Love Bound (Student/Teacher) ✔️

Chapter 20

"You love ... Finish it." I said.

"No"

"Why"

"This is all unprofessional" Mr. Vervain rubbed his forehead. "The way I talk to you. The way I look at you" Mr. Vervain's eyes looked at me in pain. "I'm sorry Aster..."

"Don't. When I wake up with you beside me you don't freak out, but this?! You're so bipolar." My voice escalated with every word.

"Watch what you say" Mr. Vervain's voice was low, but hurtful.

"I can't deal with this crap, I'm out"

"I don't have class now" Mr. Vervain stated

"I do." It was unlike me to avoid avoiding my classes, but I was about to lose control any second now.

It is truly an understatement when someone implies that I'm cool and collected, no, no I'm not.
I could be extremely impulsive when I want to be, with anyone, even my mother. But I always cower under her.

The lump in my throat catered for my thoughts to proceed, pushing me to the peak of the darkest mountain.

They reminded me to shield my weeping eyes that were dryer than the golden desert. To face it, confront it.

I couldn't switch this off; the murkiness that settled in me.

The emotional torture of now.
The physical torture in 24 hours.
17 years of torture.

My smile vanished.
I wanted to vanish.

I didn't want to skip school. I couldn't afford the principal calling my step-father, who has been nothing but a useless figure. He always answered the phone because Mr. Williams had to see to it that he informed him, face to face, of my 'misconduct.'

If someone were to lay their eyes on my mother, they would instantly know that she was either out of it from drinking or into drugs.

I had maths now, everyone was in there, I could see Stella from the side of the glass door. She was sitting with two girls that were quiet and focused on every word.

Smiling, 'Typical Stel'

I shut my eyes in pain, trying to eliminate any negative thoughts.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Thank you Coach Zayn, I guess those yoga workouts were not as irrelevant as expected. I remember the last time I saw him two weeks ago, he told me I was weak, he demanded that I don't show my face until I've regained an ounce of strength, so I could prove to myself, him, that 2 months of practice were not a waste of his time.

Sighing. What am I supposed to tell him? I have a physically abusive mother and an emotionally abusive step-father that live to strip me from every existing aspect of my human rights? I can't afford a banana because I get $20 for an entire week to keep me going?

I could recall that day, the anger I felt with each word he attacked me with. I looked at him with disgust and spat on the floor where he stood 'You're no role model.'

Coach Zayn's eyes turned a shade lighter than the intimidating black he always exuded. I didn't read into it too much, I threw the padded mitts for boxing and left with the intention of never returning.