Love Me Anyway (A student-teacher relationship)

Chapter Sixteen

I'm sorry, but this chapter sucks SO bad. Like, seriously, it's not even funny. The development is horrible, and it's four (or maybe three, I don't know) pages of NOTHING happening. I hate it so much, but hopefully the others will be better. I'll try to post again on Tuesday.

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Josh’s POV

I didn’t get to kiss her.

I got so close, so close that it was painful, but the distance was unbreachable. I was still going mad with the possibilities of what could of happened. From the second she ran away to now, four hours later, I was on the edge of tearing my hair out.

Why did she run away?

Okay, maybe that was a stupid question, considering that I was her teacher and had tried pulling the moves on her. I mean, any person with a brain would be creeped out, no matter how well I thought we were getting on. I mean, lets say we had kissed, and someone had walked in. I could have been fired, she could have been expelled. Sure, I could just find another job, but an explosion would basically be the end of her future.

I was supposed to be at one of those teacher meeting in a few minutes. If I didn’t go, I would be scolded on Monday, but it’s not like they would actually miss me. All they did was gossip about their students, and whether they showed it in the classroom or not, they had some major favorites. They talked about Cynthia a lot, not usually good things. Another reason why I didn’t want to go. The last thing I wanted was to sit in a room for two hours and listen to them talk about the student I had almost kissed.

I was home instead, laying on my couch, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about nothing but her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push her out of my head for a single moment, which was completely stupid. I mean, she was my student. I shouldn’t be looking at her like that. I didn’t look at any of my other students like that, and I had a 20 year-old in one of my classes who was hitting on me all the time. But I thought of her as my student.

Cynthia though… she was my friend. From that first day, when I met her in the hallway and then again in my class, I cared about her. From the first day I met her, when I was eight, and she was five, I cared about her. I worried about her. I spent 14 years of my life worrying about her.

I ran my hair through my hair, sighing. Just stop thinking about her, Josh, I told myself, but it was far easier said then done. I flung an arm over my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

It was an incredibly useful talent when you wanted to stop thinking.

I woke with a start when my butt vibrated, rolling off the couch. My head snapped against the ground, my elbow nicking the coffee table. I hissed, rubbing my temples as I sat up, stretching sleep from my joints. My butt vibrated again, and I had a moment of panic before I realized that it was my phone going off in my back pocket. I fished it awkwardly from my pocket, checking the caller ID. My brain shorted out, and the phone dropped from my hand. It continued to vibrate against the carpet, and I snapped it up, afraid it was going to go off, and get sent to my voicemails. It would probably be wiser to reject the call, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Cynthia?” I asked, my voice unpleasantly winded.

“Josh.” Her voice cracked in the middle of my name.

“Cynthia!” I repeated, still shocked that she had called me, especially with the day’s earlier events. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I-I’m sorry f-for c-calling. I-I shouldn’t-” I could barely understand a word she was saying and I cut her off.