by A. M. Wilson
A burgundy Chevy truck pulls up beneath the streetlamp and parks, but nobody gets out. Ducking lower into my seat, I watch the unmistakable blue hue of a cell phone illuminating the dark cab and the single occupant within. I don’t have to see who’s inside to know it’s him.
As I watch, the light travels up towards the window and back down several times. He must be calling her, and she’s not picking up. Four, five, six times the light tracks toward his ear and back down. Despite the air conditioning still blowing on high, my skin prickles and heats with the anger flushing my system.
I reach back and flip the switch off for the dome light and crack the door open. As carefully as I can, I slip out into the dark night and gently rest the door closed without making a sound. This guy is jacked up on something, I guarantee it. Creeping alongside my car, mindful of the gravel crunching beneath my boots, I click open the trunk. My fingers fumble along before grasping the cool smooth metal of the tire iron. One glance back tells me he hasn’t moved, and the prick is still calling her.
Images of Tatum, scared and alone in her apartment flash rapidly through my mind. I need to get over there.
Taking the long way, I creep behind the row of cars and circle the small parking lot. I’m crouched behind an SUV one car away, when I hear, rather than see, his door fly open.
“Fucking bitch,” I hear him mutter as he steps out of the cab. He leans back in over the seat to grab something, and I don’t hesitate to rush him. For all I know he’s grabbing a gun or something to coerce her to let him in.
My approach startles him. He spins around looking disoriented. His eyes sweeping from side to side, a telltale glaze in his stare. The tire iron whooshes through the air as I slap it against his throat. A chill ripples across my skin as his eyes gloss over with recognition and resentment.
“You need to leave,” I spit out between my gritted teeth. “I told you to stay the fuck away from her.”
He grins a lopsided smirk, and I fight the urge to drive my fist into his mouth. “Ain’t scared of you. Besides, she wants me here.”
“I doubt it.”
“Swear to God. She called me to come over.” Amusement dances behind his icy blue eyes. Something about this guy is off, and I don’t want him within a mile of Tatum.
“You’re lying.” I press the metal wand tighter against his throat. His eyes round noticeably as he tries to hide the erupting panic.
It wasn’t enough because he taunts further. “M’not. Swear. Don’t be jealous because she wants what only I can give her.” I don’t know what this guy is on, but he isn’t slurring like a drunk. His speech is more lazy and drawn out. I can feel my control slipping with every word out of his fucking mouth.
“Stay away from her. She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
“You’re wrong, buddy. She wants me, even when she says she doesn’t.” His eyes roll back slightly, and he lets out a groan. When his meets my stare again, his mouth lifts in a smirk. “I’ll never forget how drenched her pussy was when I fingered her in the school. She really liked that, man. She didn’t even get that wet when I fucked her the day before. She sucks cock like a pro and has the sweetest tasting cunt—“
Blood red tinges the corners of my vision, and as the tire iron digs deeply into his throat, my hands shake.
“What’s the matter, buddy? Can’t breathe? Should I choke you out like you did to Tatum? Cut off your air until your face turns fucking purple, and the light leaves your eyes?” My hands press harder. “What’s that? I can’t hear you. You’re never going to see her again? Never going to bother her or call her? Don’t even fucking look at her if she drives by you. Say yes, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll choke you off right here.” I twist my wrist and a vein rolls in my forearm. A sick sense of satisfaction rises in my chest as his hands grapple with the metal against his throat.
With eyes wide on mine, he gives his head a miniscule nod. I shove the bar one last time before releasing him, where he collapses in a choking, coughing heap at my boots.
I raise the bar above my head and kick him over with my foot. “Which apartment is hers?”
He just shakes his head and keeps coughing, his body rolled into a tight ball on the cold, black pavement.
I drive my boot into his chest. “Which apartment?”
He coughs again before wheezing, “306…306.”
“If I ever see you here again, you’re dead. Get the fuck out of here.”
