COMING SOON
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This isn't a love story. Don't get me wrong, I loved Jameson. I knew I needed to keep my distance from him but I couldn't help myself. This story is so much more than that. This is the story of unspeakable cruelty. This is the story of love, hate, guilt, f*cking, and revenge. This is us pure and raw and I'm not sorry for what I've done... what we've done. I regret nothing. This is the story of us. |
1
Sadie
Did you ever get the feeling something bad was about to happen? A premonition? A gut instinct? I had that feeling, but I continued on anyway, ignoring it. Bad stuff happened all the time. It didn’t matter if you were a good person, you ate your vegetables, or said your prayers at night.
Bad things happened.
I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me. You shouldn’t. I saw everything coming, and I allowed it to happen. I wasn’t naïve or careless. I wasn’t a victim. I was a deer staring at the headlights, and I paused to admire the ethereal glow, mesmerized; uncaring about the collision that was about to take place.
***
I stopped as I entered the expansive room, my gaze settling on Mr. Thomas. His blue eyes narrowed as he ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He almost looked human in his jeans and T-shirt. Almost. I glanced back at the doorway behind me, fully intent on making my escape. But when I looked back in his direction, his troubled stare locked onto mine, and he had already stood from his seat and was making his way across the room toward me. Deer, meet headlights. I clenched my fists at my sides and dug my nails into the palms of my hands, taking away the panic in my chest momentarily.
“Sadie?” He said my name as if he wasn’t certain I was standing before him and I wished I wasn’t. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcome relief, but the burst of pain against the thin skin of my hands let me know this was not a dream. It was a nightmare. I cleared my throat and pointed to the name tag on my chest.
“It’s Becky here,” I mumbled with a grimace as my eyes darted around the room, hoping no one had heard my real name. It was stupid really. I didn’t know any of these people personally, and I made sure to attend this Grief Group in the next town over from where I lived for that particular reason. This was the only place I could show my vulnerable side, and now it was tainted. His eyes narrowed, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
My gaze dropped to the ground between us as he sighed. “I’m new to all of this,” he waved his hand around, and I followed the motion as I took in all of the sad souls surrounding us, oblivious to our pain because they were too wrapped up in their own. In truth, if you would have asked me before this day, I would have said that Mr. Thomas was incapable of feelings of any kind. He seemed indifferent to anything occurring around him. There was a coldness in his eyes that people appeared to ignore because of his looks, but I saw it, and as much as I hated to admit it, he intrigued me. Misery loves company, and I was perpetually despondent.
He took a few steps to our left, grabbing a name tag sticker off the table and picked up the sharpie. His eyes had met mine before he scribbled out a name, peeled off the backing, and stuck it to his shirt.
“James? Your name is James? I would have thought it was Lucifer or something.” I rolled my eyes before mentally slapping myself. Making fun of him was a shitty thing to do at a place like this, but I was accustomed to wearing my sarcasm as a shield to deflect from my own pain.
“In here it is,” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I got the feeling it never really did with him. “If this is weird I can just go. I didn’t want to come to this thing anyway.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck as I chewed the inside of my cheek. Was he nervous?
“I don’t own this place.” I shrugged and walked around him, sitting in a tan metal folding chair across the circle. I was bluffing, pretending to be under control. He called. A few seconds later Mr. Thomas was settling into the chair next to me, stretching his long legs out toward the center, his knee bumping against mine. I eyed his jeans, and my gaze traveled up his dark gray shirt that was stretched tight against his hard chest. It was odd seeing a teacher out of school, like a weird zoo animal that had escaped its enclosure. Looking at him now, you wouldn’t guess he was an educator or did anything that forced him to interact with others, especially children. He looked too young to be molding others’ lives when he hadn’t even experienced his own.
“There are other seats,” I whispered as the rest of the people began to fill them in. He gave me a sideways glance before shaking his head and lacing his fingers together on his lap.
“I don’t know anyone here but you.”
I turned to him, unable to hold back the anger that was boiling under the surface from our interaction the day before. “You don’t know me either. I’m not your student here.”
I knew what he was doing. I knew the kind of person he was. I’d met him a thousand times before. Different heights, ages, and occupations. But they were all the same.
I stood and stormed out of the room without a backward glance. It was dramatic, yes, but it felt damn good. This was a Saturday, and he didn’t own the weekends.
I hurried down the block, my arms folded over my chest as the sun sank below the horizon but the humidity still hung heavy in the air, creating a damp film on my skin. The bus wouldn’t be running again for another forty-five minutes.
“Sadie,” he called after me as I began to walk faster toward the empty bus stop bench. Perfect. I continued past it just to escape him further, but it was pointless. I’d have to face him Monday regardless. “Sadie, can you just wait a second?” His palm landed on my shoulder, and I spun around, my hands acting on their own accord as I pressed them against his toned chest and shoved him backward. He was caught off guard and stumbled back a step, his face twisting in confusion as he reached for me again. I knocked his arm away and took a step back, my own hands in front of my chest, warning him not to touch me.
Getting close to someone was like holding your palm over an open flame. The warmth can be comforting, but getting too close can hurt you and leave scars. It was easier to remain cold. I’d already been damaged enough. That’s why I was here. Not here in the sense of existing but here at grief group. Here in this shitty town where I would never be more than just another lost soul. Here standing in front of Mr. Thomas.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
His words stung because the list of things wrong with me was endless, but being defensive of personal space wasn’t one of them. It was survival.
“I thought teachers weren’t supposed to swear,” I mocked as I folded my arms over my chest, regaining my composure.
“Yeah, well… James fucking does.” He pointed to the name tag on his shirt. I tried to hold my anger but a giggle escaped me, and I shook my head. He smiled, revealing his perfect, white teeth. I was wrong. I wasn’t a deer in headlights; I was a deer staring down a wolf, I thought. My, what big teeth you have. My breath faltered at how devastatingly handsome he was. He was older but still had a boyish quality about him; stuck in limbo between sober prudence and reckless abandon.
“Is James an asshole like Mr. Thomas? Did you come to the group just to laugh at others pain? I know a great animal shelter we can go to so you can kick around a few puppies if you’re looking to feel schadenfreude.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“I guess you don’t actually know everything.”
“I never said I did, Sadie.”
I sighed loudly. “It’s German. It means you enjoy others’ pain and suffering.”
“I prefer stealing candy from babies or giving out spoilers for books.” He shrugged before his shoulders fell and he ran his hand through his caramel hair that looked a few inches too long for his profession. “You really think I’m that cruel?”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t about to placate him to spare his feelings. “What do you want?” I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration. I pushed people away on purpose. I’d rather be hated than be the girl everyone feels sorry for. Most let me get away with it, chalking it up to teenage hormones but Mr. Thomas was not taking a hint. He was either incredibly obtuse or extremely perceptive. The latter made me nervous. He glanced up at the bus stop sign and back to me.
“You don’t have your license?” His question wasn’t meant to be rude, but I couldn’t help but be insulted. “Aren’t you seventeen?”
“I’m eighteen.” I turned my back to him, scanning the road as if the arrival of the bus was imminent. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to ask a woman her age?”
“I’m pretty sure that only applies to older women. I can give you a ride,” he called from behind me. Did he fall and bump his head? What was with his sudden concern?
“I’d rather get hit by a car but thanks.” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. He sighed heavily from behind me, and for a moment I’d thought he’d left.
