Beautiful Torment (9 page)

It’s turned into a vicious pattern. Every other day I meet him for lunch, and on the ones I don’t, I watch him, like a huge creep, fueling my fantasies for another day.

Sometimes his office door is easier to push open than others. I don’t even think as to why he doesn’t lock it, because if he did, it would crush me. On the days it doesn’t open easily, I make sure the hallway is empty before I press my ear against the door. It’s always cool to the touch, or maybe that’s because I’m so hot with anticipation.

Yes, I feel silly, but what’s happening on the other side eggs me on.

I always wait for him to get to a certain point - a certain groan that I’ve grown accustom to - before gently turning the handle and letting the door fall open on it’s own.

I like how sometimes he goes about touching himself a little differently; depending on how much time he has before the bell. If he has more time he’ll pause, holding onto himself a little longer, trying to drag out the process. He’ll say my name a little more, chanting how great I make him feel, and telling me I’m doing a good job. If he’s pressed for time, he’ll tug on himself harder, rubbing it out quickly, growling my name while pretending he’s inside me.

Those are the best moments and give me the most to work with when I’m on my own.

However, no matter what, if there’s plenty of time or none at all, the ending is consistent. It’s always
my name
that escapes his lips as he comes. At times it’s only a whisper, and on other occasions it’s so strong that I’m amazed no one else hears.

Mid-December approaches, as does my birthday. I’ve been dreading it, as it only means winter recess is a week away. I don’t know what I’ll do with my time away from my favorite teacher.

Chloe greets me with a crown as soon as she jumps into my car. She asked to ride with me today because apparently Ashley has something this morning. I had a feeling it was a set up, and as I spot her by my locker waiting with balloons, I see I was right.

“Ashley,” I groan.

“You only turn eighteen once,” she squeals. The crown is easy to hide in my locker, but the balloons are another story.

Today’s a study hall day, and despite desperately wanting to see my afternoon entertainment, I end up eating in the lunchroom for the first time in over a month. I simply can’t go unnoticed with the balloons in tow, and I don’t want to ruin anything by getting caught.

It’s funny though, how Chloe says people are talking about my crush on Mr. Harrington, because no one’s cracking jokes today, as the teacher let’s his teacher’s pet’s friends bring in cupcakes for the whole class for her birthday. It’s actually a really sweet surprise from Chloe and Ashley. I’m so shocked they did this for me, as we haven’t exactly been close lately. Nevertheless, my entire chemistry class is enjoying this little impromptu birthday party while Mr. Harrington goes about his lesson.

I may have purposely sucked the frosting off my fingers a few times, lingering a little longer than necessary.

Call me naughty, call me bold, but I’m excited to give him something to work with for next time.

JUST ONE

Gracie has a doctor’s appointment, and Chloe is still getting a ride with Ashley, so the day after break ends I rush to school so early that I’m not sure if it will even be open.

It is, thankfully, and I head down the familiar empty hallways with only one thing, one person, on my mind.

I have the new messenger bag I got for Christmas slung over my shoulder, and my heavy down-filled jacket is still on. I don’t even stop at my locker and instead b-line it from my car straight to his office.

It’s been the longest twelve days of my life.

I take giant steps as I bound down the hall, turning the final corner sharply, rushing to my very own finish line.

“Luci,” my name sounds like music on his lips, sweet and powerful. Of course he’d be here early too, waiting, his smile almost as big as mine. “How was your break?”

“Long,” I let out a deep sigh. I want to run up and hug him. In fact, my heel is already off the floor, but I push my toes down, telling myself not to.

“Yeah,” he laughs, our gaze lingering a little too long to be considered entirely appropriate.

“Come on, Trouble,” he sighs, opening his office door for me. “Let’s catch up.”

I feel perverted for being so excited for lunch, but I’m so turned on I can’t wait. I only hope his habits didn’t change over break. Twelve days seemed more like
twelve years
, and when I lean against his office door, I’m crushed, because I don’t hear anything. It’s so quiet that I back away just to check that the light is on.

It is.

I wait another few minutes before listening again, my heart sinking in despair when it’s silent. There’s no familiar moan or groan, just…
nothing
.

I turn the handle carefully and let the door fall open on it’s own, like I usually do. There’s rustling, he’s definitely in here, but I don’t see him. He’s not standing in his usual spot.

More rustling.