He scrambles into his truck and throws it into drive before spinning away from me. I wait until his taillights disappear around a bend in the road before barreling up the stairs to the complex. She’s not staying here after that. I need to reassure myself that she’s okay, and then she’s coming home with me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tatum
I pull a pillow over my head as Wyatt calls again. Over and over for the past half an hour. He needs to take a hint. I’d turn the thing off, but I don’t want him to know I’m by my phone. If I just don’t answer, maybe he will think I’m asleep and leave me alone. Somehow I doubt it, so I’ve kept all the lights off in my apartment, and I’m laying quietly in bed with nothing but my own thoughts.
This week has been a mess, but tonight is a new low. I don’t know what is wrong with me, coming on to Jacoby the way I did. Yeah, he’s ridiculously hot if I’m being honest, and he’s been willingly taking care of me when nobody ever has before. And I am an adult, clearly capable of making my own decisions.
But he’s still my teacher.
Even if he were interested in me—which he’s clearly not as so defined by his actions tonight—I’m certain he could lose his job over dating a student, regardless of my age. All signs point to how bad of an idea this all is. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop my mind from wanting him.
But why?
Why do I want this guy who didn’t even like me until he rescued me from being assaulted? We didn’t have some instant spark-like connection, no static, no electricity that are always described in the romance books I’m obsessed with. We hated each other for a few days after we met. My life is no fucking fairytale. I must have fallen for him because of his heroism or some nonsensical subconscious hormonal reaction I can’t explain.
Wait—what?
Knocking the pillow from my face, I come up for air. That must be it; I was restricting oxygen to my brain for a few minutes. After a few deep breaths though, nothing miraculous has changed. Now I feel ridiculous. I have not fallen for Jacoby. But madly crushing on his deep chocolate brown eyes, warms strong arms, soft tender lips and sexy smile? Yup. Most definitely. I can’t deny that.
My phone rings again and again, so without accidently pushing the ignore button, I silence the ringer. I shouldn’t have left Mr. Ryan’s house. I should have locked myself in the bedroom and sorted through my feelings, much like I’m doing right now. At least then I’d have been safe at his place. Not here, paranoid and hiding under my blanket like a freaking child where I can guarantee Wyatt is going to be pounding on my door in twenty minutes.
I don’t know what to do now. I can’t go crawling back to Jacoby and ask to stay with him again, because even though I left out of hurt, it wasn’t the wrong thing to do. I meant what I said about not staying there forever. He gave me a couple days to sleep soundly, and now I need to move on and get back to my life. Wyatt will give up eventually. And if I’m careful, he won’t be able to get to me again.
I put my earphones in and turn my iPod to shuffle, content with knowing this is for the best. That doesn’t mean, as I lie back on my pillow and close my eyes, it isn’t Jacoby’s face I see, but at least I know we never could have made it work. Not for several more months when I would graduate, if ever.
My eyelids fall heavy, and I drift off to the sound of Joshua Radin serenading me in my ears…
Thump, thump, thump!
The rapid pounding startles me from my unremarkable dream, and I bolt straight up in my bed where I had fallen asleep still wearing my clothes.
Thump, thump, thump!
Do I pretend I’m asleep, or do I tell him to fuck off? Maybe I should call the cops.
Finding my phone off the floor, where I must have knocked it off the bed, I pad nervously to the door. Sliding my feet the last few inches, I brace myself on the door frame and stand on tip toe to peer into the peephole. I see nothing except the empty hall. He’s toying with me. Lowering myself to flat feet once more, I remain motionless, afraid he’s listening out of sight. But another thump, thump, thump causes me to gasp.
“Tatum? Tatum, open up. It’s me.”
Jacoby? What the hell is he doing here? Fighting my initial reaction to fling the door open, I look into the peep hole again. Sure enough, there he is. Brown hair tousled, his dark eyes rimmed with tired circles, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that.
“I’m fine,” I call back, tamping down the tiny thrill that flares in my belly. A stupid, gut clenching reaction because someone actually cares.
“I don’t believe you. Let me see you.”