“That’s not funny. I was just trying to be a nice person.” His tone was clipped. There was no hint of amusement, and I could tell I’d hit a nerve.
“Yeah, well… It didn’t take. I wouldn’t expect you to have a sense of humor,” I scoffed as I tapped my foot angrily. “Or a soul,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I’m not going to beg you,” his voice rose as if giving me an ultimatum. Was he seriously talking to me like I was a child?
“And this was just starting to get fun.”
He didn’t respond, and when I finally chanced a glance over my shoulder, he was stalking off down the sidewalk.
“Perfect,” I mumbled under my breath as I looked at the road again before following after him. This wasn’t the best part of town, and I couldn’t go back into the group after it had already started. I hated having everyone stop what they’re doing to stare at me. “Mr. Thomas, wait!” He ignored me and stepped into the street to cross. “James!” I waited as a car passed before I followed. As he slipped into the driver side of a small, silver sedan, I reached him and knocked on the window as he put his keys into the ignition. He had stilled for a moment before he hit the button to lower the glass. He didn’t look at me, and for a second I had no idea what the hell I was going to say. I wasn’t even sure what I had done wrong.
“I’m sorry if I was mean,” I muttered, but he didn’t move. “Can I get a ride?”
“Why?” He bit out as his eyes cut to me.
“Because the bus stop is full of creeps and teachers,” I deadpanned.
“No. I mean why would you care if you hurt my feelings?”
“Good question. Do you think we can discuss it while I’m not standing in the middle of the street?”
He glanced over at me, and I knew he was fighting a smirk. My knees wobbled. “Get in, Becky.” He cocked his head toward the passenger seat, and I hurried around the car and slid in before he could change his mind. The smell of his cologne immediately engulfed me.
“Where do you live?” He asked as he pulled out onto the desolate street.
“In a constant state of anger and annoyance.”
He laughed a deep throaty chuckle that made me smile. It was so strange hearing that sound coming from him. “Where is your home?” He rephrased his question, his gaze drifting to me and back to the road.
“Down on Mason in Blackberry Court.”
He shifted gears as the streetlights blurred around us; pulsing against the side of his face and illuminating his sharp features. His eyes were focused on the road ahead. I took in his profile; the hard angle of his jaw, the dimple that dipped into his cheek; the way his tongue ran out over his lips causing my own mouth to go dry.
“So why were you in the group?”
He was silent for a moment before shaking his head fractionally. “Nothing for you to worry about.” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror before they slid over me and back to the road.
“Oh, I get it. You’re mysterious,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my words.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he tapped his fingers against the leather-wrapped steering wheel as he spoke and I got the feeling he was teasing me.
“Are you saying I’m too young to comprehend complicated emotions like pain and sadness?” I asked mockingly.
That earned me another look from him before he shook his head. “Not too young.” He paused a moment before continuing, “Inexperienced.”
I groaned dramatically. “You’re killing me, Mr. Thomas.”
He tapped his chest where his name tag was. “James,” he reminded me, his eyes flicking to me in a playful warning.
“You’re killing me, James. What are you like sixty? Sixty-five?”
“I’m twenty-four,” he cleared his throat as he turned left down Langford Drive. “A friend had recommended that group to me a while back. I figured maybe it was time to check it out,” he admitted.
I studied his profile as he continued on. His eyes narrowed as if deep in thought, the muscles under his chiseled jaw tensing.
“Twenty-four. You’re so old and decrepit you probably forgot why you were even there. I bet you wandered in like a dementia patient looking for a bathroom. Do you know who the current president is, Mr. Thomas? Can you tell me what year it is?” I teased.
He shook his head and turned the volume knob on the radio to end our conversation.
“I can’t be silenced that easily,” I yelled over Cryin’ by Aerosmith as he turned the knob again, the volume so loud it was hard to think. I gathered my long, dark hair and wrapped a hair tie from my wrist around it in a messy bun. He sang along to the song playfully, his voice like velvet, curving around the lyrics in time with my heartbeat. Who was this guy and what had he done with the prick who torments me in class?
“We’ll see about that,” he yelled back, but now his expression was less pained, almost happy as if amused. For once, I didn’t have a witty comeback. He sighed as he turned the music back down, offering me a reprieve from the mind-rattling noise but my chest inexplicably clenched at the absence of his singing.
“So… you speak German?” He asked. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“No,” I said simply with a shrug.
“Oh, I get it. You’re mysterious,” he shot back, and when he winked, it caused everything inside of me to melt, pooling warmth inside of my belly. “What about you?” He asked. “What brought you all the way out here to attend a group like that?”
My stomach sank, and I could feel tears prick my eyes; the lightness of the moment now cloaked in a heavy cloud of regret. “My dad,” I muttered, staring out the passenger window so he wouldn’t see if one had happened to slip.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be. No one forced him to drink and drive.” I shrugged, but I was struggling to hold on to my tough façade. I didn’t talk about my father. Ever. Not even in the group. I just listen to others drone on about their pain, and I didn’t feel entirely alone. I occasionally complained about my everyday life, but his memory was mine.
“I’m not sorry for him. I’m sorry for you. That had to be tough. He’s in a better place.” He added like it was an afterthought.
I snorted. “You mean River Run Cemetery where all the degenerates go to get high and piss on the headstones?”
His head snapped to me, his eyebrows knitted together. “No… I… It’s just something people say.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
I nodded, the lump in my throat swelling and making it impossible for me to respond without sobbing. My world had fallen apart when my father died, and no one seemed to care about how it had hurt me until this moment. The dam ruptured; tears flowed freely now, streaming down my face like wild rivers, washing away my painted veil I’d carefully put in place that morning.
“Hey,” he said softly. His warm palm slid across my shoulder, and I flinched.
I shook my head, begging him not to keep talking but he didn’t heed my silent pleas. The car slowed and pulled off on the shoulder of the desolate road. His seat belt unclicked and there was a flash of light as he opened and closed his door. A moment later he was pulling the passenger side open and kneeling before me. I tried to turn away, but he put his hand on mine, and I froze.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over my dampened cheek, wiping away my sadness, his other hand had managed to tangle his fingers in mine.
“It wasn’t you… I don’t know why I just told you that,” I laughed nervously as I slid my palm against my face. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like some sort of freak.”
“I asked. You can talk to me about whatever you want.” He tucked a wisp of my hair behind my ear and offered me a small smile, his fingers ghosting over the shell of my ear. I shivered. He stared at me for a long moment, tormented by something in his own mind. I didn’t care; I just didn’t want him to stop looking at me like that; like he could see me.
“Have you ever… looked in the mirror and not recognized the person staring back at you?”
He smiled sadly. “Every day.”
“Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t deserve it.”
“You remind me of someone I was very close to,” he thought aloud, his voice strained.
“And here I thought I was one of a kind,” I teased, relieved he had let the subject of my father drop. I didn’t know how to feel about his confession, but something told me that she was the reason he’d been attending Grief Group… the group I’d made him abandon because I was too chicken to sit next to him. Guilt gripped me. “Tell me about her.”
He glanced down at the ground and back at me, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment before he shook his head. He cleared his throat as if thinking about her physically pained him. “She was a firecracker, never took shit from anyone… especially me.”
He laughed sadly as he looked off in the distance and I couldn’t help but smile. That did sound like me.
