Why hello there!
This will be my first submission and seeing as I'm a novice, I'm really interested to hear what you think! The good, the bad, the ugly.... Yada, yada, yada and so on and so forth.
I hope you enjoy!
The rain slammed against the roof and echoed through the house as I stepped inside. My mother's voice echoed in the hallway behind me, "Who was that?" She was still in her business suit and black patent leather heels, which clapped on the hardwood as she advanced toward me. I closed the front door and turned to face her with all the candor I could muster, which frankly, wasn't much. My mother's law career was the predominating factor in her life. It was unusual for her to be home so early. My father is often gone on trips for his high profile construction company. Suffice to say, I spend much of my time alone.
I like it that way.
"Mr. Bailey held me after school. I forgot my paper this morning." My mother's eyebrows jumped up her forehead in shock. Her hands settled firmly on her hips and my stomach clenched in anticipation.
Pray she doesn't suspect...
I felt the flush rise on my cheeks. I was utterly enamoured with my English teacher. When he had insisted on giving me a ride home after detention, I nearly combust from stress. I dreamt about him day and night. Actually, I had been having a particulary vivid day dream just this morning when I realized I was late for class and ran out of the house without my assignment. I couldn't exactly explain that when he had chastised me in front of the entire class and so... detenion again.
And of course he caught me standing on the front steps of the main hall, waiting for the rain to let up enough to make it to the bus stop. Of course he had hustled me into his car and proceeded to drive me home explaining he was responsible for my safety. Of course he had reached across me to open the door when I froze like a deer at the sight of my mothers oversized SUV in the driveway. Of course he grazed my breast causing my to groan like a wanton whore before I bolted from the vehicle without looking back.
Of fucking course...
"He gave you a ride home? Danica, you should have brought that poor man inside so I could thank him!" Of course Mother didn't suspect, that would require paying attention. She rubbed her temples circularly. My mother had met Mr. Bailey during last year's parent-teacher conference. It had not escaped me that she had developed more than a passing fascination of him. It didn't seem to bother her that he was only 26 either. After all, "Forty is the new thirty."
"Imagine, he drove out of his way just to bring you home."
Classic Mother.
Shucking my loafers, I passed her for the stairs, "I'll be sure to pass along your thanks, Mother." My escape couldn't come soon enough. I was barely holding my emotions in check as I closed my door behind me. My head was spinning too fast to even dream of attempting homework, and so I determined that a nap was in order.
I peeled off each layer of my school uniform and couldn't help but imagine Mr. Bailey doing the same. Freeing his hands of his leather gloves, pulled gently by each finger tip. I could practically see him standing in front of me, dropping them to the floor. He unwound his scarf from his neck and it too floated to the carpet in silence. Each button of his over coat was released from its closure by his deft olive fingers. He pulled it from his shoulders, slowly revealing the sight I was used to seeing. Blazer and slacks framing his tall, lean body.
And those so very intense dark eyes.
Mr. Bailey turned and sat on my desk chair. He leaned forward to untie each polished shoe and pull them from his feet, followed shortly by his socks. I sighed as he stood again and took off his jacket. It too joined the clothing heap forming on my floor. I could see the muscles of his shoulders working under his white button up. He rolled his neck and pulled his shirt free of his pants. His fingers went to the tiny white buttons running up the middle and I heard myself moan in anticipation.
My cell phone rang, loud and thrumming. I dragged my attention away from Mr. Bailey, who had also turned to confront the interruption.
I'm ignoring that call.
I turned back to the man in my room. Gone. I had lost the image, or rather I had opened my eyes.
I strode, half naked across the room in a foul mood. Abby's voice materialized in my ear, "You said you were going to call, I got worried." Ultimately, I couldn't be mad at Abby and so I apologized for my lapse. She wasn't as concerned as I was and instead, fixated on badgering me for details of my detention with Mr. Bailey. I kept it brief, only reciting to her the illustrious reading list I had received as a long term punishment and vaguely mentioning the tense ride home he had insisted upon.
"Looks like you're in for the long haul, huh?"
"Unfortunately." I confirmed. The weight of the assignment was once again brought to the forefront of my mind. I had a lot of reading to do. My night would be spent with my nose between several hundred pages of several literary works and with my laptop firmly at my side. So much for a nap.
~*~*~
I trudged to my locker, exhausted. My mind was slowing from a lack of sleep. Three weeks, just as many books and twelve essay pages later and I was mere hours away from being free. Abby met me at my locker, energy drink in hand. She was my savior.
Abby and I had been fast friends since Kindergarten. Partners in crime from the beginning we spent a few years stirring up trouble and building a reputation as trouble makers. That was until our parents decided to separate us in middle school by enrolling us in different academies. Poor Abby sprouted a foot in those years and her hair went from tight curls to "ugly stepchild" ginger haired frizz. I fared no better, becoming gangly myself and discovering I was somewhat of an introvert. It didn't help that I had taken to dying my chestnut brown hair all manner of garish colors. I like to think I made yellow popular before Lady Gaga, although if I'm honest, it's entirely untrue.
