Chapter Eleven
I hold my head up high as I walk out of my building first thing on Monday morning. I’m wearing one of the new outfits I ordered over the weekend, I’ve done my hair and make-up, and I’m feeling good. But that doesn’t stop me looking around the second the door slams shut behind me. I pause to see if there’s any movement or rustling in the bushes.
I’m being paranoid, I know I am, but I can’t help it. Joe pulling up on the curb like he did in front of me Friday night really spooked me.
I tell myself that no one’s there, that no one even cares where I am, and I head towards the tube. I feel better once I’m surrounded by commuters and heading to my classroom.
My first lesson of the week is with Jodi. I’m hopeful that her last lesson was just a one off, and I’ll find her smiling and more willing to interact, but the second she walks into the room, I know it was wishful thinking.
She keeps her head down as the others chat away and slowly find their seats. She pulls her books out but still doesn’t risk glancing up. My heart aches for her. I’ve no idea what her story is, but there’s something so sad and broken in her eyes, ones I recognise from my former life. I desperately want to tell her that it won’t last forever, that she is in control of her own destiny, but it’s not really my place to just assume. People’s lives are often much more complex than we can imagine, and I’d hate to jump to conclusions about what she’s dealing with.
The students must have had a good weekend, because it seems to take forever to get them settled. Eventually, I get them reading silently so I can begin catching up with their coursework progress.
Flipping my planner to this class, I start at the top and make my way down the register, talking individually to each student.
“Jodi, you’re up,” I call.
She pushes her chair out and walks towards the front of the room. No one looks up at her; it’s kind of like she’s invisible, probably exactly how she wants it.
She sits herself down in the chair opposite and drops her work to my desk. I scan over it, getting a feel for the quality, and I can’t believe what I’m looking at.
“Jodi, this is amazing. Your use of language is incredible, and the way you’re describing how that sonnet made you feel…it’s well beyond the level of this class. You’re really talented.”
Looking up from the paper, I watch as her sad, lonely face morphs into the most stunning smile.
“Really?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, really.”
“I wasn’t sure if it was right.”
“There’s no wrong answer to how a passage makes you feel, Jodi. That will be different for every one of us based on our lives and experiences. It’s the way you’ve described it.”
The pure joy on her face melts my heart. This right here is why I wanted to be a teacher. I grew up knowing I didn’t really have any other choice, but I truly enjoy what I do. Although I’ve imagined my ideal life a million times, I was always still teaching. I love giving young people the opportunity to find themselves just like Jodi is right now.
“Have you thought about a writing career?”
She’s silent as she thinks, and it’s then that she pushes up the sleeves of her jumper. My eyes drop at the movement, and my mouth gapes at the dark blue and purple bruises that encircle her wrists.
“Jodi?”
In a rush, she pulls her sleeves back down. “It’s nothing,” she mutters. “I...uh...just fell.”
I don’t say anything. She doesn't need me to point out that she’s quite obviously lying.
Pushing the chair out behind her, she grabs her work and races back to her seat, her head back down in defeat.
My heart aches for what she’s going through and my hands tremble, having experienced first-hand the fear she must feel. Obviously, I’m going to report it at the first opportunity I get—much to Jodi’s horror, I’d imagine—but other than that, all I can really do is be here and help her get the qualifications she needs to improve her life.
Thoughts of Jodi and how I can help her consume my mind for the rest of the lesson. I’ve refused to look at my phone since I placed my orders on Saturday, but I know there are emails from Joe waiting for me. I’m just not ready to deal with the reality of what I did Friday night.
Thanks to him, my nightmares are back full force. I’ve had hardly any sleep since I kicked him out. Every time I shut my eyes, he’s there. It’s not bad enough that my memories of him never leave—he’s got to disrupt my slumber now, too.
Jodi glances up at me as everyone else leaves the room. Her eyes are begging for me to let this go, but we both know that I can’t.
“Jodi, wait,” I call and watch her shoulders sink. “I’m here, okay? If you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she mutters before basically running for the door.
Falling down on my desk, I rest back in the chair, wishing I could just take a little nap before my next class.
A knock sounds out around the room, and I’m forced to drag my heavy head up.
“Yes?” I call, expecting a student to come running back in because they’d forgotten something. But when the door opens, something very different emerges. A wicker basket.
“This was just delivered for you,” Caroline, our department admin says, walking over and dropping the basket to my desk. “I’m assuming you’re not expecting it from the look on your face.”
“No, I’m really not.” As I stare at the box, reality starts to find its way through my confusion, and my heart begins to race. Is this a joke? Has he found me? Is it going to explode when I open it? Crazy thoughts start running through my head as Caroline stands awkwardly, obviously waiting for me to open it to discover what’s hiding inside. “Thank you for bringing it in for me.”
“You’re welcome.” She rocks back and forth awkwardly on her feet. It’s not until I turn towards my computer that she gets the message that I’m not opening it in front of her, and she starts to back away from my desk.