“She was funny; could make you laugh no matter how upset you were.” His eyes cut to me again. “And she was stunning. One of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.”
I felt my face heating. Was my teacher saying I was pretty? No. He couldn’t be. Not someone who looks like him.
“She sounds amazing.” I couldn’t picture him with anyone less than incredible, and I wondered idly what he must have been like before whatever happened had changed him. I knew losing my father had made me feel empty, like a hollowed out casing of my former self.
“She was.” He clenched his jaw causing the muscles to tick below the surface. “You are.” His thumb ran under my eye once more, and he smiled a lopsided grin while I struggled to understand if I’d heard him correctly. His hand fell to my thigh. The gesture seemed innocent given our proximity but my body stiffened, and I could feel my face heating. Without thinking, my arms flew up, and I wrapped them around his neck, burying my face against him. He stiffened before his palms slid across my back, holding me tightly while my chest wracked with sobs. I was immediately intoxicated by his smell; the cologne that lingered on the collar of his shirt, the faint remnants of aftershave he’d used on his throat, even his deodorant that reminded me vaguely of the kind my father had used. It was all overwhelming, and I felt lightheaded as if I was becoming high just from his scent.
As my tears finally began to subside, and I became all too aware of whose body I was pressed up against, he pulled back from me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before I was forced to let my arms drop.
“You feel any better?”
I nodded, unable to find any words. My entire body felt like it had been set on fire and my heartbeat was thudding so loudly in my ears I felt dizzy.
“Good,” he said with a wink before he pushed to his feet and closed my door. I watched as he made his way back to his side of the car and got back into the driver seat. He sat for a moment, staring ahead before we pulled out onto the street.
He turned the radio back up. Sharing time was over.
We rode in silence for the next ten minutes before he pulled into the drive-thru of a Crawley’s fast food joint. He turned down the radio, and my brain still felt like it was vibrating from the noise.
“You hungry?” he asked as he pulled up to order.
“You eat this junk?” I asked as I glanced at the various pictures of burgers, my gaze slipping back to Mr. Thomas’ profile.
“I’m not much of a cook.”
“You don’t have much going for you do you?” I joked as I narrowed my eyes.
“Careful. James can still give out punishments.” He winked sending butterflies into frantic flight in my stomach as a muffled voice boomed through the loudspeaker asking for our order. I told myself it was from the loudspeaker startling me and not him.
“I’ll take a number three with no pickles,” I whispered, and he rolled his eyes.
“Drink?”
“On occasion but after the stripping incident I’ve cut back.”
His head tilted to the side, and even though his expression was stern, I knew he was amused.
He placed our orders and of course, forgot to mention to hold the pickles. I tried my best not to look ungrateful and held my own when we argued because I wanted to pay for my own food, but I eventually lost when he said that maybe I could pay next time. Next time? I didn’t argue because I knew he was just trying to be polite and I barely had any money to spare. I pulled the top bun off my sandwich as Mr. Thomas swiped the pickle from my burger and shoved it in his mouth.
“You’re disgusting,” I grumbled as I placed the bun back on my burger and took a small bite. “God only knows where your fingers have been.” My gaze flicked to his mouth as he licked his finger clean. He caught me watching and smirked as I looked back down to my food, my stomach flipping.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I didn’t beg. I think James may be more annoying than Mr. Thomas.”
“Becky isn’t much of a prize, either,” he teased.
“Well, Becky just thinks James is a douche.”
“A douche? Really? Classy.”
I laughed as he scrunched up his nose in disgust but I felt stupid for my word choice. Even though I could talk to him like we were friends, I suddenly felt like a dumb kid.
“So, what are your plans for the rest of the weekend?” His eyes were locked on the road as he took a large bite of his burger.
“No plans. My dick of a history teacher is making us write a report.”
“Geez, that guy does sound like a dick, but that report isn’t due for a few weeks.”
“He is. And I am pretty sure he’s gay.”
Mr. Thomas made a choking sound, and I grabbed his soda and held it up for him to wash his bite down.
“I can assure you I am not gay.” His eyes met mine before going back to the road.
“It’s okay if you are, you know.” I took a small bite from my sandwich, struggling to keep a smirk from my face. “I’m not judging.”
“Sadie, I’m not gay.” His voice was stern even though he was enjoying our banter. “Do you need me to prove it?” His eyebrow rose as my stomach dropped.
What?
“Um… n-no. I believe you.” I shrugged as I placed the tip of a fry in my mouth, biting the end. Mr. Thomas’ eyes dropped to my lips as I licked the salt from them before he cleared his throat and focused on the road. I smiled to myself. He was definitely not gay, and my heart skipped a beat. “Jenny Staley will be happy to hear that info.” I rolled my eyes, shoving the rest of the fry into my mouth.
“Why is that?” The corner of his mouth was twisted up in a grin, and we both knew he knew exactly what I was talking about. All of the girls squirmed in their seats whenever he opened his mouth, and it seemed like the meaner he was, the more they swooned. It was pathetic. Jesus, I was pathetic.
“Oh, come on. Like you don’t see how the girls at school look at you.” Now I was smiling out of embarrassment. Was he going to make me say it? How was this conversation even happening right now?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He reached over slowly, and I held my breath as his hand moved toward my lap. He took a fry from the container in my hand, and I huffed. Holy shit. I was just as pathetic as Jenny.
“Oh, whatever.” I raised my voice to make my best impression of Jenny, “Mr. Thomas, your class is so fascinating. I can’t wait to hear more about the war.”
“What?” He laughed that deep vibrating chuckle again. “My class is fascinating.”
“Okay, now I know you’re messing with me,” I deadpanned. Mr. Thomas reached toward my lap again, and I moved the fries, holding them out of reach. “Eat your own food.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Clearly not all of the girls.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Why the hell couldn’t I stop smiling?
We pulled onto Mason Street, and he sighed loudly as he slowed to a crawl. “Which house is it?”
“That one,” I pointed three houses down to a small one-story ranch style house that looked like it was teleported from the seventies but barely survived the trip.
He stopped short of my house as the door flew open and a man stumbled out of the front door and fell down the two steps, smacking his face on the concrete below. May was right behind him, yelling incoherently. Perfect. Well, if Mr. Thomas was curious as to where my attitude and general lack of respect for authority came from, he needn’t look further than that hot mess.
“That one?” He pointed to the scene unfolding in front of us, and I wanted to laugh and tell him I was just kidding, but I knew the look on my face gave away the truth.
“Home sweet home.”
He turned off the headlights, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Don’t you have somewhere you want to go? A friend’s house? It’s the weekend.”
“I really do have to work on that report, and Jordon is… busy.”
“Jordon Banks?”
“He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is.” Jordon and I had been seeing each other on and off for a few months, but the off seemed to be more frequent lately. Really he was just the only person at school who could stand to be around me for any measurable length of time.
“I wasn’t judging.”
“You know, you’re not nearly as mean as you pretend to be in class.”
Mr. Thomas nodded but didn’t respond.
“What about you?” I asked before shaking my head when I realized it had sounded like I was asking him to hang out. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
He shrugged, his eyes cutting to me. “No plans.”
“Really?”
“Really. I have some work to catch up on…” his voice trailed off. “I’m pretty boring nowadays.” He smiled at some distant memory, and I imagined he was reminiscing about college.