I think maybe he’s actually sitting at his desk doing work, so I push the door fully open and walk in. His eyes dart to mine, startled and surprised, as he suddenly shouts my name. It’s a toss between an angry cry and a sigh of relief. My eyes move from his shocked face down to where his hand is firmly wrapped around his penis. It’s the first time I actually get a decent look at it. God, it’s so solid and large, broad and thick, huge is probably the better word.

I don’t have time to enjoy him, as everything happens at once: Him, mid-stroke, clearly having only recently started, quickly covering himself the best he can as he swells at an unnatural pace while shouting my name.

“Luci!” His cry is a mixture of bewilderment - stunned that I walked in, and full of pleasure, from seeing me, because he’s suddenly coming. Hard.

I watch as it oozes between his tight-gripped fingers, my erect, turned on nipples rub uncomfortably against my bra as wetness surges in my underwear. I suddenly crave my finger. The fact that he was still
so far
from release yet got there so quickly,
just from
seeing me,
increases my lust at an extraordinarily rapid pace. I can’t help but freeze, out of embarrassment; I’m astonished - staring, gazing, admiring, but more than anything, wishing and praying. For this is a pivotal moment.

“Shit!” He yells, and I snap out of my daze. I rush out of there, closing the door in my wake before briskly walking away. I have no direction in mind other than
very far away
.

I don’t know how he cleaned up so fast, but in no time he’s running after me.

“Luci, wait!” I stop and turn to face him without knowing what to say. Do I tell him it’s okay? Let him know how much I like him, so he can
hear me say it
and realize I want this too? Should I confess that I do the same damn thing every day, also while thinking about him?

“My classroom. Now,” his stern voice interrupts my thoughts before I actually have the chance to say anything.

He walks into the room brushing past me. He shuts the door and pauses. We’re both quiet, not looking at one another, too embarrassed.

“You didn’t seem surprised,” he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

His face is unforgiving and full of shame. I look past him, out the window and onto the track as I answer.

“No.”

“Why?” He demands, and his harsh voice makes me wince.

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen you do that.”

When I finally look at him, his expression is worse than I feared, ruthless.

“Shit,” he closes his eyes. “Since when?” He asks like he’s afraid to know.

“A few months ago,” I admit.

Neither of us says anything as he lets my admission sink in.

“It’s okay,” I croak.
Please God, let it be okay.

“It’s not!” He shouts as he slams his fist onto his desk.

I cower back. I’ve never seen him angry like this. The way he stands, the way he’s looking at me. It’s the first time I
feel
young, like
I’m actually doing something wrong
. I’m furious though, because I’m not the only one who’s disturbed here.

I know him well enough to know I can’t argue with him when he’s like this, so I turn around to leave.

“Wait, Luci,” his voice is slightly softer, but I don’t turn back around as I wait for him to say something, anything.

It’s like a knife slices right through me when he doesn’t.

“Look,” I whisper, not facing him. “I…
really
like you… obviously… more than I should,” I confess. “And
I know
you feel it too.”

When I finally turn around and meet his eyes, they’re full of pain and confusion, but there’s something beyond that… Lust? Need? Hope?

Hope.

I’m choosing to hold on to that.

He pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit. I’m a ball of nerves as I do, watching as he grabs another chair, so deflated over the fact that he makes a point to position it so far away from mine, not wanting to be anywhere near me.

It’s absolutely devastating.

He sighs loudly as he pinches the top of his nose. “I think you’re confused by what you saw,” he swallows. “It was
very
inappropriate of me. Not to mention a big mistake.”

I sit up a little straighter, not knowing where shy little me musters up the courage, but how dare he!

“It didn’t seem like a mistake when you intentionally called my name every time you came.” His face remains stern, angry even, but his eyes now hold a hint of amusement, which encourages me to continue. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you,” I let out a breathy laugh. “I thought it was obvious…”

“I get it,” he interrupts loudly, and while his voice and attitude cause me to sink back in my chair, I don’t let that stop me.

“I know that this makes me weird and -”

“Like what I was doing isn’t?” He counters, before adding, “
I’m your teacher
.”

“I’m eighteen!”

“Barely,” he huffs.

“It’s legal.”

“Is that supposed to make it okay?” He closes his eyes again, aggravated.

“Well then,” I stand, exhaling loudly. “I obviously misunderstood… everything.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me as I leave.

I guess being so into school has its perks, because neither Mom nor Dad questions my sickness as I stay home the next few days. I’ve decided that I’m going to transfer out of his class. We just got back from break, and it’s a new semester, so hopefully it won’t be too difficult.

