Secret Lucidity_A Forbidden Student/Teacher Romance Stand-Alone

by E. K. Blair

  When we can’t go on and the room is filled with the smell of our sex, Cam lies peacefully in my arms, using my shoulder as her pillow. I breathe her in and run my hand along her damp spine, and fuck if I didn’t feel like crying myself. To have her back in my arms so intimately, her skin all over mine, is something I’ve prayed so hard for. I’ve slept with her in my tear ducts so often that I started to doubt I would ever be with her again.

  She runs her hand up my chest, and I grab her wrist, bringing her palm to my mouth to kiss. I press my lips to the center of her hand, and when I drag my thumb across the inside of her wrist, I feel raised flesh. I pull her hand away and find a deep scar running the length of her wrist, and every bone in me thickens brutally in devastation.

  I would expect her to be freaking out right now, but instead, she remains calm as she tilts her head back and looks up at me while I examine her disturbing failed attempt at death.

  “Why?”

  “Because trying to get over you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

  My chest caves in immense guilt for what I’ve put her through, and I close my eyes when I kiss the scar.

  “I’m a lot stronger now,” she says. “I’m not perfect, but I’ve learned how to cope better.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most.”

  “It isn’t your fault.” She lays her hand back down on my chest, but no matter how many times she tries to convince me, I will forever bear the weight of responsibility for what happened to us.

  It’s something I doubt I will ever be able to let go of. Knowing that this girl wanted to die so badly that she slit her wrist is a violent punch to my soul. I hate that she had no one to turn to, no one who was looking after her. That she was left alone in her misery. All anyone had to do was look at her to know she wasn’t strong enough on her own. She wore her pain on the outside for all to see even though she thought she hid it so well.

  I shift to my side and face her. “I promise you, you will never have to suffer alone again.”

  “I have no reason to suffer. This is all I ever wanted. You were all I ever wanted.”

  Her gentle voice cuts through the solid bone of my rib cage to remedy my heart, and I refuse to let any more time come between us.

  “Come to Chicago with me.”

  “Chicago?”

  “It’s where I live now,” I tell her.

  “I thought you couldn’t leave Oklahoma?”

  “I had to petition the courts. I’ve been living there for the past nine months.”

  “Why Chicago?”

  “It’s where I work. I’m partners with an old buddy of mine, and we own a small business acquisitions firm.”

  “So you’re flipping businesses now?”

  I nod. “We have several projects going on in Chicago, which is why I needed to move there.” I run my hand over the bare skin of her hip, and pull her in closer. “Come with me though. Don’t make me leave here without you.”

  “David, I can’t just leave. I have graduation in a couple weeks, and my mother will be flying into town.”

  “Your mom?” I question, remembering her as a lousy drunk who treated Cam like a piece of shit. “What’s going on with the two of you?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s complicated. She went to rehab a couple years back and has been trying to make more of an effort, but so much damage had already been done. We don’t talk often, but she really wanted to be here when I graduated.”

  And it’s now that I realize how much we have to learn about each other when I ask, “What are you getting your degree in?”

  “Strategic Communications. I’ll also be getting a minor in Public Relations.”

  “What is it you’re wanting to do?”

  “I’d like to go into sports or some sort of entertainment outlet.”

  “Look at me,” I state, and she does. “I’ll stay here until you graduate. Let’s take these next two weeks for us, but when I get on that plane to go back to Chicago, I want you coming with me.”

  Her eyes brighten.

  “I love you, Cam. And I will do whatever it takes not to lose you again.” I roll her onto her back and stare down into eyes that are no longer forbidden. “Tell me you’ll come with me.”

  Her smile grows, and I can’t even explain the shift in my heart when she beams, “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

  She pulls me down to her and kisses me, wrapping her legs around my waist, and my body instantly reacts. Her hips lift up to me, aching for closeness, and when I give it to her, she says, “You were always the one thing that felt like home to me, and even though I found a way to exist without you, a part of me has always been lost—” I move inside her and she grabs on to my shoulders as she takes in a breath of air. And when she releases it, two words tumble out, “until now.”

  A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to.

  The author is you and the sentence is your life.

  If you are suffering from depression, addiction, self-injury, or suicidal thoughts,

  there is hope, and there is help.

  Project Semicolon is a non-profit organization committed to raising awareness for

  mental health issues while aiming to be a source of inspiration.

  Visit their website

  Join groups

  Connect with peers

  www.projectsemicolon.com

  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

  1-800-273-TALK (8255)

  “Your story is not over yet.”

  I often find myself wondering if I have always been like this, if I ever existed without being afflicted with this craving. When I think back, I reach static before finding a time where I was free. Maybe I’ve never been free. Maybe I was born with some sort of displacement. A wiring gone wrong.

  I was six years old when I saw my first set of tits.