Our attention turned to the tragic, drunken scene unfolding before us as May lobbed something at the man, hitting him in the back of the head. His hands flew up to protect himself, but she was relentless. We both gasped, our faces scrunched up in disbelief.
“You should be thankful. I’d give anything for boring right now. My life is… Chaos,” I sighed loudly.
I felt his gaze lingering on my profile, and it made my back stiffen.
He lifted his chin in the direction of my mother. “Her life is chaos. We aren’t our parents, Sadie. Your life is whatever you want it to be.”
I liked how he said we, like we were on the same level. “I should get out there before someone calls the cops.” I gripped the door handle and took a deep breath.
“Sadie… Are you sure you don’t want to wait it out? I don’t feel right about leaving you in the middle of that.” He motioned with his chin toward May as she slipped and fell on her ass. The idea of spending more time alone with James did sound incredibly appealing, but I knew I had to get my mom in the house.
“Your feigned concern is duly noted. Rest assured any guilt about what happens here is not on your shoulders.” I squeezed the handle, and the interior light flashed on, momentarily blinding me. I could feel a migraine slowly aching behind my eyes. Tonight would be long, and I would be lucky to get any sleep let alone get any homework done.
Mr. Thomas placed his hand on my arm, and I glanced behind me as he tried to think of something to say. Honestly, I assumed May would be at the bar, or I would have never let him see my home had I thought she would be here.
“Let me give you my number just for emergency purposes.” His hand slid from my skin setting my body on fire as he popped open the lid of the center console and looked for a pen. My eyes landed on an orange pill bottle, but I quickly looked away.
“Like I would ever call you for social reasons. Have you met you?” This time he didn’t laugh at my joke, only offering me a weak smile that bordered on the verge of pity. What a jerk.
He grabbed a crumpled receipt and scribbled a phone number on the back of it before folding it in half and placing it in my palm.
“I mean it. If you need anything, just call or text. I won’t let anyone know you asked for help. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
“Did you just try to make a joke, Mr. Thomas?” I scrunched up my nose as his eyes narrowed.
“I’m serious.” He said sternly as he peeled the name tag from his shirt and pressed it against my forehead. “And it’s James, remember?”
“Yes, you’re serious. I get it.” I pulled the sticker off my face and struggled not to laugh. I slipped out of the passenger seat and before closing the door I bent down. “Thanks for the ride. Maybe one day I can return the favor.” I slammed the door, my cheeks flaming hot as I realized how perverted my comment must have sounded, and slowly made my way to my house. I could feel Mr. Thomas’ eyes on me as I approached May. Just drive away already.
I gripped her elbow and slowly pulled her to her feet as I yelled at the man to leave and never come back. After a few minutes, he was able to stumble down the road. Mr. Thomas pulled out slowly and crept down the street, and I assumed he was making sure the man continued on his way. I didn’t need him to look after me, but it was nice that he showed concern.
May limped her way to the house, nearly falling back down the steps to the front door. I got her inside and into her bed before heading to my room. I took the name tag from my shirt and placed it on my corkboard along with James’ before falling back on my bed.
I unfolded the receipt that Mr. Thomas had handed me and laughed as I read the name James across the top. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and entered his information before tossing it aside and grabbing my laptop, with every intention of doing my homework.
I cleared the search bar and typed in James Thomas. The very first link that appeared was for a popular social networking site called Jabber.
I glanced at my closed bedroom door and back to the screen before clicking on the link. Mr. Thomas’ profile appeared before me, and his face was almost unrecognizable in his picture. He was gazing at the camera with a mischievous grin. He looked carefree and happy.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled down to the newly entered number, adding his picture to his contact info, and clicked to text –
You lied.
I hit send and tossed the phone beside me as I clicked on the ‘About’ section of his profile. He had only been my teacher for a few months, and I was curious as to where he had come from. My phone vibrated beside me, and the screen lit up with his name and the message –
You need to be more specific.
I quickly typed back –
Your name really is James.
I shook my head as I scrolled through pictures of him that appeared to be from college.
His reply was almost immediate –
It’s Jameson actually.
I gave you this # for emergency purposes only, Sadie.
I groaned as I typed back –
It is an emergency.
I’m dying of boredom while trying to write this lame report.
I clicked on a few of the pictures to get a better look, but only one album was made public. He was smiling in most of them, and I couldn’t understand why the Mr. Thomas I knew was such a contrast to him online. I enlarged a picture of him standing shirtless with a football in his hand. I could see the definition of his abdominal muscles and the deep V muscles that disappeared into his shorts. I went back to his main profile. There were a few comments from people telling him they were sorry for his loss and his last update was from several years ago. Not much of a social butterfly. Shocker.
Ten minutes went by before I decided to run through the shower and wash away the stressful day. I had been looking forward to group all week. It was my only time to unload all of the anger I harbored. I could actually be myself, even if I were pretending to be someone else. But I couldn’t show that side in front of Mr. Thomas… Or anyone I knew for that matter. I couldn’t believe I’d broken down and cried in front of him. I’d have to switch schools or drop out to avoid further embarrassment.
When I returned to my room, I noticed the page to Jameson’s profile was no longer available, and he must have changed his settings to private. I shook my head and dropped my towel before rummaging through my drawers for a pair of pink sleep shorts and matching camisole.
As I pulled my shirt over my head, I noticed the small light flashing on the top of my phone, letting me know I had a message waiting. I laid down on my stomach and entered my passcode. It was another message from Jameson.
Stalking is frowned upon. Good night. ;)
I mumbled curses as I tossed my phone to the floor and crawled under my covers, not bothering to work on the report.
I drifted off into a restless sleep, the ride home with Jameson twisting and morphing into an illicit fantasy.
This time, in my mind, as he reached across the seat to my lap, his long fingers slid over my thigh, gripping it tightly enough to bruise the delicate flesh and creeping upward. His touch was nothing like I’d experienced with Jordon or anyone for that matter. He wasn’t timid and unsure of himself. He knew exactly what to do to make my body respond to him, and soon I pictured myself straddling him in the driver seat, the stubble of his jaw tickling my cheek as my hips rolled against his. His hot breath blew against my ear in hushed whispers of longing. Suddenly, a hand was knocking hard against the window, and fear gripped my chest as I realized we’d been caught; our secrets exposed.
The knocking came again, pulling me from my slumber as I realized it was someone at my bedroom door. I groaned, pulling the covers over my face in a half-hearted attempt at gripping on to a few more moments of sleep. Where in the hell had that dream come from?
“Go away, May. I’m tired.”
My door flew open, hard enough to cause it to bounce off the wall behind it where there was already a dent from the small turn lock on the knob.
“You hid my bottle,” She slurred, her bloodshot eyes narrowed, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or her inability to focus. May was a mean drunk, the kind that would rip every shred of your self-esteem apart until you were tatters of your former self. She’d never apologize; never felt an ounce of guilt over things she couldn’t even remember by sunlight. She was soulless; nothing more than a gaping hole that she’d fill with alcohol and drugs.
“You’ve had enough. Sleep it off. You can get more tomorrow.”
“You spoiled little shit. You have no right to touch my things. No right!” Her German accent was more pronounced when she was hammered. She was like an inebriated little monster.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I placated as I sat up, groaning from exhaustion.