I’m so humiliated by how I outwardly admitted I like him, and how quickly he turned me down. I can’t picture sitting in his class the rest of the year, longing after him so pathetically.

I finalize my decision at some point on Thursday, but when Gracie gets home from school, she tells me he stopped her in the hallway to ask how I’m feeling. She doesn’t know what happened, what I’ve watched him do over and over again. As far as she knows, we just eat lunch together.

Truthfully, I think he only sought her out to see if I said anything to anyone. You know, with me being a silly, young, high school girl who didn’t get what she wanted. It’s obviously what’s expected of
young me
- to go ahead and be petty.

I’m insulted he thinks so little of me.

I end up staying home again the following day. Monday, I tell myself. I’ll go to school on Monday.

On Friday, he hands Gracie a note to give to me. It says I should meet him in his office first thing Monday morning, so he can give me the notes I missed.

I stay home Monday too.

I know I’m going to transfer classes, but I also know that I’m still going to have to face him. If for nothing else other than so he can sign the transfer slip. I’m just so mad at myself because while mortified, I can’t get mad enough to hate him. I still just want him too damn much.

When Tuesday rolls around, Mom forces me to go to school (don’t think I didn’t try and stay home again). I slowly get out of bed and put on sweats and a T-shirt, not in the mood to wear something nice in the form of actual clothes.

I get to school minutes before the final bell rings and rush to math.

I don't even change for gym, since I'm already in good enough attire, and afterwards, my hair is still in the same messy bun that it stays in all day. 

I have the transfer form in my bag. I just need his signature, and I’m a bundle of nerves by the time chemistry rolls around. I take my time after study hall and stop at my locker, even though I don't need to.

I get to class a few minutes late, and the entire class looks my way as I walk in. Mr. Harrington stops talking, but I don't pay attention, or look his way, as I settle in my seat.

Class is slow, and I have to force myself not to look at him, since doing so has been my natural instinct for such a long time. And really, who am I kidding, it still is. I’m dying to glance up, but my eyes never leave my notebook.

“Luci,” he calls just as he finishes his lesson. I brace myself to look at him for the first time in days. “You missed quite a lot when you were absent, so I'd like for you to stay after school.”

“I'm already staying after for math.” I wasn't really planning to, but I am now, not yet ready for our one on one. Not yet ready to say goodbye. 

“Then when you're finished there,” he spits.

I ignore the snickers and low whispers from my peers as the bell rings.
Looks like you’re no longer the teacher’s pet
is the only thing I pick up as I leave.

I debate all of public speaking if I should just go home after school, but the truth is, I could use the math help after missing so many days.

I decide to simply stall, so maybe he won’t wait very long, and as planned, I leave my after school math session very late, hoping to avoid him completely. In fact, Mrs. Stalling all but kicks me out.

Unfortunately, it’s to no avail, as I see him pacing back and forth as I make my way up the stairs. The transfer form is weighing heavily on my shoulders in my bag and I know what I have to do. It’s for the best, really.

“Thought track practice ended,” I mumble, noticing he's still in his coaching uniform. 

“This is the last week.” His tone matches mine, short and angry.

He starts walking, and when he realizes I’m not following, he calls after me. “You're feeling better.” He’s not asking, and the tone of his statement stings.

“I can get the notes from someone,” I sigh. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I know he needs to sign the transfer form, but of course my heart suddenly has a mind of its own. I can’t bring myself to ask him. Ever. I know I can never change classes. I refuse to admit why, because deep down, on top of everything, I know I
still
want
to see him tomorrow. And the day after that.

He keeps on walking, and I think I may be in the clear to go home.

Obviously, I shouldn’t think such stupid things. 

“You’re not following me,” it comes out as an order, and I cringe, my feet automatically making their way towards him.

He holds his office door open for me as I step inside. There’s no sense in denying anything, and we have to get this over with at some point, so I throw my bag down and turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I know you're worried I'll say something, but I won't.” I hear the door click shut, followed by the turn of the lock.

His bitter look transforming to needy, and I can’t help the desire that crashes into me.

“God you’re so much trouble,” his eyes soften. They’re almost gentle now, but a hint of severity still remains, torturing me. I lean back against the island, my eyes searching his as they dig a hole, deeper and deeper. “Do you know why I call you that?” He asks, and I shake my head no, the pounding of my heart ringing in my ears.