A Student/Teacher Relationship

My POV:

Mmm bed. So soft, so warm. I squinted my eyes open. So not my room! I tumbled out of the bed and tripped from the sheet wrapped around my ankle. The whole left side of my body collided with the carpeted floor. Ow my head! Oh my god it's going to explode! Argh sunlight. Fucking blinds. -Clothes? Where are my clothes?! I looked down to see my skull birthmark on my abdomen staring up at me. A moan followed by a turning over blanket smothered corpse made this silent freak out all the more alarming. I know what must have happened, but I could be wrong. A second party's opinion might disprove this inevitable.

Peeking over the bed on all fours, I couldn't identify where I was or who that was. Wait, get dressed first, forget about the bass amp pounding in my skull. Pants...yes, bra...ok, shirt...right, shoes...one and...two. Ok then, good job. I've been dreading this for the thirty some seconds it took me to put clothes on.

"Hey hello?" Nothing. Maybe I should just leave, avoid the embarrassment, and find my way home. This is going to hurt like a bitch, but perhaps if I check out the window, there might be a street sign or something to give me an intimation of where I am. Separating a few blinds, the sun instantly shot through and stung my pupils. Come on, come on, blink through it. The surroundings outside dulled from a white to normacy. Ben's car sat in a drive way across the street. That's his house. If he's there, then I'm...no...

Backing away from the window, my brain was scrambling to try and make sense out of all this. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and tripped over my own feet and flew backwards. With no time to think, much less catch myself, my back crashed to the bed awaking the last person I don't want to see right now.

As soon as the impact shook the mattress, Nick immediately sat up and looked at me in awe. Is he slow or something? Yell, scream, anything! That's what I feel like doing. Show me a sign you're just as weirded out as I am.

"What are you doing here?" He finally said.

"I was actually kinda hoping you could shed some light on all this." I gotta be mature about this.

"I don't know."

Screw it then, "Well that's just swell. Tell me, are you naked under those sheets?" He glanced under his blanket and stuffed it back down wide eyed.

"Uh, yeah." His hand grabbed a pillow and held it against his lap.

"Oh no, this is one of the worst things that can happen." My hands found comfort covering my face; my hideous, lying, deceitful face.

"I'm sure you know of others."

I looked up at him. "What?"

In response, he yawned and stretched his arms up over his head. "Nothing, you hungry?"

"You have got to be kidding me. We obviously did something very,very bad last night and you seem completely unaffected by it."

"Okay so we might have gotten a little drunk last night. We might have had uh relations, but that's all in the past right? We can still be friends."

"...I guess that makes sense, but-"

"Nobody's perfect. I'm not, you're not."

"So? Being imperfect doesn't give me the go ahead to be sleeping with my friend and besides I have- other committments." I stood up, preparing my escape.

"Committments," he snorted. "Do you get an A before or after you suck his cock?" His words were like a cold, wet slap in the face. He knows.

"I have no clue what you're-"

"Becky I saw you yesterday.With that teacher." Aw frick. Even if my head wasn't about to split open, I can't talk about this. I'm found out. My life will be ruined if I already haven't fucked it up too much.

"If you're my friend, you didn't see anything." My voice remained monotone hiding the riot inside.

"Right, yeah, I'll just magically forget." He rubbed his fingers on his temples like a psychic and rolled his eyes. This is so irritating. No more of this loaded soap opera.

"Never understand."

"Neither will you." Being associated with my father for the first three years of my life, I can say I've taken away only two of his qualities. 1. His genes. and 2. His bad habit of hitting and throwing objects. Check out my old room, there's dents in the wall and three or four broken blinds. Not the best thing to be proud of, but at least I don't hit people unless I believe they deserve it.

"Nick, I am going to leave now and hopefully we'll never talk about any of this ever again." I gave a small wave and headed for his door.

"But we're not finished here."

"Well I say we are." My hand grasped upon the door knob.

"If you walk out that door, I'm going to tell some one." Tattle taling bitch. A surge of bravery or apathy guided my hand to turn the knob and open the door. I turned around to get a final look at my "friend." He was standing erect at the foot of his bed with a sheet tucked around his waist. "I will tell. You can bet on it."

Shooting one last dagger into his sickening stare, I spat "Go ahead, I dare you." and left. I hope school is the only thing I'm late for.

***

Arriving just in time for third period math, I snuck in unnoticed. Story of my life, "The Unamazing Invisible Girl." This is useless. When in my life am I going to need linear programming?

Once fifty minutes passed by and I was proud of my doodle of Nick and Ben being ran over by a mack truck, I traveled to chamber choir. The music department always felt comforting; A hide out to hang out with my friends, sing a couple songs in Latin, and the rest of the year is a breeze. Now though it came off as being eerie and all knowing. I passed by the band room and had the urge to stop. Channeling Nick, I can only imagine the spectacle he witnessed yesterday; his best friend kissing her teacher. Only if I closed the door. Only if I hadn't given in to impulse. Maybe if I wasn't so careless, yesterday wouldn't have happened. Would I still have gotten drunk and slept with Nick? The thought sickens me. I'm glad I don't remember it.

"Why good morning, playa!" Katie poked me in the back, pulling me back into the present.

"Hm what? Oh, don't call me that." We walked inside to choir.

"Sooo?" She nudged me with a corny wink.

"So what?"