  I woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty for a drink of water, when I walked into the living room and saw my babysitter naked from the waist up while kissing her boyfriend. I didn’t understand at the time exactly what I was seeing, but I knew I liked it. Not in a sexual way, but the visual intrigued me.

  Her name was Shannon.

  I don’t remember much about her. She was one of a number of babysitters that would stay overnight while my mother worked her second job. I often found myself staying up late, hoping Shannon’s boyfriend would show up. To this very day, I can still remember the excitement I felt when I saw her on the couch with him, when I heard the sounds they made. I would crouch on my hands and knees and watch them as I hid behind a fake ficus tree that sat in the far corner of the living room.

  The excitement of watching her dry hump her boyfriend didn’t make my dick grow like it does now as I clench my hand firmly around myself. Memories play behind my eyelids, and I cum quickly, shooting my load into a wad of toilet paper before flushing it.

  I wash my hands and then run damp fingers through my hair as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I stare into green eyes, eyes that bear no resemblance to my mother’s, and tell myself under my breath, “Seven hours,” but I already know I won’t be able to last that long. I only set these trivial goals to give myself the illusion that I’m being proactive about controlling whatever this is.

  The idea that maybe I’m uncontrollable has been weighing heavily on me lately, but I shrug it off as I walk out of the bathroom.

  “Bye, Mom,” I shout and then grab my backpack and the keys to the shitty old Camaro I recently bought. I was finally able to save enough money from the part-time job I’ve been working after school to buy the damn thing. It’s old and rundown, but it gets me from point A to point B.

  The car fits in with the apartment complex, but I tell myself that I don’t. The thought of this being my life has never sat well with me. I’ve grown up threadbare with an absentee mother who works herself to the bone for every penny she makes, only to fall short every month.
She’s drowning in debt, and I refuse to go down that same path.

  I toss my backpack into the passenger seat and pump the gas a few times before cranking the ignition and bringing the car to a grumbling start.

  Most would look at a kid like me and make the stereotypical judgment call. But I’m smarter than the other dopeheads that live on this side of the tracks. The only way I have a chance of getting out of here is by going to college and making something of myself. All I have going for me is academics, so I’ve made them my priority, and in return, I’ve maintained a solid four-point-oh GPA semester after semester.

  Pulling into the parking lot of South Shore High, I park in my usual spot next to Micah’s pristine truck where he and our buddy Trent are already waiting on me.

  Micah claps his hand obnoxiously against the old metaled hood of my car and gives me a shit-eating grin. “Kason, what the hell happened to you last night?”

  “Got tied up with stuff.”

  “Speaking of stuff,” he hints as we head into the school building.

  If it weren’t for my association with Micah, I’d be just another roughneck outcast. But with his money and popularity and my ability to score him weed on a consistent basis, we’ve forged a friendship that benefits my social standing in this school. I guess that’s one of the perks of living where I do—pot is an easy score for the rich kids. I’ve never touched the stuff myself, but I’ll happily buy it off my neighbor, inflate the price for the naïve Micah, and pocket the profit.

  “I gotta work this afternoon, but I can meet you when I’m done.”

  He turns to face me as he walks backward down the crowded hall, telling me, “Indian Rocks. The guys and I will be skimming there.”

  “Dude.”

  He smiles, ignoring my irritation, and then turns the corner and rushes to his class.

  “That’s way outta my way, man!” I holler before colliding into another student. “Fu—”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice comes before I’m able to gather my bearings enough to see who I bumped into. When I do look, she’s already kneeling and grabbing the books she dropped.

  “I’ll get those.” I squat next to her, and when I hand over her books, I finally get a look as we stand.

  Long blonde hair frames her face, which is soft in color compared to most of the overly tanned girls in this town. But when you live in Tampa and the beaches are the main hangouts, what else can you expect? Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and when she looks me in the eyes, she apologizes again, saying, “I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention either, so no need to apologize.” She shifts nervously on her feet and hoists her backpack higher on her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Adaline,” she responds and then shakes her head as she corrects herself. “I mean Ady. People just call me Ady.”

  “You new?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not in a bad way, but yeah. You have that lost look in your eyes.”

  “And here I thought I was blending in,” she says and then smirks. “That is, until you ran into me and sent my books flying across the floor, causing a scene in front of everyone.”

  “I thought you said it was your fault? You even apologized for it.”

  “I was being polite. You know, new girl and all. Wouldn’t want to make any enemies on my first day, but you should really watch where you’re going.”

  Her humor cracks a smile on my face. “All right then. I’ll take the blame if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “It will. And thank you,” she responds with modest perk.

  “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

  I start to head to class but only make it a few steps when she shouts, “Wait.” I turn back, and she adds, “You never told me your name.”

  “Kason. People just call me Kason.”

  “Very funny.”

  “See you around, Adaline.”

  “It’s Ady,” she corrects as I head down the hall to first period, and I chuckle before making a detour that causes me to show up tardy.

  I knew I’d never make it the full seven hours.

