Lust love without shame

The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb.

It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize.

But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket.

"What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall.

I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession.

She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket.

"My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell.

Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private.

I was wrong.