Текст книги "Falling to Pieces"

Автор книги: Leddy Harper

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Mr. Taylor blocked my exit from my row, but I didn’t care. I had bigger fish to fry. I had bigger things to worry about than what he had to say. “Please, Mr. Taylor, I can’t do this right now.” I couldn’t even look at him, my eyes trained on the open door on the other side of the room as I fought back the sting of tears born in embarrassment and anger.

“Come here after school, please. I’d like to talk to you about what happened.”

I shook my head and finally met his stare. “I can’t. I take the bus home, and I can’t be late. If you want to give me detention, just do it and get it over with.”

“No. I would like to talk to you. Come see me during lunch today since you can’t stay after school.”

“Lunch? When am I supposed to eat?”

“Bring it with you. You can eat in here while we talk.” He waited until I nodded before moving out of the way enough for me to get by. “Oh…and, Bree? That detention slip will be written if you don’t show up.”

Well, it seemed as though I had a lunch date with Axel Taylor.

Mornings always dragged on the longest. It always seemed as though the classes before lunch took forever, yet the ones that came afterward flew by. But not today. Today, hours felt like minutes, and minutes passed by like seconds. Before I knew it, the lunch bell rang.

I moved through the halls at a snail’s pace, not in any hurry to get to Mr. Taylor’s classroom. My earlier anger had diminished after class, after I’d been practically smacked in the face with logic. Logic I didn’t want to recognize. And all that remained was the sad fact of my reality.

No one could help me.

It only made things worse.

Realism is what made me linger by the lockers, take my time while pretending to look for something, waiting for the students to leave the hallway. Once the majority of the student body had disbursed to the cafeteria or the courtyard, I made my way into his empty room, feeling my chest tighten to the point where I almost couldn’t breathe.

“I started to worry you were going to stand me up.” He wore an unsure smile when he rose from his seat in the back of the room. The corners of his mouth lowered with every step I took, slowly closing the distance between us.

I decided I would sit at the desk I used in class. It was directly in front of him without being too close, offering me a sense of security while in his presence. There were so many thoughts clouding my head at the moment that I couldn’t find the words to speak. I really had nothing to say—my emotions were in an intense game of ping-pong between being irritated and weepy. Although, I think my sorrow was enhanced by the reemerging anger over seeing him again. I had a tendency to cry when pissed off.

He kept his gaze on me, strong and penetrating, yet he didn’t utter a word as I made it to my seat in front of his. And he only sat down again once I did. I wanted to hold his stare for as long as I could, but it became too intimidating, so I dropped my eyes to my hands and attempted to control my breathing.

“Where’s your lunch?” He sounded nervous, his voice almost shaking.

“I don’t have one.” I lifted my head to look at him and then held my hand up, stopping him from commenting. “And before you call social services, claiming I’m being neglected, I don’t have one because I didn’t bring it. I forgot it at home,” I said, my rage returning by the second, quickly replacing any bit of sadness I had when walking in. Just the mention of what he’d done brought it all back and reminded me why I sat in his classroom during lunch period. It reminded my why I’d forgotten my food at home, in too much of a hurry to leave the house and give him a piece of my mind. Well, here it came, any second now.

His eyes held mine for a moment before he bent down to his side, the distinctive crinkling sound of a plastic bag filling the silent air around us. He placed something on his desk in front of me, remaining silent until I glanced down at it. “Eat this.”

It was half a sub from Subway, still wrapped in paper. “I’m okay.”

His hand covered mine as I attempted to push it away. “No. You need to eat something. This is your lunch period. I won’t be responsible for you going hungry. And I’m not going to call social services.”

I wanted to yell at him for the destruction he’d caused. I wanted to cry for feeling so weak and helpless. But I couldn’t do either of those things. All I could do was stare back at him, the muscles in my forehead going taut as I tried to express my emotions through my eyes. I wanted him to see the hurt and anger that filled me, threatening to drown me in it. I wanted him to experience the same turmoil that raced through me, destroying everything in its path. And I wanted him to know that it was all his fault.