“I’m going to Richard’s, and when I get back, I want you gone.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Go to Hell for all I care,” she mumbled as she pulled my door closed behind her. A few minutes later the front door slammed shut, and I fell back onto my bed with a sigh, racked with guilt that I’d fantasized about someone I had no business fantasizing about.
Sadie
Did you ever get the feeling something bad was about to happen? A premonition? A gut instinct? I had that feeling, but I continued on anyway, ignoring it. Bad stuff happened all the time. It didn’t matter if you were a good person, you ate your vegetables, or said your prayers at night.
Bad things happened.
I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me. You shouldn’t. I saw everything coming, and I allowed it to happen. I wasn’t naïve or careless. I wasn’t a victim. I was a deer staring at the headlights, and I paused to admire the ethereal glow, mesmerized; uncaring about the collision that was about to take place.
***
I stopped as I entered the expansive room, my gaze settling on Mr. Thomas. His blue eyes narrowed as he ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He almost looked human in his jeans and T-shirt. Almost. I glanced back at the doorway behind me, fully intent on making my escape. But when I looked back in his direction, his troubled stare locked onto mine, and he had already stood from his seat and was making his way across the room toward me. Deer, meet headlights. I clenched my fists at my sides and dug my nails into the palms of my hands, taking away the panic in my chest momentarily.
“Sadie?” He said my name as if he wasn’t certain I was standing before him and I wished I wasn’t. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcome relief, but the burst of pain against the thin skin of my hands let me know this was not a dream. It was a nightmare. I cleared my throat and pointed to the name tag on my chest.
“It’s Becky here,” I mumbled with a grimace as my eyes darted around the room, hoping no one had heard my real name. It was stupid really. I didn’t know any of these people personally, and I made sure to attend this Grief Group in the next town over from where I lived for that particular reason. This was the only place I could show my vulnerable side, and now it was tainted. His eyes narrowed, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
My gaze dropped to the ground between us as he sighed. “I’m new to all of this,” he waved his hand around, and I followed the motion as I took in all of the sad souls surrounding us, oblivious to our pain because they were too wrapped up in their own. In truth, if you would have asked me before this day, I would have said that Mr. Thomas was incapable of feelings of any kind. He seemed indifferent to anything occurring around him. There was a coldness in his eyes that people appeared to ignore because of his looks, but I saw it, and as much as I hated to admit it, he intrigued me. Misery loves company, and I was perpetually despondent.
He took a few steps to our left, grabbing a name tag sticker off the table and picked up the sharpie. His eyes had met mine before he scribbled out a name, peeled off the backing, and stuck it to his shirt.
“James? Your name is James? I would have thought it was Lucifer or something.” I rolled my eyes before mentally slapping myself. Making fun of him was a shitty thing to do at a place like this, but I was accustomed to wearing my sarcasm as a shield to deflect from my own pain.
“In here it is,” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I got the feeling it never really did with him. “If this is weird I can just go. I didn’t want to come to this thing anyway.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck as I chewed the inside of my cheek. Was he nervous?
“I don’t own this place.” I shrugged and walked around him, sitting in a tan metal folding chair across the circle. I was bluffing, pretending to be under control. He called. A few seconds later Mr. Thomas was settling into the chair next to me, stretching his long legs out toward the center, his knee bumping against mine. I eyed his jeans, and my gaze traveled up his dark gray shirt that was stretched tight against his hard chest. It was odd seeing a teacher out of school, like a weird zoo animal that had escaped its enclosure. Looking at him now, you wouldn’t guess he was an educator or did anything that forced him to interact with others, especially children. He looked too young to be molding others’ lives when he hadn’t even experienced his own.
“There are other seats,” I whispered as the rest of the people began to fill them in. He gave me a sideways glance before shaking his head and lacing his fingers together on his lap.
“I don’t know anyone here but you.”
I turned to him, unable to hold back the anger that was boiling under the surface from our interaction the day before. “You don’t know me either. I’m not your student here.”
I knew what he was doing. I knew the kind of person he was. I’d met him a thousand times before. Different heights, ages, and occupations. But they were all the same.
I stood and stormed out of the room without a backward glance. It was dramatic, yes, but it felt damn good. This was a Saturday, and he didn’t own the weekends.
I hurried down the block, my arms folded over my chest as the sun sank below the horizon but the humidity still hung heavy in the air, creating a damp film on my skin. The bus wouldn’t be running again for another forty-five minutes.
“Sadie,” he called after me as I began to walk faster toward the empty bus stop bench. Perfect. I continued past it just to escape him further, but it was pointless. I’d have to face him Monday regardless. “Sadie, can you just wait a second?” His palm landed on my shoulder, and I spun around, my hands acting on their own accord as I pressed them against his toned chest and shoved him backward. He was caught off guard and stumbled back a step, his face twisting in confusion as he reached for me again. I knocked his arm away and took a step back, my own hands in front of my chest, warning him not to touch me.
Getting close to someone was like holding your palm over an open flame. The warmth can be comforting, but getting too close can hurt you and leave scars. It was easier to remain cold. I’d already been damaged enough. That’s why I was here. Not here in the sense of existing but here at grief group. Here in this shitty town where I would never be more than just another lost soul. Here standing in front of Mr. Thomas.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
His words stung because the list of things wrong with me was endless, but being defensive of personal space wasn’t one of them. It was survival.
“I thought teachers weren’t supposed to swear,” I mocked as I folded my arms over my chest, regaining my composure.
“Yeah, well… James fucking does.” He pointed to the name tag on his shirt. I tried to hold my anger but a giggle escaped me, and I shook my head. He smiled, revealing his perfect, white teeth. I was wrong. I wasn’t a deer in headlights; I was a deer staring down a wolf, I thought. My, what big teeth you have. My breath faltered at how devastatingly handsome he was. He was older but still had a boyish quality about him; stuck in limbo between sober prudence and reckless abandon.
“Is James an asshole like Mr. Thomas? Did you come to the group just to laugh at others pain? I know a great animal shelter we can go to so you can kick around a few puppies if you’re looking to feel schadenfreude.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“I guess you don’t actually know everything.”
“I never said I did, Sadie.”
I sighed loudly. “It’s German. It means you enjoy others’ pain and suffering.”
“I prefer stealing candy from babies or giving out spoilers for books.” He shrugged before his shoulders fell and he ran his hand through his caramel hair that looked a few inches too long for his profession. “You really think I’m that cruel?”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t about to placate him to spare his feelings. “What do you want?” I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration. I pushed people away on purpose. I’d rather be hated than be the girl everyone feels sorry for. Most let me get away with it, chalking it up to teenage hormones but Mr. Thomas was not taking a hint. He was either incredibly obtuse or extremely perceptive. The latter made me nervous. He glanced up at the bus stop sign and back to me.
“You don’t have your license?” His question wasn’t meant to be rude, but I couldn’t help but be insulted. “Aren’t you seventeen?”
“I’m eighteen.” I turned my back to him, scanning the road as if the arrival of the bus was imminent. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to ask a woman her age?”
“I’m pretty sure that only applies to older women. I can give you a ride,” he called from behind me. Did he fall and bump his head? What was with his sudden concern?
“I’d rather get hit by a car but thanks.” I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. He sighed heavily from behind me, and for a moment I’d thought he’d left.
“That’s not funny. I was just trying to be a nice person.” His tone was clipped. There was no hint of amusement, and I could tell I’d hit a nerve.