  The day moves along in the same pattern as every day before, but it isn’t until sixth period that I see her again. I sit in my usual seat at the back of the classroom and watch her eyes skitter around the room to find an unoccupied desk. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear while kids file in behind her.

  I typically mind my own business with girls, avoiding interactions that could possibly lead to an interest on their part. It’s safer that way. But for some reason, I decide to put the poor thing out of her misery.

  “Adaline.”

  She raises her chin and smiles when she spots me.

  “I told you, it’s Ady,” she says when she approaches, but I ignore her reminder.

  “No one has ever claimed the desk in front of me.”

  “Seriously? It’s March.”

  “Your point?”

  She hangs her bag on the back of the chair and shifts to the side to look at me when she takes her seat. “No point. Just wondering why you’ve sat back here for nearly the whole year by yourself.”

  “Maybe I’m a loser.”

  She laughs. “That’s a stretch.”

  “How so?”

  “I saw you at lunch. I can tell you’re not a loser.”

  “Spying on me?”

  She unzips her bag and takes her notebook out. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m the new girl, remember? It’s kinda my job to be observant.”

  I catch Micah from the corner of my eye as he walks down the aisle, and Adaline looks up, following my line of focus.

  “You again,” he says to her before taking the seat to my right.

  “You’ve already met?”

  “Third period English,” he tells me and then turns to her, saying, “And for the sole purpose of you being new, I won’t hold it against you that you’re sitting in my desk.”

  She shoots me an annoyed glare, to which I smile.

  “In my defense, he told me no one sat here.”

  “Figures. This dick would throw anyone under the bus for a good-looking blonde.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” Her tone is playful and full of mockery.

  “His words, not mine.”

  “That isn’t a denial.”

  She then turns in her chair, closing off the conversation, and I’m already somehow intrigued with the new girl and her air of confidence. Looking to my side, Micah mouths she’s hot. I shake my head at him and then open my notebook, trying to redirect my focus when I feel the fangs of urgency bite.

  I shift in my seat, hyperaware of my surroundings, but as I take a quick scan of my classmates, I find them all lost in their own conversations.

  The teacher calls everyone’s attention and begins her instruction while I struggle to pay attention to the lecture. I take notes and listen, all the while counting down the minutes until the final bell. When the last tick hits, I grab my bag, scrape the legs of my chair against the floor, and rush to get my fix.

  “Dude,” Micah calls. “Don’t forget. Indian Rocks tonight.”

  “Got it,” I throw over my shoulder, not wanting to look back and risk the chance of catching another glance of her. Sitting behind her and smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo was torture enough. So, I hightail it to my car and speed home to quell what’s starting to feel like a curse.

  He runs out of class so fast that I don’t even get a chance to say goodbye. Maybe it’s a good thing. I don’t know how much longer I can put on this charade of the easy breezy self-assured new kid.

  “What’s Indian Rocks?” I ask Micah as we’re packing our books.

  “Pretty much the only decent place around here to skim.”

  “Your words are totally lost on me.”

  He drags his hand through his over-grown blond hair and walks with me out of the classroom. “Skimboarding. We’re trying to get our fill before spring
break hits and the beaches are filled with kooks for the next few weeks. You should come.”

  I have no clue what a kook is, but I nod, feigning understanding because I don’t want to look like a complete moron. “I still have a lot of unpacking to do.”

  “Suit yourself, Guppy. But if you change your mind, we’ll be there pretty late.”

  “Guppy?”

  He laughs. “I could toss you in my pocket and you’d still have room to grow,” he teases of my petite stature. “Gotta run, though. See you later?”

  “Maybe. Like I said, still unpacking and all.”

  “Micah, come on,” a guy hollers from down the hall, and Micah shoots me a quick, “Later,” before catching up with his friend.

  I make my way through the congested halls and watch as everyone clumps off into their groups of friends and heads out to the student parking lot while I walk solo. The humidity hangs heavily in the air, and when I hop into my car, I blast the air conditioner and release a somber huff. Since I’m still learning my way around this town, I plug my address into my car’s navigation, and when the pin drops, I shift into drive.

  Palm trees line the streets that take me to my new home, but I feel so far from paradise with the density caged within my chest. When I pull into the circular drive in front of the house my mom and I just moved into, I park and rest my head back against the seat and look through the sunroof.

  Deep green palm fronds hang overhead against the bright blue sky. The moment I found out I would be leaving Plano, Texas, for Tampa, Florida, I was excited. I mean, who wouldn’t want to trade landlocked pavement for water and sand? I psyched myself up for the move, but I didn’t consider how lonely I’d be without my friends and family. I’m a million miles away from comfort and familiarity.

  Inside the airy, two-story, stucco home, the echo of my shoes against the tile of the foyer is the only sound that greets me. I make my way up the stairs and into my bedroom, which overlooks the pool out back. Tossing my bag onto my bed, I pull my phone out from my pocket to check the time.