This plan had worked marvelously for our parents, right up until halfway through the 8th grade. Abby had been in the locker room changing after Physical Ed when a few popular girls had ambushed her, holding her down as they chopped off her ponytail. That same day I had been called an "emo slut". According to the rumors, I would sleep with anyone, just to feel worthwhile and not kill myself. And that was the day we decided we were done with this shit.
Literally.
Abby had called me after school and said, "I'm done with shit." I whole-heartedly agreed and we ran away. Okay, we didn't really get anywhere. Our parents found us three days later at Abby's alcoholic Uncle's house, eating ice cream and watching Rom-Coms. We had traded her emergency credit card for housing, not knowing how easy it was to track Uncle P's liquor purchases at every store within 10 miles. After that moment, followed swiftly by several months of barely supervised grounding, our parents conceded and enrolled us in the same high school. Lucky me, I needed this girl. We were seniors now and still inseparable.
"Dani, you look like a zombie." She shoved the can toward me and waited for me to accept it. She was right, dark circles had formed beneath my eyes and I was hardly coherent. I had barely completed the task set before me. Last night's all-nighter had resulted quite a bit of time re-reading text in an attempt to grasp at meanings that seemed to elude me.
But I had finished.
"I just need a nap." My assurance was weak. Just like I was feeling. There was one positive side affect to my sleep deprivation. I was far too exhausted to entertain ideas of Mr. Bailey. His only hold on me was in class, when he haunted me with his physical presence.
My locker taunted me. The numbers on its smug face blurred and I couldn't get it to open. Abby sighed as she watched my fingers fumble with the lock. Finally she bumped my hip, spun it a few times and jangled it free.
She placed the can she had been holding in my hand and looked me in the eyes, "Mr. Bailey is killing you." I laughed, almost maniacally, and she disappeared from my sight, shaking her head at my impending madness.
Mr. Bailey's class was half full when I made my way to my seat. The hard wooden chair was a welcome break from standing. I had six minutes before class began. I tossed back the last of the fizzy canned beverage for all I was worth before I let my head rest on my palm and felt my heavy lids slide closed. Just a couple of minutes. I was hoping against hope that energy drink of Abby's would take affect any minute and I would snap awake. But in the meantime, just a minute or six of rest would be wonderful. The world faded from my senses and everything became quiet.
Too quiet, much too quiet. I willed my eyes open to see Mr. Bailey's polished black shoes standing at the foot my desk. I looked up to the eyes of the entire class and brushed my long hair from my face.
"Miss Peterson," His clipped English accent forced me to look up at him, "While I am glad that you are on time, for once, it is utterly useless if you utilize that time by sleeping."
"I-I'm sorry sir."
"See me after school." He walked away brusquely, leaving me wilting in his wake. I had done it again. I felt the eyes of my classmates peel away from me slower than usual.
Persephone Davies had been working hard at the rumor mill and I certainly wasn't helping. I could only imagine what lies she had been telling. Why anyone would listen to Persephone was lost on me, but school bullies seem to hold some kind of mystical power over their student bodies. She was no exception.
Her favorite pastime had taken a unexpected turn recently, leaving off the lower class-men and heading right in my direction. I had made it clear in the past that I abhorred the tall blonde along with most of the fairer student body that lacked a penis. She had never so much as bothered to purposely glance my way before. Yet somehow, I had managed to become important enough for her begin laying groundwork for a tale of epic proportions. I was sleeping with the teachers to increase my grades. And Mr. Bailey was next on my list.
Oh God, I wished.
The fates must be playing with me. I had effectively managed to avoid any confrontation, or interaction really, with Mr. Bailey whatsoever for three weeks. I was feeling triumphant in my ability to overcome my body's demands and remain level headed. But here I was, detention again, on the day I was to end my original punishment, back at square one and effectively undoing all of my resolve.
Mr. Bailey raised an arm to scrawl on the board. I watched as his hand moved along with grace, only to produce chicken scratch lettering. The irony.
"Miss Peterson?" Mr. Bailey was staring at me, hard. He had asked something, I was to answer. What did he ask?
The writing behind him came into view. It was a question from last night's homework. I blinked my memory into focus and then spouted out the answer I had come up with.
Mr. Bailey stared at me a moment longer. My heart was jumping into my throat, but I held his stare.
After all, it was ultimately his fault that I was falling apart at the seams.
He turned away and began writing another question for some other student to try their luck at. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I struggled to focus through the rest of class. Mr. Bailey's smooth words threatened to lull me to sleep with each melodic rise and fall. I wondered if his pillow talk was just as soothing or gruffer. If he were to purr in my ear, would it be more of a growl? Does he bite? Can I?
Tingling arousal sprinted up my spine, shaking my sleepiness away. I fought the urge to shift in my seat, to cross my legs and slide around. To find a more comfortable and relieving position. To give myself just one moment of pleasure.
As if he heard my thoughts, Mr. Bailey met my eyes. I felt a flush run up my face as I begged my body to comply and stop fidgeting.
Oh shit, I silently begged, please don't notice.
He looked me over once and redirected his gaze to another student to critique his response to a homework question.
I am so screwed.
