Bound By Pain

5

"I assume you know that you're paid by the hour and if you don't come in today you won't be paid?"

I'm tempted to thrown my phone across the room. Without that extra bit of money how am I supposed to buy Henry a birthday cake? I sigh.

"Yes, i know. Can i cover for what I've missed over the weekend?", I ask.

"All Saturday shifts are full but you could come in and work a double on Sunday."

"Sunday it is, then."

"Wonderful. Don't be late.", Miss Grant cuts the call.

She's one of the most insufferable people on the planet yet I still tolerate her. It's only because she's my boss otherwise there'd be a whole different issue.

I drop my bag by Charlie. "Thanks for helping me out with Henry today.", I say. "I owe you one."

"No need. Henry is great compa--." She's cut off by Todd.

"Not one but two. I covered for you last week when you had that hangover, remember?"

"No, Charlie did. You just nattered away in the background."

Todd sticks out his tongue like the baby he is. "Ungrateful." He says it feigning hurt.

"I'm gonna leave now before I'm later than i already am.", I take my bag. "There's no telling what that substitute will do."

I walk onto the green. The grass feels soft even though I have my sneakers on. I cross the green and go around the chapel infront of the hall to the pavilion.

Mr White is sat on one of the chairs in it. There's at least a handful of people in the pavilion, each with their nose buried in their books or laptops. I can tell these are the few people who give a damn about their education -- we're polar opposites.

He's sat drinking from a cup and scribbling on a piece of paper. His forehead is creased, indicating that he's deep in thought.

I walk to him and break his train of thought when i drop my bag with a thud on the table.

"You're late.", He says not even bothering to raise his gaze from the piece of paper.

Him greeting me with the words 'you're late' is becoming a thing. I go for my usual response. "I'm sorry, i got held up."

He nods, in what i tell myself is understanding. "You're going to have to make up for the time you've lost."

Outstretching his hand, he says, "I want to see the last assignment i gave you."

I may not have a valid explanation but I didn't write it.

"I.... didn't write it.", I say running a hand through my braids.

"Well, then you'll have to do it as your homework assignment. I'd like you to write the work i gave you today.", He says. My eyes go wide. Well, isn't he full of ideas. "You have...", He checks his watch. "Forty five minutes."

I sigh and grab my essay book. I unclip my pen and place it above the page. I write the topic carefully: aesthetic, then stop. Why? I'm not sure but my mind is clogged and i can't seem to think of anything.

"You do realize that you could write this in any form?", He asks me, finally ripping his gaze from his page to me. I avoid eye contact.

"Oh.", Is all i manage to say. He gets back to his scribbling and sipping. I look at my blank page and I can already feel a headache coming on.

Mr White expels a loud sigh. "Okay. Let's do this differently.", He gets up from his chair and walks over to my side. "To reach the pivot of your creativity you must be relaxed....so relax."

I let my shoulders fall from their stiff positioning and take a deep breath. "Are you sure?", I ask him. Just to be sure. He nods his head and pulls his chair closer to me and the page he was scribbling on is pulled across to him too.

I open my bag and pull out my notepad and replace my essay book with it. I shuffle through my books and scrap paper i carry around for no particular reason until my fingers wrap around a box of cigarettes. I pick out one and place it between my lips.

Mr White gives me an odd look. "You can't be smoking on school grounds."

"Well", i pull out a bottle of whiskey from my bag. I expect it to turn heads but everyone is too invested in what their doing to care. I do notice Mr White's eyes go wide, just a bit. "You're the one who told me to relax. You may scribble all over that paper to relax but I smoke and drink, so bear with me, yeah."

He doesn't say anything more. He just grabs my bottle of Whiskey and pours some of it into his cup. "First off I'm not scribbling, it's art.", He raises the page to show a sketch of the people in this room, hunched over books."secondly: as long as you don't speak of this i won't.", He winks and for the first time since he's been teaching here i see a smile form on his lips.

I start on my work and just as the smoke enters my lungs i can feel ideas brewing in the core of my mind.