“Yeah, well… It didn’t take. I wouldn’t expect you to have a sense of humor,” I scoffed as I tapped my foot angrily. “Or a soul,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I’m not going to beg you,” his voice rose as if giving me an ultimatum. Was he seriously talking to me like I was a child?
“And this was just starting to get fun.”
He didn’t respond, and when I finally chanced a glance over my shoulder, he was stalking off down the sidewalk.
“Perfect,” I mumbled under my breath as I looked at the road again before following after him. This wasn’t the best part of town, and I couldn’t go back into the group after it had already started. I hated having everyone stop what they’re doing to stare at me. “Mr. Thomas, wait!” He ignored me and stepped into the street to cross. “James!” I waited as a car passed before I followed. As he slipped into the driver side of a small, silver sedan, I reached him and knocked on the window as he put his keys into the ignition. He had stilled for a moment before he hit the button to lower the glass. He didn’t look at me, and for a second I had no idea what the hell I was going to say. I wasn’t even sure what I had done wrong.
“I’m sorry if I was mean,” I muttered, but he didn’t move. “Can I get a ride?”
“Why?” He bit out as his eyes cut to me.
“Because the bus stop is full of creeps and teachers,” I deadpanned.
“No. I mean why would you care if you hurt my feelings?”
“Good question. Do you think we can discuss it while I’m not standing in the middle of the street?”
He glanced over at me, and I knew he was fighting a smirk. My knees wobbled. “Get in, Becky.” He cocked his head toward the passenger seat, and I hurried around the car and slid in before he could change his mind. The smell of his cologne immediately engulfed me.
“Where do you live?” He asked as he pulled out onto the desolate street.
“In a constant state of anger and annoyance.”
He laughed a deep throaty chuckle that made me smile. It was so strange hearing that sound coming from him. “Where is your home?” He rephrased his question, his gaze drifting to me and back to the road.
“Down on Mason in Blackberry Court.”
He shifted gears as the streetlights blurred around us; pulsing against the side of his face and illuminating his sharp features. His eyes were focused on the road ahead. I took in his profile; the hard angle of his jaw, the dimple that dipped into his cheek; the way his tongue ran out over his lips causing my own mouth to go dry.
“So why were you in the group?”
He was silent for a moment before shaking his head fractionally. “Nothing for you to worry about.” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror before they slid over me and back to the road.
“Oh, I get it. You’re mysterious,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my words.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he tapped his fingers against the leather-wrapped steering wheel as he spoke and I got the feeling he was teasing me.
“Are you saying I’m too young to comprehend complicated emotions like pain and sadness?” I asked mockingly.
That earned me another look from him before he shook his head. “Not too young.” He paused a moment before continuing, “Inexperienced.”
I groaned dramatically. “You’re killing me, Mr. Thomas.”
He tapped his chest where his name tag was. “James,” he reminded me, his eyes flicking to me in a playful warning.
“You’re killing me, James. What are you like sixty? Sixty-five?”
“I’m twenty-four,” he cleared his throat as he turned left down Langford Drive. “A friend had recommended that group to me a while back. I figured maybe it was time to check it out,” he admitted.
I studied his profile as he continued on. His eyes narrowed as if deep in thought, the muscles under his chiseled jaw tensing.
“Twenty-four. You’re so old and decrepit you probably forgot why you were even there. I bet you wandered in like a dementia patient looking for a bathroom. Do you know who the current president is, Mr. Thomas? Can you tell me what year it is?” I teased.
He shook his head and turned the volume knob on the radio to end our conversation.
“I can’t be silenced that easily,” I yelled over Cryin’ by Aerosmith as he turned the knob again, the volume so loud it was hard to think. I gathered my long, dark hair and wrapped a hair tie from my wrist around it in a messy bun. He sang along to the song playfully, his voice like velvet, curving around the lyrics in time with my heartbeat. Who was this guy and what had he done with the prick who torments me in class?
“We’ll see about that,” he yelled back, but now his expression was less pained, almost happy as if amused. For once, I didn’t have a witty comeback. He sighed as he turned the music back down, offering me a reprieve from the mind-rattling noise but my chest inexplicably clenched at the absence of his singing.
“So… you speak German?” He asked. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“No,” I said simply with a shrug.
“Oh, I get it. You’re mysterious,” he shot back, and when he winked, it caused everything inside of me to melt, pooling warmth inside of my belly. “What about you?” He asked. “What brought you all the way out here to attend a group like that?”
My stomach sank, and I could feel tears prick my eyes; the lightness of the moment now cloaked in a heavy cloud of regret. “My dad,” I muttered, staring out the passenger window so he wouldn’t see if one had happened to slip.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be. No one forced him to drink and drive.” I shrugged, but I was struggling to hold on to my tough façade. I didn’t talk about my father. Ever. Not even in the group. I just listen to others drone on about their pain, and I didn’t feel entirely alone. I occasionally complained about my everyday life, but his memory was mine.
“I’m not sorry for him. I’m sorry for you. That had to be tough. He’s in a better place.” He added like it was an afterthought.
I snorted. “You mean River Run Cemetery where all the degenerates go to get high and piss on the headstones?”
His head snapped to me, his eyebrows knitted together. “No… I… It’s just something people say.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
I nodded, the lump in my throat swelling and making it impossible for me to respond without sobbing. My world had fallen apart when my father died, and no one seemed to care about how it had hurt me until this moment. The dam ruptured; tears flowed freely now, streaming down my face like wild rivers, washing away my painted veil I’d carefully put in place that morning.
“Hey,” he said softly. His warm palm slid across my shoulder, and I flinched.
I shook my head, begging him not to keep talking but he didn’t heed my silent pleas. The car slowed and pulled off on the shoulder of the desolate road. His seat belt unclicked and there was a flash of light as he opened and closed his door. A moment later he was pulling the passenger side open and kneeling before me. I tried to turn away, but he put his hand on mine, and I froze.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over my dampened cheek, wiping away my sadness, his other hand had managed to tangle his fingers in mine.
“It wasn’t you… I don’t know why I just told you that,” I laughed nervously as I slid my palm against my face. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like some sort of freak.”
“I asked. You can talk to me about whatever you want.” He tucked a wisp of my hair behind my ear and offered me a small smile, his fingers ghosting over the shell of my ear. I shivered. He stared at me for a long moment, tormented by something in his own mind. I didn’t care; I just didn’t want him to stop looking at me like that; like he could see me.
“Have you ever… looked in the mirror and not recognized the person staring back at you?”
He smiled sadly. “Every day.”
“Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t deserve it.”
“You remind me of someone I was very close to,” he thought aloud, his voice strained.
“And here I thought I was one of a kind,” I teased, relieved he had let the subject of my father drop. I didn’t know how to feel about his confession, but something told me that she was the reason he’d been attending Grief Group… the group I’d made him abandon because I was too chicken to sit next to him. Guilt gripped me. “Tell me about her.”
He glanced down at the ground and back at me, his eyes lingering on my face for a moment before he shook his head. He cleared his throat as if thinking about her physically pained him. “She was a firecracker, never took shit from anyone… especially me.”
He laughed sadly as he looked off in the distance and I couldn’t help but smile. That did sound like me.
“She was funny; could make you laugh no matter how upset you were.” His eyes cut to me again. “And she was stunning. One of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.”
I felt my face heating. Was my teacher saying I was pretty? No. He couldn’t be. Not someone who looks like him.