It’s not until she’s closed the door behind her that I reach out and slide the box across the desk.
I open the folded tag, but inside all it says is Ms Quinn Smith. My hands tremble as I undo the buckles holding it closed, and I brace myself for what I find.
“What the hell?” Pulling the lid open, I find it full of luxury girly products. Letting go of the lid, I start taking them out one at a time. Hand soap and lotion, bubble bath, candles, face masks, moisturiser, the list goes on. It’s not until I get to the last item that’s wrapped in soft pink tissue that I know for a fact who it’s from. It’s two ceramic signs, one with No Regrets and the other Live Life Your Way written in a script font across the front.
Tears burn up my throat until they hit the back of my eyes. Without even thinking about it, I know this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
My eyes are still full of unshed tears when my next class arrives. I attempt to swallow down the emotion he caused as I slide the basket under my desk. I glance at my handbag, knowing that my phone is right there. I’ve probably got a million emails from him. I should look and thank him for the gift, but I know that by replying he’ll want more. I’ve already made a huge mistake when it comes to him, and I think I might be safer avoiding him and keeping our contact limited to Thursday nights in class. It might be the last thing I want in reality, but it’s all I can do right now.
* * *
The basket and my phone taunt me for the rest of the day. I stay a little later than I’d originally planned so that I can report what I’ve learned about Jodi, and by the time I leave, it’s completely dark outside.
The second I was alone, I woke my computer up and found my emails.
I ignored everything in my inbox and opened up a new one. Finding the name of the woman who deals with all the college’s safeguarding, I began my email about Jodi.
I hate that she’s going to think I’m sticking my nose in by doing this. She’s inevitably goin
g to be called in for a meeting following the information I’m about to pass on, and she’s going to hate it.
If her home situation is anything like I’m imaging, then she does everything she can to hide and being pulled up and put on the spot is going to be her worst nightmare—aside from whoever it was who put those bruises on her.
I flexed my fingers a few times before they stopped shaking enough to allow me to type properly.
“I really hope this helps in the long run, Jodi,” I whispered to myself and got everything I’d seen and felt into the email in the hope that her life can turn a corner because of it.
Pulling my coat tighter around myself, I turn to look to my right. There’s a white van idling on the double yellow lines out the front of the building. My heart jumps into my throat. He’s waiting for me?
He’s staring down at his phone so misses the fact I’ve left the building. Without putting much thought into it, I bolt left and hope I’m lost in the crowd.
I race towards the tube, my entire body shaking with adrenaline.
The easiest thing to do would be to get into his van again. But it’s dangerous. He’s waiting for me right out the front of where I work. The very last place we need to be caught together. Not that there will be a chance of us being caught together, because there won’t be a next time.
It’s not until I’m locked in my flat that I relax. After placing the basket on my coffee table, I shrug off my coat and pull my boots from my legs. I find the spaghetti I ordered over the weekend and set about making myself some dinner.
While I’m waiting for it to cook, I have a moment of weakness and pull my phone from my bag.
Twenty-four emails.
Twenty-fucking-four.
No wonder he was waiting outside. He probably wanted to make sure I was still alive.
I ignore the first twenty-three and open the last one.
To: Quinn Smith
From: Tatstwatsandarseholes
Subject: Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou Juliet
Dear Miss Smith
I sincerely apologise if I’ve done something to upset you.
I want to make it up to you.
Your carriage awaits...
Yours,
Mr. Kingsman
Checking the time of the email, I see that he sent it only five minutes before I saw him. I wonder if he’s still there waiting for me? Or worse, would Eddie have seen him, or will he come here next?
Deciding the best outcome would be if I replied and stopped him turning up here, I start typing.
To: Tatstwatsandarseholes
From: Quinn Smith
Subject: Not meant to be...
Dear Mr. Kingsman,
Thank you for the gift basket. It is beautiful. I’m sorry, but this Juliet isn’t to be rescued. Best we leave it now before the tragic ending.
Regards,
Miss Smith
I let out a giant sigh and drop my phone onto the sofa beside me. Really, those words are the last ones I want to say to him. In reality, I want to be begging him to come over here and keep me safe, but that’s both unfair on him and the beginning of the end of my career.
Maybe he could change courses? I shoot down the little voice in my head who’s getting carried away with herself. I’ve no reason to think that whatever has happened between us isn’t more than a bit of fun to him. For all I know, his friends have dared him to bed the teacher.
My cheeks heat at the thought of being nothing more than a pawn in his games, but something tells me it’s more than that, which is another reason why I need to stay away. The last thing I need right now as I try to rebuild my life is a serious relationship.
This is meant to be about me.
About me experiencing all the things I never got to, not falling for the first guy I laid eyes on.
After double-checking my phone is on silent, I finish off my dinner. I’m tempted all night to see if he’s responded, but I tell myself that I’m not really avoiding him if I’m waiting for a reply.