""What happened last night with you and Nick?"

"You know I was with him?"

"Um yah, I drove you to his house remember?"

"No, why would you do that? Didn't you see I was far from sober?"

"Yeah, but you said you wanted to." She sat down in her assigned seat and I next to her. Did I really want to go? I tried my best to remember, but everything was a blur. "So did you guys...ya know?" I dropped my head and nodded. A squeal of excitement sounded in my left ear as she hopped up and down in her seat shaking me. "Ooo finally! You guys look so cute together and like I've been telling you, I swear Nick and you are soul mates.-"

"Hold it, slow the hell down." I rose my hands as a signal to silence her. "It's not like that. It will never be like that."

"Eh stand ep fwar warm-eps." Edita's thick accent dispersed around the room. I don't know what country's she from, all I know is she is only our piano accompanist, but as she sees it, hired slave driver. She irks me too much to uphold an actual conversation with her. Everyone in choir moaned and complained about having to stand.

I lowered my voice as we were supposed to be doing our sol-fetch scales. "Nick and I got a little drunk. We made a mistake. It's done and over with."

"Wait, Nick wasn't drunk. He had like one or two drinks."

"Ladies, pie attention to vwhat veer doing." Edita said still playing the paino. Katie and I nodded and pretended to be on task until she looked away.

"After the fireworks and you both got in the back of my car, Nick told me that you were going to stay at his house, but you were too busy singing and dancing to silence."

"But-"

"And I asked you if that was ok, but by that time when I looked in the rearview mirror you were all over eachother." Once her explanation sunk in, my legs felt weak and I dropped back into my chair. "Becky?" Katie whispered. "Are you ok?"

"Vwhat are you doing? Stand up." Our foreign annoyance motioned for me to rise. Edita's words melted into low pitched gibberish as did Katie's when she asked me if I was alright again.

Run, run now. My emergency conscious kicked in. I shook my head no. Now! Putting thinking on cruise control, my feet carried me outside the room. The voice told me to keep going until I reached the bathroom. Go in, don't let anyone see you. I stepped inside and found a vacant stall. You know where it is. What? In your pocket like it's always been. I knew what it was getting at. The item I depended on since eigth grade whenever I was angry or depressed because I knew that somehow it was all my fault. Get it I don't want to. I'm trying to be a better person. I'm trying to stop! If that was true, look where it has gotten you. You need it. I could feel my resistance slipping away and my hand brushed against my pocket. Come on, let's see some red.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I shouted pacing about the stall beating myself in the head. I gave up and fell to the floor, not caring about germs or deadly strings of bacteria. The voice I always try to block out in the most stressful of situations was now stronger than ever. My stomache began to churn and the muscles in my torso expanded and contracted. I lurched forward over the toilet bowl and allowed the contents deep within my gut to spill out. My heart beated in my ear drums, and tears blurred this personal stunt into surreality.

Once I knew it was done, I slumped back against the door. So Nick knew. He was playing stupid the whole time and I was dumb enough to believe him. Everything has gone so terribly wrong. To be non-existent once again would be nice.

My hand slipped in my pocket and brought my dependency out in a closed fist.Resting in my palm, my crutch, my razorblade mirrored a foggy reflection. Call me emo, I don't care. Fighting an old habit is a lost cause. Most of the time it helps. Maybe it doesn't seem that way to most and think those that do are weak and pathetic which is true because I know I am. Don't knock it until you tried it, but I don't encourage it.

All I have to do is channel the rage and the hate and the pain under the skin and when I feel like that spot is ready to burst on its own volition, I simply release it; Setting it free into the atmosphere to hopefully infect and screw someone else up. But afterwards, I would only be granted temporary relief questioning "when will I learn?"

This was a cycle put on hold since last year when I was careless enough to choose my arm for refuge and Rachel saw it. We had fought all night over the subject. She was angry enough to force a steak knife into my hand and perform the act in front of her. I didn't but things were never really the same after that. Now and then she would do random checks all up and down my arms thinking I didn't know, but I see her eyes scanning and it hurts every damn time. I did swear to her I would never do it again and at the beginning it held up, but now if anyone was to see my thighs I imagine they would shudder. It's not like they're butchered, ripped open and bleeding, but in their place long and dark brown lines capture the memory they once were.

I stared at the blade for a long time comtemplating what I was going to do with it. Without even trying, random images flashed through my mind bringing their emotions with them from happiness to rage to despair. The area just above where my wrists on my forearm began to feel like it was on fire; my subconscious telling me that's the spot. I don't want to, but what else is there? I'm just another neurotic teenager, another soldier in the army of adolescense. There's nothing I can do about anything, and the sooner I accept that the better. I nodded to myself at this entrapment and took the blade up in my trembling fingers.

Here goes, I held my breath and dragged the sharp edge across the burning skin. It stung at first but then dulled for the rest of the two or three inches it sliced. The bell rung and I could hear my peers starting to roam the halls. Go to class, you're not staying in here. I stuffed the blade back into its daily cache and lifted myself up.

Walking out of the stall, I stopped in front of the opposite sink. I scrubbed my hands raw and drank some water from the faucet to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Swishing it about, I looked into the mirror and unfortunately saw me staring back. I spat the water at my reflection. My face melted and contorted to the drops racing down the surface till they ran few and I could see myself once again.
I'm leaving now.