“She sounds amazing.” I couldn’t picture him with anyone less than incredible, and I wondered idly what he must have been like before whatever happened had changed him. I knew losing my father had made me feel empty, like a hollowed out casing of my former self.
“She was.” He clenched his jaw causing the muscles to tick below the surface. “You are.” His thumb ran under my eye once more, and he smiled a lopsided grin while I struggled to understand if I’d heard him correctly. His hand fell to my thigh. The gesture seemed innocent given our proximity but my body stiffened, and I could feel my face heating. Without thinking, my arms flew up, and I wrapped them around his neck, burying my face against him. He stiffened before his palms slid across my back, holding me tightly while my chest wracked with sobs. I was immediately intoxicated by his smell; the cologne that lingered on the collar of his shirt, the faint remnants of aftershave he’d used on his throat, even his deodorant that reminded me vaguely of the kind my father had used. It was all overwhelming, and I felt lightheaded as if I was becoming high just from his scent.
As my tears finally began to subside, and I became all too aware of whose body I was pressed up against, he pulled back from me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before I was forced to let my arms drop.
“You feel any better?”
I nodded, unable to find any words. My entire body felt like it had been set on fire and my heartbeat was thudding so loudly in my ears I felt dizzy.
“Good,” he said with a wink before he pushed to his feet and closed my door. I watched as he made his way back to his side of the car and got back into the driver seat. He sat for a moment, staring ahead before we pulled out onto the street.
He turned the radio back up. Sharing time was over.
We rode in silence for the next ten minutes before he pulled into the drive-thru of a Crawley’s fast food joint. He turned down the radio, and my brain still felt like it was vibrating from the noise.
“You hungry?” he asked as he pulled up to order.
“You eat this junk?” I asked as I glanced at the various pictures of burgers, my gaze slipping back to Mr. Thomas’ profile.
“I’m not much of a cook.”
“You don’t have much going for you do you?” I joked as I narrowed my eyes.
“Careful. James can still give out punishments.” He winked sending butterflies into frantic flight in my stomach as a muffled voice boomed through the loudspeaker asking for our order. I told myself it was from the loudspeaker startling me and not him.
“I’ll take a number three with no pickles,” I whispered, and he rolled his eyes.
“Drink?”
“On occasion but after the stripping incident I’ve cut back.”
His head tilted to the side, and even though his expression was stern, I knew he was amused.
He placed our orders and of course, forgot to mention to hold the pickles. I tried my best not to look ungrateful and held my own when we argued because I wanted to pay for my own food, but I eventually lost when he said that maybe I could pay next time. Next time? I didn’t argue because I knew he was just trying to be polite and I barely had any money to spare. I pulled the top bun off my sandwich as Mr. Thomas swiped the pickle from my burger and shoved it in his mouth.
“You’re disgusting,” I grumbled as I placed the bun back on my burger and took a small bite. “God only knows where your fingers have been.” My gaze flicked to his mouth as he licked his finger clean. He caught me watching and smirked as I looked back down to my food, my stomach flipping.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I didn’t beg. I think James may be more annoying than Mr. Thomas.”
“Becky isn’t much of a prize, either,” he teased.
“Well, Becky just thinks James is a douche.”
“A douche? Really? Classy.”
I laughed as he scrunched up his nose in disgust but I felt stupid for my word choice. Even though I could talk to him like we were friends, I suddenly felt like a dumb kid.
“So, what are your plans for the rest of the weekend?” His eyes were locked on the road as he took a large bite of his burger.
“No plans. My dick of a history teacher is making us write a report.”
“Geez, that guy does sound like a dick, but that report isn’t due for a few weeks.”
“He is. And I am pretty sure he’s gay.”
Mr. Thomas made a choking sound, and I grabbed his soda and held it up for him to wash his bite down.
“I can assure you I am not gay.” His eyes met mine before going back to the road.
“It’s okay if you are, you know.” I took a small bite from my sandwich, struggling to keep a smirk from my face. “I’m not judging.”
“Sadie, I’m not gay.” His voice was stern even though he was enjoying our banter. “Do you need me to prove it?” His eyebrow rose as my stomach dropped.
What?
“Um… n-no. I believe you.” I shrugged as I placed the tip of a fry in my mouth, biting the end. Mr. Thomas’ eyes dropped to my lips as I licked the salt from them before he cleared his throat and focused on the road. I smiled to myself. He was definitely not gay, and my heart skipped a beat. “Jenny Staley will be happy to hear that info.” I rolled my eyes, shoving the rest of the fry into my mouth.
“Why is that?” The corner of his mouth was twisted up in a grin, and we both knew he knew exactly what I was talking about. All of the girls squirmed in their seats whenever he opened his mouth, and it seemed like the meaner he was, the more they swooned. It was pathetic. Jesus, I was pathetic.
“Oh, come on. Like you don’t see how the girls at school look at you.” Now I was smiling out of embarrassment. Was he going to make me say it? How was this conversation even happening right now?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He reached over slowly, and I held my breath as his hand moved toward my lap. He took a fry from the container in my hand, and I huffed. Holy shit. I was just as pathetic as Jenny.
“Oh, whatever.” I raised my voice to make my best impression of Jenny, “Mr. Thomas, your class is so fascinating. I can’t wait to hear more about the war.”
“What?” He laughed that deep vibrating chuckle again. “My class is fascinating.”
“Okay, now I know you’re messing with me,” I deadpanned. Mr. Thomas reached toward my lap again, and I moved the fries, holding them out of reach. “Eat your own food.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Clearly not all of the girls.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Why the hell couldn’t I stop smiling?
We pulled onto Mason Street, and he sighed loudly as he slowed to a crawl. “Which house is it?”
“That one,” I pointed three houses down to a small one-story ranch style house that looked like it was teleported from the seventies but barely survived the trip.
He stopped short of my house as the door flew open and a man stumbled out of the front door and fell down the two steps, smacking his face on the concrete below. May was right behind him, yelling incoherently. Perfect. Well, if Mr. Thomas was curious as to where my attitude and general lack of respect for authority came from, he needn’t look further than that hot mess.
“That one?” He pointed to the scene unfolding in front of us, and I wanted to laugh and tell him I was just kidding, but I knew the look on my face gave away the truth.
“Home sweet home.”
He turned off the headlights, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Don’t you have somewhere you want to go? A friend’s house? It’s the weekend.”
“I really do have to work on that report, and Jordon is… busy.”
“Jordon Banks?”
“He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is.” Jordon and I had been seeing each other on and off for a few months, but the off seemed to be more frequent lately. Really he was just the only person at school who could stand to be around me for any measurable length of time.
“I wasn’t judging.”
“You know, you’re not nearly as mean as you pretend to be in class.”
Mr. Thomas nodded but didn’t respond.
“What about you?” I asked before shaking my head when I realized it had sounded like I was asking him to hang out. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
He shrugged, his eyes cutting to me. “No plans.”
“Really?”
“Really. I have some work to catch up on…” his voice trailed off. “I’m pretty boring nowadays.” He smiled at some distant memory, and I imagined he was reminiscing about college.
Our attention turned to the tragic, drunken scene unfolding before us as May lobbed something at the man, hitting him in the back of the head. His hands flew up to protect himself, but she was relentless. We both gasped, our faces scrunched up in disbelief.