“I don’t want to see you.” That’s the truth. I’m still hurt and embarrassed from earlier. I’ll see him Monday and even that will be far too soon.
“Tatum, I’m sorry.” Something in the way his voice cracks around my name has me peering into the little circular window once more. His hands are framed on either side of the door. He looks sad, stricken, like he’s warring with something inside of himself. I watch enraptured as he scrubs a hand across his eyes before he droops his head. “I need to make sure you’re okay, and then I’ll go.”
My fingers twitch with the ache to turn the lock and let him in. Instead, I turn around and slide my back down the door until I’m seated on the floor. No good can come from letting him in at three a.m. Especially after the weekend we’ve had. “I’m not letting you in.”
His sigh echoes through the door. “Fine. Then promise me you won’t leave.”
“Jacoby, I can’t.”
“I saw him in the parking lot. Wyatt…He was here, and I just need to know you’re safe.”
The mention of Wyatt kicks my heart rate up a notch. “I can’t have you keeping tabs on me. We’ll both go crazy.”
“Then just promise me, and I’ll go. Promise me you won’t leave alone or without telling a friend where you’re going. For a few days. Just until things die down.”
Closing my eyes, I try to fight off the tightness squeezing my chest at his concern. Letting out a shaky breath, I tell him, “I promise.”
A silence settles over us and a few minutes later I hear his footsteps retreat. When I finally pull myself up, I notice a small piece of paper behind where I had been sitting.
812-555-9633 Let me be that friend
I drive my palm into my eyes to relieve the sudden stinging sensation. I don’t know why I have such ridiculous reactions to his kindness. I don’t need to have him worrying about me—nobody ever has before—and I’ve made it out just fine. The paper crumbles in my sudden fist as I slowly drag myself to bed. Before crawling in to sleep, I make sure to leave the kitchen light on. Just in case someone decides to visit.
The clock beside my bed reads 12:37 when I wake the next morning, and after warring with myself for twenty minutes I decide to send Jacoby a text. After last night, I’m sure he’s either camped out in my parking lot, or at his house worried sick that he hasn’t heard from me.
Or maybe not.
I think it’s a bit of wish-fulfillment thinking that this guy could care enough to want to hear from me. I can’t remember a single time in my life where someone has worried about me. Letting myself believe that he cares does weird things to my heart. Weird, foreign things that feel kind of nice. That rapid heart rate and fluttering in my stomach is something I wouldn’t mind getting used to.
God, when did I turn into such a sap?
just woke up. wont leave the house today, fyi.
I leave my phone by my bed while I use the bathroom, and his response is waiting for me when I’m finished. That was quick.
Thanks for letting me know. I was wondering how late you’d sleep. He was thinking about me? A small smile tugs at my lips while I finish reading. Are you feeling okay? I still want to talk about what happened yesterday.
Leave it up to the teacher to use proper capitalization and punctuation while texting. I chew on my lip while I mull over my response. I don’t want to see him yet, and I definitely don’t want to argue with him again. There isn’t much more to be said. I like him. He might like me. But he doesn’t want to be with me, and I sort of, maybe want to be with him? I’m confused. Blowing out a deep breath, I type back:
Late nite. Im tired. Thx for asking, Professor. Nothin to talk about. See u tomorrow.
My phone buzzes again, but I ignore the text. Instead, I scroll through my log to call Kelsey.
“Hey, how are ya?” She answers cheerily, and I instantly feel better. Kelsey’s been a constant solid spot in my life since I started working with her, and some of the tension from the past week begins to leak away.
“I’m alright. Pretty tired. I didn’t sleep too good last night.”
“I know how that goes. Still shaken up over Mrs. Marsden?”
“Not really. I’m feeling okay with her passing. It was difficult in the moment, but now I’m okay.” Kelsey is an observant person, but even if she weren’t, it’s not hard to miss the way my voice shakes and cracks on the last word.
“Tatum…What’s wrong, sweetie? You were white as a sheet yesterday. Now you’re telling me you’re not sleeping well. Something’s up with you. You can trust me.”
