Consumed (H.S.)

Chapter 3

~ Devin's POV ~ (edited)

"I couldn't think straight with you gawking at me the whole period, Mr. S. In all honesty you were quite distracting."

And he was, a huge one at that. I mean look at him: red tie, white button up shirt, tattoos peeking through the light fabric of his shirt, long, curly brown hair. And then there are those eyes. There's something about the way he looks at me with his emerald eyes, it sort of sends me into a frenzy. But I hide it, I don't want to feed the fire, I want to play hard to get. That's just how I am. I want to be the chase, not the chaser. He doesn't say anything back as I take my seat. He just reaches into his side desk drawer, pulling out a pair of reading glasses and slipping them on. My mouth practically waters at the sight. He looks much younger, more vulnerable, the thick black frames fit his face perfectly.

Images of him taking me across his desk flash through my head and I have to cross my legs to halt the ache I have growing between them.

What is going on with me?

I lean down, reaching into my bag and pull out my phone, utilizing it as my distraction while he reads my paper.

"Phones are not tolerated in detention, Ms. Cavanaugh." Dammit. "I am kindly asking that you please put it away or I will take it and not return it to you until tomorrow morning." This asshole loves to challenge me.

Before I can protest the door to the classroom swings open. As if detention couldn't get any worse, in walks Zaid, my ex.

"Oh just great. Let me guess...got caught jerking it in class again? Oh wait, no, you fucked the teacher didn't you?"

"Well," he pauses, taking the seat next to mine. Of fucking course he would. "Jumping to conclusions only gets you in trouble, plus Mr. S here isn't my type. I like pussy." The grin plastered across his face makes me want to reach across the space between and slap him.

"Are you two done?" I ignore Mr. Styles and stand, grabbing my bag.

"I'm done alright. I'm done with this..." I wave my hand around the room indicating to him that I'm done with this shit detention. "And I'm done with you," my head snaps in the direction of Zaid who is still grinning like the idiot he is. "You're nothing but a selfish, cheating, lying, bastard. The fucking irony of you getting detention on the day we break up astounds me, and I'm not going to sit around and serve it with you." I shift on my feet so that I am now glaring back at Mr. Styles whose face is twisted in confusion and shock. "I don't care if I receive another day of detention because of this. I'm not staying, I'm sorry." I depart from the room, not bothering to wait for a response.

I walk out of the school and towards the direction of my house. The wind brushes across my skin, causing burns from the cold. I now regret giving Zaid his jacket back, but if I didn't it would be a constant reminder. Ugh, I should have fucking known this relationship with him was too-good-to-be-true. Doomed from the start.

I hug my bag close to my chest and continue on my walk to my house. I try my hardest not to replay the scene I happened upon earlier this morning. His hands were cupping her ass as he held her against the wall with his body. His mouth was on hers and his tongue surely had been swallowed by her own.

The tears burn just as bad as the wind does against my cheeks. I thought we loved each other. He told me I was his everything, that he would never hurt me and I fucking believed him. I was wrong about him, wrong about everything. He wasn't and will never be that part I thought I was missing.

I stumble up the steps to my house, grabbing my keys from my bag and unlock the door. My senses are immediately captured by the smell of booze. I sigh heavily, closing the front door before locking and placing my bag on the hook on the wall. The smell of alcohol is so prominent, I almost feel drunk just from the the inhalation of it.

I walk the few steps to the living room and find my mother lying motionless on the couch with a bottle of whiskey hanging from her hand. The light snores slipping from her lips tells me she's had more than enough to drink. But I know my mother and once she wakes she'll be right back at it with her mouth around the rim of the bottle.

I grab the bottle from her hand and place it on the coffee table. There isn't any use in hiding it or putting it back in the cabinet because she'll eventually find it - flip the entire house upside to find it. Trust me, I've tried and it only resulted in me coming home to a home that resembled nothing I recognized. 

I take the blanket from the back of the couch and tuck her in just as I do every night. I switch off the light on the coffee table and head down the hall to my room for a night of tossing and turning - worrying. I pray to God for my mother to have just one good day without the bottle attached to her lips. Though I fear that day may never come.