“Please, Bree. We need to discuss what happened in class this morning, but we can’t do that if you don’t eat. And if we can’t talk about this now, then we’ll have to do it later. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really care to drag this out any longer. So please, eat the sandwich.” He held the food out to me. He may have used polite words, which on paper would’ve come across as concerned and sincere, yet his tone made it seem completely different. It came across as more of a demand than an offer out of concern.

Reluctantly, I snatched the rolled-up sandwich from his grip and began to open the wrapper. But then the intimidation of his tone wore off and the fury returned, causing me to slam the food on my desk. “No. You don’t get to make demands on me if it doesn’t have to do with your class. You don’t have the right to stick your nose into my business and control my life like a puppeteer. I understand that you’re an adult and I’m just a kid, but that doesn’t mean you know what’s better for me than I do.”

“Bree—”

“One of these days, you’re going to make a call—”

“Bree—”

“—that will cause someone—”

“Aubrey!” His loud voice accompanied by the slap of his hand on his desktop halted my angry rant. “There’s a better way to discuss this without raising our voices or getting mad.”

“Too late, Mr. Taylor. I’m already mad. You can’t ruin my life and then expect me to sit here and be calm about it. You can’t stick your nose into my business and then sit back while everything falls apart. You have to take responsibility for what you did.”

He took a deep breath, leaning forward in his chair with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes never left mine, except they turned warm, soft…concerned. “I was only trying to help.”

“But I told you, it was an accident. Guess what, Mr. Taylor? Kids get hurt. We run into things, we get bruises and scrapes. Doesn’t mean we’re abused at home. Has it really been that long since you were my age? Do you reach a certain point in life when you forget what it’s like to be a kid?”

“I know what you said. I also know what I saw. It’s not impossible to have that kind of injury from an accident, but coupled with your behavior, your explanation, and what I found in your records, I was led to believe that it wasn’t an accident. No, I haven’t forgotten about falling off a skateboard or getting slammed with a curveball during practice. I realize people get hurt, adults even. But I didn’t feel what happened to you was accidental. I still don’t.”

“What do you mean, what you found in my records? What records?”

He released a harsh huff of air and dropped his head, running his fingers through the thick mess of dirty blond hair. I got lost in his mesmerizing movements, keenly aware of every motion, until he lifted his head again and met my eyes. “Our school has a strict no-tolerance policy when it comes to abuse. It comes in handy when the decision has to be made to call the authorities. So every teacher must report suspicious injuries. I looked up your file after school on Tuesday, and you have some questionable ones in there. You were sent to the clinic last year for an untreated sprained wrist. Your mother had been contacted, but she’d claimed to not have any knowledge of how you were injured, yet you told the school that it was done at home.”

“So you took it upon yourself to accuse my mother of abusing me?”

“This is my first year teaching,” he said on a sigh. “I’ve done some assisting programs, and even took a few spots subbing before getting this position. This is the first time that I’ve been solely responsible for my students. Maybe I jumped the gun, not wanting to let it go. Maybe I came to my own conclusions too soon.”

“Ya think?” I interjected, needing to speak my mind before letting him finish what sounded like the beginnings of an apology, or at the very least, admission of wrong doing. “I told you what happened. I ran into my bedroom door.”

“And then after that, you said your mother opened it into your face. It was conflicting. It felt wrong. And just the way you said it…it left me to believe you were hiding something. If it were an accident, why act so nervous about it? I’ve already told you, Bree, I’m really good at reading people. You’re not a hard person to read.”

I slumped into my seat, feeling like I wouldn’t win this battle no matter how hard I fought. “I just don’t understand why you felt the need to meddle. Why you wouldn’t have tried harder to talk to me about it before jumping the gun and making a phone call.”