“You should be thankful. I’d give anything for boring right now. My life is… Chaos,” I sighed loudly.
I felt his gaze lingering on my profile, and it made my back stiffen.
He lifted his chin in the direction of my mother. “Her life is chaos. We aren’t our parents, Sadie. Your life is whatever you want it to be.”
I liked how he said we, like we were on the same level. “I should get out there before someone calls the cops.” I gripped the door handle and took a deep breath.
“Sadie… Are you sure you don’t want to wait it out? I don’t feel right about leaving you in the middle of that.” He motioned with his chin toward May as she slipped and fell on her ass. The idea of spending more time alone with James did sound incredibly appealing, but I knew I had to get my mom in the house.
“Your feigned concern is duly noted. Rest assured any guilt about what happens here is not on your shoulders.” I squeezed the handle, and the interior light flashed on, momentarily blinding me. I could feel a migraine slowly aching behind my eyes. Tonight would be long, and I would be lucky to get any sleep let alone get any homework done.
Mr. Thomas placed his hand on my arm, and I glanced behind me as he tried to think of something to say. Honestly, I assumed May would be at the bar, or I would have never let him see my home had I thought she would be here.
“Let me give you my number just for emergency purposes.” His hand slid from my skin setting my body on fire as he popped open the lid of the center console and looked for a pen. My eyes landed on an orange pill bottle, but I quickly looked away.
“Like I would ever call you for social reasons. Have you met you?” This time he didn’t laugh at my joke, only offering me a weak smile that bordered on the verge of pity. What a jerk.
He grabbed a crumpled receipt and scribbled a phone number on the back of it before folding it in half and placing it in my palm.
“I mean it. If you need anything, just call or text. I won’t let anyone know you asked for help. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
“Did you just try to make a joke, Mr. Thomas?” I scrunched up my nose as his eyes narrowed.
“I’m serious.” He said sternly as he peeled the name tag from his shirt and pressed it against my forehead. “And it’s James, remember?”
“Yes, you’re serious. I get it.” I pulled the sticker off my face and struggled not to laugh. I slipped out of the passenger seat and before closing the door I bent down. “Thanks for the ride. Maybe one day I can return the favor.” I slammed the door, my cheeks flaming hot as I realized how perverted my comment must have sounded, and slowly made my way to my house. I could feel Mr. Thomas’ eyes on me as I approached May. Just drive away already.
I gripped her elbow and slowly pulled her to her feet as I yelled at the man to leave and never come back. After a few minutes, he was able to stumble down the road. Mr. Thomas pulled out slowly and crept down the street, and I assumed he was making sure the man continued on his way. I didn’t need him to look after me, but it was nice that he showed concern.
May limped her way to the house, nearly falling back down the steps to the front door. I got her inside and into her bed before heading to my room. I took the name tag from my shirt and placed it on my corkboard along with James’ before falling back on my bed.
I unfolded the receipt that Mr. Thomas had handed me and laughed as I read the name James across the top. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and entered his information before tossing it aside and grabbing my laptop, with every intention of doing my homework.
I cleared the search bar and typed in James Thomas. The very first link that appeared was for a popular social networking site called Jabber.
I glanced at my closed bedroom door and back to the screen before clicking on the link. Mr. Thomas’ profile appeared before me, and his face was almost unrecognizable in his picture. He was gazing at the camera with a mischievous grin. He looked carefree and happy.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled down to the newly entered number, adding his picture to his contact info, and clicked to text –
You lied.
I hit send and tossed the phone beside me as I clicked on the ‘About’ section of his profile. He had only been my teacher for a few months, and I was curious as to where he had come from. My phone vibrated beside me, and the screen lit up with his name and the message –
You need to be more specific.
I quickly typed back –
Your name really is James.
I shook my head as I scrolled through pictures of him that appeared to be from college.
His reply was almost immediate –
It’s Jameson actually.
I gave you this # for emergency purposes only, Sadie.
I groaned as I typed back –
It is an emergency.
I’m dying of boredom while trying to write this lame report.
I clicked on a few of the pictures to get a better look, but only one album was made public. He was smiling in most of them, and I couldn’t understand why the Mr. Thomas I knew was such a contrast to him online. I enlarged a picture of him standing shirtless with a football in his hand. I could see the definition of his abdominal muscles and the deep V muscles that disappeared into his shorts. I went back to his main profile. There were a few comments from people telling him they were sorry for his loss and his last update was from several years ago. Not much of a social butterfly. Shocker.
Ten minutes went by before I decided to run through the shower and wash away the stressful day. I had been looking forward to group all week. It was my only time to unload all of the anger I harbored. I could actually be myself, even if I were pretending to be someone else. But I couldn’t show that side in front of Mr. Thomas… Or anyone I knew for that matter. I couldn’t believe I’d broken down and cried in front of him. I’d have to switch schools or drop out to avoid further embarrassment.
When I returned to my room, I noticed the page to Jameson’s profile was no longer available, and he must have changed his settings to private. I shook my head and dropped my towel before rummaging through my drawers for a pair of pink sleep shorts and matching camisole.
As I pulled my shirt over my head, I noticed the small light flashing on the top of my phone, letting me know I had a message waiting. I laid down on my stomach and entered my passcode. It was another message from Jameson.
Stalking is frowned upon. Good night. ;)
I mumbled curses as I tossed my phone to the floor and crawled under my covers, not bothering to work on the report.
I drifted off into a restless sleep, the ride home with Jameson twisting and morphing into an illicit fantasy.
This time, in my mind, as he reached across the seat to my lap, his long fingers slid over my thigh, gripping it tightly enough to bruise the delicate flesh and creeping upward. His touch was nothing like I’d experienced with Jordon or anyone for that matter. He wasn’t timid and unsure of himself. He knew exactly what to do to make my body respond to him, and soon I pictured myself straddling him in the driver seat, the stubble of his jaw tickling my cheek as my hips rolled against his. His hot breath blew against my ear in hushed whispers of longing. Suddenly, a hand was knocking hard against the window, and fear gripped my chest as I realized we’d been caught; our secrets exposed.
The knocking came again, pulling me from my slumber as I realized it was someone at my bedroom door. I groaned, pulling the covers over my face in a half-hearted attempt at gripping on to a few more moments of sleep. Where in the hell had that dream come from?
“Go away, May. I’m tired.”
My door flew open, hard enough to cause it to bounce off the wall behind it where there was already a dent from the small turn lock on the knob.
“You hid my bottle,” She slurred, her bloodshot eyes narrowed, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or her inability to focus. May was a mean drunk, the kind that would rip every shred of your self-esteem apart until you were tatters of your former self. She’d never apologize; never felt an ounce of guilt over things she couldn’t even remember by sunlight. She was soulless; nothing more than a gaping hole that she’d fill with alcohol and drugs.
“You’ve had enough. Sleep it off. You can get more tomorrow.”
“You spoiled little shit. You have no right to touch my things. No right!” Her German accent was more pronounced when she was hammered. She was like an inebriated little monster.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I placated as I sat up, groaning from exhaustion.
“I’m going to Richard’s, and when I get back, I want you gone.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Go to Hell for all I care,” she mumbled as she pulled my door closed behind her. A few minutes later the front door slammed shut, and I fell back onto my bed with a sigh, racked with guilt that I’d fantasized about someone I had no business fantasizing about.
