Till Eternity (teacherxstudent)

Chapter 9: Wednesday

Can you blame me for having my mind wandering in some other planet after school, with all that keeps happening? But it’s not like I can just tell that to my mother and use it as an excuse for not cooking, doing the laundry, and sweeping the floors as soon as I got home that day. I don’t get it anyways; it is not like we have any visitors or pets to soil the floor, and it is just the two of us so there is not that much laundry to require washing every single day. Nevertheless, she still comes home everyday with a magnifying glass in hand, ready to inspect the house. If anything is out of place or if any chore is left undone, I can expect the usual berating about how she is raising me all by herself and how she is the one who earns all the money and brings the bread home every day. Occasionally, it does not end in yelling, but there is not much I can do, and she does have a point.

Yet, for some reason, her reaction was worst than usual that day. No matter how many times I apologized, and even though I did everything was supposed to after her roaring thunder, it was still not enough. And, whenever this happens, she begins by telling me how ungrateful I am, how I am a loner and a failure, and how she wishes she never met my father and how she wished I never had been born. That always strikes me down hard, even though it is not the first time I have heard it. I always break down crying, but have to hide myself so she cannot chide me for being weak. Somehow, with everything at school – feeling invisible whenever I am not even enough to serve as an emotional boxing bag, and how my rooftop freedom and my mind have been infiltrated by another guy who thinks that teasing me is amusing – I could not hold in half of I usually endure.

Once I was done cleaning her shoes, her dishes – although I myself did not eat – and anything else that could possibly appease her, I curled up in bed. But I could not fall in sleep. Not even my dreams could save me from my drowning thoughts. Thus, I turned my dim nightstand light on and picked up a book. But I could not find the energy or motivation to get past the first page. I sat at my desk and opened my textbook. If I am a failure at everything else, then I might as well excel in my studies.

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Unfortunately, on Wednesdays my mother leaves for work at about the same time I do for school, so I did my best to avoid her. Still, that was not enough to keep her from barging into my room, reminding me that I am a failure, and slamming the door until all the thoughts of emotions from last night came rushing back. I must have washed my face a million times to try to ease the redness and hide the fact that I’ve been awake and crying all night – but it came as no avail.

I was still sniffling and so I hung my head low as I entered the building. The grounds were deserted as it was still too early for hardly anyone to be at school besides the maids and groundskeepers. Yet, as I climbed up the stairs, my ears caught hold of rapid footsteps which were then followed by a husky breath.

“Deb!” it called.

I cursed under my breath and pressed my eyes shut and my eyebrows together. He is the last person I want to see. Why can’t he just give it a rest at harassing and mocking me for just one second? I kept my back to him, hoping for the impossible chance of him giving up and walking away. Though, before I had time to even take a step forward to escape, the wide footsteps ran up the stairs and pulled me back. My wrist was clamped and my hand fell dead and numb – I had no strength left in me to fight back.

I was forced to turn around. Mr. Jones’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped, but before either of us could speak, one of the maids turned the corner and began mopping the stairs. We waited as our eyes fixed on the broom that whooshed slowly from one step to the next, one by one as Mr. Jones and I danced with it to avoid hindering her job. But we were much too stunned by her sudden appearance and our suspicious touch to walk away – or do anything other than stand and stare, avoiding the occasional brush of the mop. Only once she was done and out of sight did we look back at each other. His eyes fell on mine and widened before softening with his turned up brows. He brushed a warm and soft hand upon my cheek and wiped my moistened eye bags.

“I you crying from the window. What’s wrong?” he said, sounding genuinely worried.

This weakened me. My walls dropped at the slight hint of preoccupation or caring for me. A hiccup escaped my throat as I leapt forward to hug him tightly. I felt Mr. Jones falter, taking a step back to keep balance. Rapidly, however, he composed himself and his heart slowed down. Both warm hands rested on my back and massaged it as I felt his cheek rest atop my head.

“What happened?” he asked in the softest reassuring tone. I squeezed him harder than before whimpering like a child. “Your mother?” he guessed correctly, as usual.

I sniffled before I could speak. “She told me I was disgusting and ungrateful, and that she wished I had never been born.” I spoke into his chest, amazed that he could understand my words.

“What? That’s awful.” he said, and I grasped onto his clothes, crumpling them up. But he did not seem to care. Mr. Jones took a pensive breath as he calculated what else to say. Honestly, it was enough to have someone who would listen.

“Try not to take it too personally, I am sure she didn’t mean it. She was probably just stressed out at work and had no one else to dump it on.” he patted my head, trying to comfort me. “You are an amazing person, and a wonderful daughter. Your mother must know that and, though she might not say it, I am sure she regrets everything she said.”

I lifted my head at his words and softened my grasp. Our eyes fixed on each other as we held our embrace without uttering any words.

“Mr. Jones…” I spoke quietly and moved slowly while my heart raced, pounding in my chest. My body was acting on its own – what is this feeling? I elevated myself on my tiptoes while my gaze shifted and fixed on my teacher’s lips. All he did was soften his gaze and remain still as I reached for them.

A breath apart, our lips were almost touching when he turned his head and backed away. Somehow it seemed like he was fighting against his own urges, but still he made sure this would not go past a hug. Mr. Jones’s eyebrows tightened upwards, but his eyes filled with determination. I stood perplexed.

“Mister?”

He gulped before speaking, “I will always worry abut you, and I will always be here for you. So, you don’t have to let your emotions force you to do something you do not truly want.”

I gaped.

Before I could even think of what to say – or even reflect on his words – the bell rang. Mr. Jones brushed my cheek with a soft smile and warm eyes. He then walked back downstairs as my eyes chased after him. We did not speak for the rest of that day, although I wanted to thank him – mostly for comforting me, but also from stopping me from doing something I might regret. Whereas my heartbeat softened into a flutter, my thoughts would not be lulled. They were forcing me to picture him and to remember his every word and his every action. Perhaps… since he stopped me, and if he truly wants me to reciprocate his moves only if I feel something for him, then, just maybe… Could he be telling me the truth? Could it be possible for a teacher as gorgeous as him to be in love with someone like me?

If so, how do I feel about him?