Our Version of Events

The corridors were deserted, making my heels echo loudly off the tiled floor. My breathing was heavy as I took the stairs two at time, strands of hair starting to fall into my face. I tried to balance my armful of copy books and coffee flask as best as I could as the classroom door loomed ahead of me.
I could hear my mother’s nasally voice echoing in my mind, much to my irritation.

”You’ll be late to your own funeral, Avery.

The students moaned when I entered the room, clearly hoping that they would have a free-class, before they moved into their respective seats. I was an Art teacher, but the boring side of it, the history mumbo-jumbo part. I hated it myself, but the school didn't have a position for a French teacher, so I could either take the Art History job or keep on putting my CVs out throughout the state. All of the kids knew that I couldn't tell my elbow from my ass in the subject, but they were merciful and didn't make my life hell.
I started writing notes out on the board and after a couple of minutes I could hear whispers behind me.

"Did you meet the new Art teacher, Miss?"

I stopped writing and turned to face the class, slowly analysing their expressions before I spoke.

"Let me guess," I smirked when I saw half of the class, all female, watching me with eyes wide with anticipation,
"Young and male?"

Some of them exchanged glances while others slowly nodded.

“I heard Ms Laney talking about him with Ms Daniels. They were calling him angel face,” Nina, one of the students in the front row, smirked, making me roll my eyes.

“Girls, I don’t want to hear any gossip!” I laughed, though in the back of my mind I made a note to pump Kelly Laney and Maggie Daniels for information about this new Art teacher.

It was the first class on a Thursday morning, so the class in general were tired and didn't talk too much as I went over the lesson. I sighed in relief along with the students when the bell rang, signalling that the class was over.
Talk about mind-numbing.
Once the class was empty, I quickly made my way to the staffroom to throw all of my stuff into my locker and grab my cigarettes. I went out into the teachers' parking lot and lit a cigarette, closing my eyes over as I inhaled deeply. I know that smoking actually makes your heart speed up, but to me it always feels like every nerve in my body is slowly being numbed, every part of me relaxing.

"Smoking can kill you, ya know."

"So can jumping off a bridge," I replied as I opened my eyes.

"Yeah, but do you do that twenty times a day?"

"Who says I smoke twenty a day?"

I pushed myself away from the wall and allowed my eyes to slowly sweep up and down his body, not caring if I wasn’t in any way discreet. He stood at around five-foot-eleven, towering over my measly five-two frame, with messy dark blonde curls framing his pale face. He smiled broadly as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket, and I only needed a glimpse of those dimples to know exactly who he was.

“Ah,” I smiled as I extended my hand,
“You must be the new Art teacher?”

“Evan Peters,” he nodded.

“Avery Danes. I teach Art History,” I introduced myself as he shook my hand, before he dropped it and slipped a cigarette between his lips.

“I’m kinda nervous about teaching in an all-girls school,” he smiled sheepishly at me,
“I can’t even handle my pre-pubescent female cousins, let alone a class of thirty hormone bombs.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I took a sip of my coffee, watching him over the rim of my mug.

“Don’t worry yourself. You’ve already been referred to as angel face, so I’m sure they’ll all bend at your will.”

His pale cheeks turned red as he inhaled from his cigarette, giving me a half smile as he slowly exhaled.

“How long have you been teaching here?”

“Just a year. I only finished my degree last June. Where were you teaching before?”

“Nowhere,” he lightly shook his head,
“I finished college a few years ago and went traveling, so this is my first teaching job.”

“You’ve landed on your feet with this place,” I poured the rest of my coffee on the ground when I heard the bell ringing indoors,
“It’s a great place to teach.”

He exhaled heavily as he flicked the last of his cigarette in the bin, his dark eyes fixed on the large building looming behind us.

“Relax. The day will fly by for you.”



Unfortunately, my day seemed to drag by; at one stage I could have sworn that my watch was moving backwards. After what felt like an eternity, half three finally rolled around and I gleefully scurried out to my car, delighted to be going home. I felt like one of my students.
I lived about a twenty minute car journey away from the school, and I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me that day but I just felt restless. I wanted to get out of my car, out of the confined space, and just starting running. I couldn’t tell you what I wanted to run from, or even what I was running to, I just know that on the way home I felt like I was suffocating.
I sighed in relief as I closed my front door over behind me, kicking off my heels and dumping my armful of folders and notebooks on the hall table. The light was flashing on my answering machine, and I pressed play as I slipped out of my coat and hung it up in the closet.

Hey, Avery, it’s me. I need to stay late again tonight, I’m still working on a case. Keep dinner in the oven for me, and don’t wait up. Love you.

“Goddammit, Shawn!” I whined in annoyance as I hit delete, before moving into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.

I should be used to the lonely nights by now; my husband was a slave to his job.
Wearily folding myself into an armchair in the sitting room, I glared at our wedding photo on the mantel piece. I met Shawn when I was seventeen, back when I was a junior in high school and he was just after finishing Law school. We met in a bar, and the more he talked, the more my silly seventeen year old self liked him, and for all the childish reasons. He was twenty-five, a lawyer with his own car and in the process of buying his own house, and after a string of immature, deluded boyfriends, I refused to let this one slip between my fingers. Initially, I lied about my age, telling him that I was nineteen. Yet the more and more we met up, the more and more I realised that I was falling head over heels in love with him, and eventually I came clean with my age. He told me he wanted space, uncertain about being with someone who could lie about something so big for months and months, but two days later he told me he loved me, and that was that.
I only told my parents that I was dating Shawn when I finished my senior year. Not because I was taking him to prom, oh no, that would be far too picturesque, but because I had to tell them that I was pregnant.
My mother fainted. One of those fall-flat-on-your-ass faints that you only ever see in the movies. My father had a quiet word with Shawn and by the end of the night he decided that I would be walked down the aisle before my stomach started to show.
That’s devout Catholics for you.

I sighed as I ran my hand threw my long hair, feeling guilty about being so annoyed with Shawn as I thought about all that he had tolerated with me. Not only did he marry me, but he stayed with me even after I lost the baby at five months.
I couldn't help but shift uneasily in my seat, that suffocating feeling washing over me once again.

If I loved him as much as I thought I did…why was I feeling so trapped?