Completing My Heart

6. "That's why I am her teacher and she is my student."

Authors note - This is a shorter chapter as I am currently have been on holiday so I am sorry! However, the next chapter will be twice as long so don't worry! Enjoy 💗

Enzo

"Deep breaths, you're going to be okay."

What the fuck am I doing. The second I saw Alyssa in the library I should've turned around,
walked off and drove home.

Now, we're sat on the floor and her head and arms are buried into my chest and I'm sat here stroking her hair and getting harder by the second the more she shuffles around. She's practically sitting on my lap and I can smell her luscious scent - cherry and amber wood.

Strange girl. Earlier, she was screaming at me for giving her a B, which was slightly biased and a punishment for her stalking me, while also to push her to her limit.

When someone's vulnerable, they are at their most truest form, behind the mask they put on.

However, I did not expect that I would be the one to see Alyssa like this, especially after only knowing her for a couple of days.

She keeps on moving around and I am trying my best to resist the urge to just tell her if she doesn't stop I will have to cut my dick off or take her off my lap.

Inwardly, I sigh. It's not that I mind comforting her, rather the fact that it is her I am comforting. Also I was meant to be at the gym at this current time but I will just have to shorten the session.

I can't help but wonder why she is so scared, but I know it is not my place to ask.

When I first met her, despite the unnecessary warning I had been giving by that lovely receptionist, it confused me as to how she was a whore (no sugarcoating the truth.)

She came into my classroom so innocently and shocked, clutching her items to her chest with big round brown eyes but I was only proven less than two minutes later that she was, in fact, the year's slag.

Lonely she seems. I've only seen her with two people whom I don't teach who look similar and that guy in the broom closet when they were doing disturbing actions.

Whimpering slightly when another bolt strikes, I'm driven out of my thoughts by her sound. I stare down at her long black hair. Simple. Basic. Just what I like.

Out of the blue, she starts to speak.

"I hate thunder and lightning. Have since I was 7." she says with a blank face .

"Why?" I question.

"My dad died." she responds as if she was answering a question as simple as what she ate for breakfast.

But that only means it affected her deeper.

"That would've been very hard for you to cope with and I assume you have not fully recovered from it, perhaps you never will. Losing a loved one makes your heart cut deep. I am sorry."

She glances up at me with a hint of admiration in her eyes, as if she's never been told something at a perspective like that. I imagine her friends would've told her that they're sorry and help her cope through it but by the look in her eyes I can tell she has not been grieved by at a maturity level as high as mine.

That's why I'm 26 and she's 17.

And while age does not always meet maturity levels, it certainly has an impact.

That's why I'm her teacher and she is my student.