“That’s not the way it happened. I asked a colleague of mine, told him about what I’d found, what you looked like, what you said happened… I asked his advice on what to do because I didn’t want to jump the gun on it. I didn’t want to say something before having all the facts. He agreed with me that it didn’t sound right, and told me to go with my gut. So I called a friend with the police department and talked to him about it. I simply suggested that maybe he could look into things before we make any contact with your mother. I had no idea anything would happen yet. I thought he’d get back to me with what he found and then we’d go from there.”

“Well, you could’ve talked to me about it. And I would’ve let you know that nothing could be done. My mom works in the DA’s office. You think you’re the first person to check up on me? You think if my mom abused me, I would’ve made it this long without someone saying something—especially since you’ve mentioned this school has a zero-tolerance policy for abuse? Everyone in her office knows me as the clumsy kid. It helps her case that even as a young child, I always had scrapes and bruises from falling down or running into things. Which was the truth. I really did get hurt a lot all on my own when I was younger. She’s the best at spinning stories, probably from her time served as a defense attorney. She’s great at playing the part in front of others. And anyone that knows her—which includes the majority of the police department—thinks she’s this amazing person. I could’ve told you all this and saved your time and mine.”

“So you admit it? Your mother abuses you?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not a victim of child abuse.”

He glared at me and cocked his head, lifting one eyebrow in silent question.

With a long exhale, I answered his unasked words. “She’s mean, sure. She says hurtful things to me and has these unrealistic expectations that I can never meet. And there are times that her anger gets the best of her. But is she abusive? No.”

“You have documented injuries. I beg to differ.”

“Those are rare. Few and far between. Most of the time, she just lashes out at me with her words, not her fists. And she’s never hit me. All my injuries are due to falling down, or running into things. Honestly, I ran into the door.”

He shook his head, seemingly exasperated. “You didn’t run into a door. I would appreciate it if you stopped lying to me. Tell the truth. You already told me there’s nothing I can do about it, so why keep up with the lies?”

“I don’t trust you, Mr. Taylor. How do I know you won’t keep trying?”

“Let’s get one thing straight first. Verbal and mental abuse is no different than physical, except it’s much harder to prove. If that’s what she’s doing to you, then rest assured, there’s not much I can do. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to drop it. It doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore the fact that one of my students is hurting and then walk away, knowing you need someone on your side. I only want to help you, Bree. If that means being here to listen to you, then fine. If it means stepping in if I can, then I will. Trust me on that. The moment I have an opportunity to protect you, I won’t let it pass me by. But you also need to understand that I will do that whether you open up to me or not. It doesn’t matter if you tell me what really happened, or stick to your lie, because if I have a chance to prove abuse, I will, regardless of what you do or don’t confide in me.”

“Why?” It was a simple question, yet meant so much.

Why do you care?

Why me?

Why does what happens to me, matter to you?

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

“The same as everyone else,” I muttered under my breath.

He leaned even closer to me, practically sprawling on his desk. “I’m not like everyone else. I know I may be young. This is my first time teaching on my own. But do not mistake me as being like everyone else.” He sat back, giving me the space I so desperately needed. “I had a friend growing up that had it bad at home. From what it sounds like, your mom is just like his dad used to be. He used to terrorize Danny. Yell, scream, curse, say the nastiest things to him. Call him a retard, a faggot, every derogatory and disgusting word you can think of, his dad called him. Things no one should ever be called. Words no one should ever say. And it wasn’t just sometimes…it was all the time. He never laid a hand on him, so there was nothing my parents could do once they found out, other than give him a safe place at our home. This isn’t new to me, Bree. You’re not the first person I’ve ever met that has to deal with someone beating you down. Do you have friends or an adult in your life that you can go to? Even if it’s just someone to talk to?”

I shook my head, unable to answer his question without my voice breaking.

“I know it’s been a few years since I’ve been in high school, but even then, everyone had at least one friend. Didn’t matter if you were considered a nerd, a freak, a jock, or a loner…everyone had at least one friend.”