“Some, something happened. And I’m not really sure I want to talk about it.” I begin tearing into my cuticles with my teeth and lower myself to the floor. Kelsey doesn’t immediately respond, and I know that’s her way of telling me to continue. I lean back against my bed. “Wyatt attacked me.”
“He what!?” she all but shouts into the phone. “Mother fuckin’ son-of-a-bitch. What happened?”
I release a shaky breath and close my eyes. “It’s a long story. Short version is he ended up giving me a ride to the school after hours, and he thought we were the only ones there…”
I give her a quick account of what happened in the stairwell, all while trying to keep the tears at bay. My fists clench around the edge of my brown and turquoise bedspread, which is draped beside me on the floor.
“Oh wow. Tatum, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay—ˮ
“No, it’s not fuckin’ okay! Don’t even start with that ‘this is my life, I’m used to it’ crap. You don’t deserve that from anybody.”
“Okay…”
“I know you’re just saying that to placate me, but I’ll let it go for now. I’m serious, though. You don’t deserve that. So who was it that stopped him?”
“Remember that teacher I told you about? The one I was punished to be his T.A. for two weeks?” I let the rest trail off. One. Two. Thre—
“Holy shit, no way. Tight Ass Math Teacher was there to rescue you?”
“Tight Ass Math Teacher?” I question through a giggle.
“I mean that literally and figuratively.”
“You’re nuts. Yes, him. Anyway, that’s not all.”
“Will you stop leaving all these cliffhangers and just spill it already?”
“Fine, fine. He pulled Wyatt off of me, and I was a total mess—“
Kelsey cut me off again. “Which you have every right—“
“Anyway! I was afraid to go home, so I spent the weekend at his house. And, another long story I’m going to shorten for you, we went out to meet his friend at a bar, and he ended up kissing me.”
“Are you serious?” she belts out in excitement. Leave it to Kelsey to be happy I kissed my teacher. “What else happened?”
“Nothing, yo
u perv. It was a mistake. Except now I think I have real feelings for him, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t want me. So here I am, falling for my math teacher, and he’s basically said no way, not now, not ever.”
“Wait, you’re in love with him? Tatum, that’s like, really bad.”
“No! No, I’m not,” I blow out a deep breath. “I’m not in love with him. I’m just, I don’t know, liking him more than I’ve ever liked anyone else?” I finish in a rush, the end of my words lilting at the end to form a question I know Kelsey can’t answer. “I think the whole him rescuing me and being so sweet to me wreaked havoc on my hormones. I’m in trouble, Kels. I don’t know what to do.” I hastily wipe away the tear trailing from the corner of my eye. “I can’t be with him, and it sort of hurts.”
This is all new territory for me. Besides my hookups, I’ve never dated anyone, nor have I ever wanted to. And now that I find myself wanting to, the guy doesn’t want me. How messed up is that? I’ve spent years building walls, locking my heart in a cage, and setting parameters for myself, and in the course of one weekend he’s blasted through and shattered most everything. He’s proven himself loyal and trustworthy, caring and kind, supportive and protective. He’s been funny, sweet, and genuine. I’m amazed at how one weekend has been enough for me to want to open up to someone. But it’s like a knife to my chest that he doesn’t want me like that. Which is probably a sign that I should keep my walls in place and move on. He has the power to hurt me already, I can’t imagine the pain he could wield in a month or two.
“God, Tatum. The dirty side of me wants you to pursue him harder so I can live vicariously through you. Sleeping with a teacher would be so hot.”
“Kels…”
“But, the logical, mature side of me says it’s probably best to forget about that kiss. He would be risking his reputation and his career. Which totally sucks because I can hear it in your voice that you’re hooked. In reality, it’s not fair to ask him to risk all that.”
“I know.” Even I can hear the defeat in my voice, feel it in my heart. “I have one more week of being his T.A., and then it won’t be so hard to forget about him. Just over three months and I’ll graduate. I won’t ever have to see him again.”