My Teacher, Louis Tomlinson

Chapter 6- To be or not to be

RECAP:

I lay down on the bench.

Not a minute had passed when I hear the door creak open.

Skye's POV:

Fucking great.

The light flicks on, and I hear footsteps approaching. I pray this person doesn’t see me and rape me, beat me, or murder me.

Or worse: foil my plan.

I watch the person stride over to the back and recognize Mr. Tomlinson.

Of fucking course.

He doesn’t see me, though.

Then, he turns around and walks towards the exit. He passes me and I exhale ever so slightly. The movement, however, knocks my shard of glass onto the floor, where it lands with a defeated clank.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Fuckkkkk.

“Hello?” He asks, retracing his steps.“Anyone there?”

At this point, I’m holding back tears. I’m so fucking tired, and sick, and drained, that all I want to do is cry for once.

I bite my lip to conceal my wails.

“Hm. That was funny.” He says to himself, walking back towards the door.

But I can’t hold it anymore. I let out a heart-wrenching sob, and then I sob and I sob and I sob.

And I sob.

Mr. Tomlinson hurries over to the source of despair, and then slightly gasps. He takes in my horrible state.

“Skylynn?” He asks tentatively, moving some glass and sitting down beside me on the bench.

But I’m too delusional to care. I can’t even breathe, I’m crying so hard. I have to sit up to catch my breath.

“Skye, look at me.” He says. I obey, because that’s what I've been taught to do. Obey.

I take him in. His hair is messy and in every direction, he looks exhausted (I mean it’s almost ten pm), and worst of all, he looks like he’s pitying me.

“What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing, because it’s obviously something big to make you cry like this.” He says, looking at me softly.

I can’t tell him everything.

“W-what do you th-think?” I sniffle. “I just s-screwed the whole t-team over! They hate me!”

“You don’t know that. You didn’t screw us over; you were an amazing goalie. Best I’ve ever seen that isn’t pro, in fact, and I’ve coached my share of soccer.”

Wow.

It’s weird to have someone compliment you.

I push it aside, knowing it’s just a tactic to get me to stop crying. I hastily wipe my tears away and scoot away from him, only now realizing how close we are.

“Why are you still here? Where are your parents?"

Shit. Think Skye, think. Lie.

I must’ve spent too long brewing up a false reason, because he interrupted my thoughts with “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, uh, I can…” stay here.

But I can’t tell him that. I’m not allowed to. I’ve been found out.