My Teacher, Louis Tomlinson

Chapter 2- Not-so-common white girl

Skye's POV

Weeks of hell went by. They wouldn’t let me switch out of Music.

“You got an A last time!”

“You’re in there on a teacher recommendation!”

“Stop whining, all the girls seem to love him.”

I refused to let myself get closer to him. I never volunteered, I didn’t speak, I did just enough to get an A but not enough to stand out. I never made eye contact, return his smiles, or stay after class. Music switched from my sanction to hell, just like that. Somehow, every member of the pimp-posse was there. They never failed to ruin my day, whether it was by passing rude notes to me, assaulting me verbally, or straight up beating me up.

I wasn’t gonna do anything about it. I mean, I deserved it. At home, things got worse. My mom started fighting back, she even defended me. Once. But hey, it was a start.

I cut more frequently. When I didn’t wear long sleeves, I wore a large collection of bracelets. No one noticed the bags under my eyes get darker, my smile fainter, and my body bluer.

We were about a month and a half into the semester.

I went home one day and my mom wasn’t there. That scared the shit out of me. If she’d left…. damn. I can’t even imagine what would happen to me. My dad pretty much beat the shit out of me that day, asking what I did to her (even though I’d been at school all day), etc.

In fact, he left some nice cuts and bruises all over my body, including some hand/finger prints on my arms so it was reaaaaly obvious it was abuse.

So there was that.

The next day, I went to school with a sweatshirt on and loads of makeup. I’d also done a fair amount of cutting the night before because that helps, you know? And I need something. Just one thing to prove I can hurt my own self way more than he can. I control me.

And guess what fucking broke?

The fucking air conditioning.

Granted, it was still pretty wintery outside, but they keep the A/C on anyways here because of how friggin stuffy and nasty it gets in these old buildings.

So it was all stuffy and nasty the whole friggin day.

The worst was in Music, because it was at the warmest part of the day.

And to make everything worse, one of the members of the pimp-posse brought some kinda Starbucks iced coffee in; I don’t know how. And damn, I wanted some of that.

Anika must’ve noticed, because at the end of class, the crew came over holding none other than that heavenly beverage.

“I saw you eyeing this.” Anika states.

No shit. It’s like 80 friggin degrees in here and I'm in a fucking sweatshirt.

“Here, you can have it.”

Thanks, bitch!

Of course, there was a catch. There always is. In one swift movement, Anika popped the top off and splashed the whole thing on me.

And of course, Mr. Tomlinson didn’t see a thing.

The bell rang, the sluts left, smashing the cup in my face before Mr. T turned around. I mean, that straw nearly stabbed my eye out.

And here I am, still sitting in my desk, surrounded by a puddle of what looks like watery diarrhea with the one teacher I’m reallllly trying to avoid.