in her fantasies had been. He’d never reach her G-spot as she had, but he’d try his best, sobbing in overstimulation as he’d thrust into her.
Sky’s hips rolled, meeting each thrust of her fingers. She could almost feel Viktor’s breath on her skin. Her thumb rubbed quick, hasty circles on her clit. She was close, she could feel it. Her body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring as the pressure built to a crescendo.
“Viktor,” she gasped, his name a prayer on her lips. In her imagination, she felt him, shuddering, on the brink of ecstacy from simply being able to feel her. The thought was enough to push her over the edge,
Her hips jerked spasmodically. Her inner walls clamped down on her fingers. Sky cried out Viktor’s name as she rode out the intense orgasm.
Her chest heaved as she floated in a haze of bliss. Finally, her movements stilled, her body going limp.
Sky’s fingers were coated in juices. She brought them to her lips.
The next day, Sky saw Viktor’s name on a session request slip. The boy wanted time alone with her.
Nothing would happen, she told herself.