Chapter Twelve
By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m almost at breaking point. On Tuesday, I had a box of doughnuts delivered to work. Caroline once again hung around a little too long after delivering them—I’m not sure if she wanted to know who sent them or if she just wanted one. Unfortunately for her, I’d overslept that morning and was starving. I’m not even ashamed to admit that I ate the entire lot before I turned my sofa into a bed that night.
On Wednesday, I didn’t have any deliveries at work, but just as I was sitting down to eat my questionable looking ready meal, the buzzer in my flat went off and, at the other end, was a man delivering Chinese. The dishes were exactly the same as we had last Thursday, and, when I got to the bottom of the bag, I found a note. If you need a hand eating all this, call me… followed by his phone number. I must admit that after reading that, I did go and get my phone. I even got as far as typing his number in and saving it in my contacts. But at no point did I connect the call.
Not only did my fear of another nightmare keep me awake Wednesday night, but knowing I’d be seeing Joe in mere hours was enough to have my heart racing.
How was he going to act after everything that’s happened between us? Would he just let it go, seeing as I’ve not responded to any of his little reminders that he still exists that he’s sent this week?
By the time the clock ticks around to the beginning of his class, I’m a nervous wreck. I’ve planned loads of group and individual quiet activities so I don’t have to talk much for fear of totally screwing it up.
I breathe a sigh of relief when he’s not the first into the room. It gives me hope that maybe he won’t show, although I know it’s only wishful thinking. He might not always act like the most engaged student in the room, but having marked his work to date, I know he’s taking this seriously.
I’m writing instructions on the board when the atmosphere changes. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s just walked in, and that he’s looking right at me. I continue what I’m writing, trying to ignore the burning of his stare. Dread knots my stomach that he might not be being all too discrete about what—or who—is holding his attention. As if this week’s not been hard enough, I really don’t need suspicious students.
I keep my eyes locked on the board for longer than necessary, putting off the inevitable of turning around and finding him looking like the bad boy geek I’ve always dreamed of.
Blowing out a slow breath, I spin and cast my eyes over my students, who are all sitting in their seats and patiently waiting for class to start. I breathe a sigh of relief that they’re not looking between the two of us like they suspect something.
I do everything I can to keep my eyes from the back of the room, but eventually the pull becomes too much and I look over. He’s watching me, exactly like I knew he was, and the second our eyes lock it’s like a baseball bat smashes me in the chest. His eyes shine with concern as he studies me. Guilt hits me for not thanking him for all the gifts I’ve received over the last few days. Suddenly, my reasons for staying away from him don’t seem all that important as his body calls to mine.
Standing behind my desk and using it to stop me from walking directly over to him, I start the class. Words pour from my mouth, but none of them register in my brain. I could be telling them any kind of crap right now about Shakespeare and I’d be none the wiser.
All sets of eyes but one lower to get started on the task I’ve given them. That other set holds mine captive, making my heart rate increase and causing my temperature to soar. They drop from mine and take in my new outfit. Desire pulls at his features as he takes in the black prom style dress that clings to my breasts and makes my waist look much smaller than it actually is. My muscles pull tight as I fight the need to walk over to him.
I know I need to break the connection between us before one of the other students notices, we’re already on borrowed time, but it’s easier said than done—especially when he looks back up to me. Something c
rackles between us, and it hits me between the legs. Memories of how it felt having his hands on me Friday night slam into me, and my blush trails down my neck and onto my chest.
His lips curl up into a smirk, telling me that he knows exactly where my thoughts are. Anger burns through me that he’s so obviously taunting me in the one place he knows he can’t.
I turn my back on him and drag in some much-needed air. I’m stronger than to let him break me. Maybe the old me wouldn't have been, but the new me definitely is.
When I turn back around, he’s staring down at the pad of paper in front of him. Something still tingles just beneath my skin with him in close proximity, but, without his attention, at least I’m able to get on with my job.
I grab the stack of marked work on my desk, making sure his is at the bottom of the pile, and I head over to my first student to give them feedback.
With ten minutes left of the lesson, the only work I’ve got left to give feedback on is Joe’s. My hand trembles as I glance over at him. He must feel my stare, because he immediately looks up. His eyes drop to the papers in my hand and a knowing grin appears. He knows exactly what I’m avoiding.
Sucking in some strength, I take a step forward and then pull out the empty chair next to him.
“Mr. Kingsman, I must say I really enjoyed marking this. You have a way with words. It flows easily and clearly shows your understanding on the beginning of the story.”
“A way with words, huh? I thought my talents lie elsewhere, if I’m being honest. What would you say, Miss Smith?” he leans in and whispers the last sentence.
My stomach knots as I fight for something to say that won’t encourage him.
“I think…that if you keep your head down and focus, you’ll come out of this with a really good grade that will give you that step towards the career and life you want.”
Avoiding Temptation: Forbidden Series #6 Page 8