My eyes locked with his, and I had to swallow down the need to cry. “I get along with plenty of people, and can hold a decent conversation with most of my classmates. But when it comes to friends? How am I supposed to have one when they’re not allowed in my home, I can’t go to their houses, I can’t talk to them on the phone…and going out to the movies or the mall on weekends? Forget about it. So please, explain to me how I could possibly have a friendship with anyone.”

“So you really have no one?”

I shook my head, letting the words sink in.

I have no one.

“What about your dad? Where is he?”

“About four hours away with his new wife and my two stepsisters I’ve never met. I’m sure he even has a dog, maybe a cat. A big back yard with a fence and a pool. I have no idea, Mr. Taylor. I talk to him about once a month. He can’t help me.”

“Does he know how you’re being treated at home?”

I couldn’t hold back the pathetic laugh that bubbled up. “Considering my mom pretty much treated him the same way for almost twelve years, yes. I’m rather certain he knows what’s going on, and just doesn’t care.”

“I don’t understand why he wouldn’t care.”

I clasped my hands together on the desk in front of me. My mind became so muddled that I couldn’t hold back the pathetic tale of my existence. I had no intentions of telling him about my life, but something in me snapped, wanting to give him a piece of my mind, even if that meant exposing my past to a nearly complete stranger. “My parents met at a party in college—she was a year away from her law degree, and he had just become legal to buy beer. My dad had a hard time with women—he was shy, awkward, and reserved. My mom had a hard time with men—they didn’t much care for her bitchy and bossy attitude. Man-boy with no self-esteem meets man-eater with no respect for anyone, and you have my parents.

“She got pregnant very soon after they met, and despite his objections of having a child before graduating from college, they got married and had me. Since she was going to school to be a lawyer, and he hadn’t even gotten his bachelor’s degree, he dropped out to raise me. That was his second mistake—his first was not insisting she abort me. My mom has this idea in her head that in order to be successful, she has to have the perfect image. Be the perfect wife to the perfect husband and have the perfect child, all wearing perfect smiles on our fucking faces. So that’s what everyone saw. But at home, I witnessed something completely different. I saw a woman that only cared about her career. A man that grew to hate everyone. And a little girl that would never be loved because her mother could only love herself, and her father couldn’t even stand his own reflection.

“So one day, he up and left, unable to handle my mom anymore. And because of that, he couldn’t deal with me, either. I was the reason his life fell apart, because had my mother never gotten pregnant with me, he would have never been tied down and treated that way, and he would have finished his degree on time. After he left, my mom resented me because she could no longer convey the perfect image. She became a single mother. And to her, that is worse than just being single.” I pulled in a shaky gulp of air, feeling the weight of my life pressing down on my chest with the increasing pressure of my own insecurities. “It’s not that my dad is a bad person, it’s just that he reached his breaking point and shattered to pieces. His new wife helped pick him up and put him back together again—Humpty Dumpty’s fairy tale. And then she put all the parts back in place, yet she left out one critical piece. So while his heart mended and his life was rebuilt, it happened without me in it.”

“How do you know all that?” he asked, his words soft and full of so much emotion that each syllable felt like a stabbing pain behind my breastbone.

“Things my mom has told me during her fits of anger, things my father has told me, and things I put together myself while eavesdropping on their fights. Things I’ve figured out on my own from growing up and watching them.”

“Well, I have a few things I want to say. And I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” He waited for my hesitant nod before continuing. “Your dad’s first mistake wasn’t that he didn’t insist on an abortion. That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re worth more than that, Aubrey. You hear me? You are an incredibly smart person, with a very bright future ahead of you, but only if you stop listening to the trash you’ve been fed. His first mistake was not getting out of that situation sooner, and more importantly, not getting you out of it, as well. And you really have to stop listening to your mother. Do what you have to until you graduate, and then get the hell out. And never look back. If she ever touches you again, and I don’t care if it’s by her hand or a door, you let me know. You let someone know. Anyone. You’re better than this, Aubrey. You deserve so much more. You are not unlovable. I’ve seen you for all of four hours total since I first met you, and a quarter of that time was spent with you yelling at half your class”—a smile spread across his face in jest—“yet I’ve seen enough to know this about you.”

