Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

Spiralling

Sunday morning — well, Sunday late afternoon if we're being honest — was a rude awakening. My body clearly couldn't handle getting as drunk as I did two days in a row because although the hangover wasn't as severe as its post-premiere counterpart, come Monday morning I was still feelings its effects. Sitting in the lecture hall, I dejectedly pushed my sunglasses up into my hair and thanked God it was still dark outside. I popped a couple of Tylenol and sipped on my half-finished bottle of Pedialyte, refusing to dwell on how absolutely fucking awful I must've looked.

Yesterday at Target, I'd walked to the counter lethargically with my three bottles of Pedialyte and pack of Gravol, sunglasses firmly in place and a grimace on my lips. The checkout lady had looked at me sympathetically. "Hard day?" She'd asked, to which I sighed in response.

"You have no idea." I replied, my voice still hoarse.

"It's difficult when your little one is sick, but make sure you're taking care of yourself too." She smiled as she rung up my purchases. If it weren't for the size of my dark tinted sunglasses, she certainly would have seen the way my eyebrows shot up at her assumption.

This poor, naïve lady had assumed that I had a kid at home with the flu rather than a nasty hangover from chugging Jose Cuervo until 10am. If only that were the case.

There was a painful ringing in my ears and a foul taste in my mouth that no amount of mouthwash could erase and I undoubtably carried the unmistakable odour of a 45 year old alcoholic thanks to the amount of liquor I was currently sweating from my pores. The slides being projected onto the wall barely registered in my brain and I had zero motivation to pay attention. Then again, it wasn't as if I'd made a habit of paying attention in this class. At least Miss Lane didn't seem to be particularly bothered by my lack of interest in the course.

When the class was dismissed, I breathed a sigh of relief. One class down, only a couple left until I could flop face-down in my bed and sleep this off.

Once again, my fantasies proved too good to be true.

"Miss Harris," Miss Lane called from her desk, "Stay behind, please. I need to speak with you regarding your monologue." The fuck did she just call me? After the big fuss she made over me using her last name at the premiere — this woman was truly something else.

I walked over to her desk and smiled despite my miserable state. Truthfully I was glad to have a moment to talk to her after Friday night. Blacking out aside, I'd had a lot of fun and I'd be lying if I said that she wasn't one of the main reasons that my night didn't turn out to be a total bust. It sounds awfully callous, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd met a person that interested me. Sitting next to her that night, I found myself lingering on every word she spoke, wondering what made her tick. I wanted to know who she was underneath all of the Hollywood bullshit, and that surprised me.

Miss Lane looked up from her desk, indifference obvious in her expression, and my face fell. Had I done something wrong? "I sent the file on Saturday, did you get it?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Great," I pronounced awkwardly, fidgeting with my hands. Clearly I was still unable to act like an adult around her, and it was starting to frustrate me. This was the same woman who had pounded back tequila shots with me just three days ago; I had no reason to be nervous. "So did you just keep me here for the company?" I teased, trying to remember the way I'd been able to talk to her so easily while I was drunk.

"Your monologue was unconvincing." She spoke evenly, as if ignoring me entirely.

"Excuse me?" I met her disinterested gaze incredulously. What the fuck was her problem?