The tears I’d held onto since walking into his classroom slipped past my lids and trailed down my face, leaving warm, salty tracks on my cheeks. I didn’t even have enough strength to stop them or wipe them away. All I could do was stare into his icy-blue eyes and believe him. My God, I actually believed him.

“Do you hear me, Aubrey? Do you understand me?”

I nodded, my words catching in my throat.

“You come to me next time.” He scribbled something on a sticky note and then slapped it on the front of his desk, right in front of me. “Call me if she ever does anything again. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I’m pretty sure handing your phone number out to female students is frowned upon. This may be your first year teaching, but I’d assume that’s common knowledge.” I tried to joke with him, tried to lighten the heavy situation with my own ironic humor.

He shrugged with a sly grin on his lips, the tension slowly fading away. “Yeah, I’m sure it is. But I don’t care. I won’t allow any of my students, male or female, to live in an abusive home and not have anyone to turn to.”

I folded the small yellow paper and curled it into my fist. “Am I your new Danny? Your new project? Is that what this is? I think you have a hero complex. You just want to save the poor, defenseless teenager.”

“Call it whatever you want, just as long as you have someone in your corner. That’s all I care about. Whether it’s me, or a girl in your gym class, I don’t care. You don’t deserve to live like this, Aubrey. And the faster you figure that out, the better your life will be.” He finally unwrapped his sandwich. “Now eat,” he said with a grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

I had wanted someone to talk to for so long, but I had no idea that it would’ve come in the form of a sexy, demanding history teacher. How ironic.

I was the girl he couldn’t protect.

And he was the guy I couldn’t touch.

“You said my call made things worse… What does that mean?”

I shrugged, contemplating how open I wanted to be with him. I had already told him things I’d never told anyone. This new openness felt strange, but good, too, like I had someone in my corner, just this once. “Just a lot of yelling, fighting. Well, not really fighting, because that would mean it went back and forth. But it didn’t. I sat there and took it. I didn’t get physically hurt, if that’s what you’re asking. She was pissed and made it known. That’s all you really need to know.” I expressed my contentment silently as I turned my eyes to the side to peer at him, letting him understand that I was okay.

“So,” he said after taking a bite of his own sandwich, “are you going to tell me what happened to your face now? The truth?”

The corners of my mouth curved upward as I picked out the onions and shook my head. “No. You don’t need to hear what she does to me. You already know the truth. You don’t need to hear the fucked-up story of it all.”

He laughed and it caught my attention, making me look his way. “Aubrey, I understand you’re a teenager, and teenagers like to cuss. In times like this, when it’s just you and me, you’re allowed as long as it’s not directed at me, but please refrain from it during class.” His grin remained, growing larger and larger as he spoke. “I know I’m young, but I can’t allow my students to talk like that. It’ll give me a bad reputation.”

“How young are you?” I asked, and then prayed that he wouldn’t deem that inappropriate. The question had popped into my mind and crept onto my tongue before I could stop it.

He placed the sandwich on the opened wrapper in front of him and cleared his throat. “Twenty-four.”

“Soon to be twenty-five? Or did you recently have a birthday?”

His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but fought against it. “I just turned twenty-four a couple weeks ago.”

I hummed to myself and nodded. “That’s cool. My birthday is next month.”

The overeager grin won and broke free across his face, showing off his straight set of pearly white teeth and the dimple on one side. Yet he kept his eyes down and didn’t say a word. My stomach dipped at the thought that he’d been thinking the same thing as I was.

Only one more year.