Her Pacifier: Secrets From The Past

Chapter 4

"You're scrubbing the wrong table, Jules."
As if I'd be a fool to waste my energy on "the wrong table" but thank you Miss Madrid for the sweet advice, I'll make sure to take it.

Ugh.

Our detention is being held in the dirty cafeteria, scrubbing stubborn stains off grey, old round tables. There's this revolting scent in the air that gives me hospital vibes and difficulty of avoiding to wretch as a reaction. I thought about going to the nurse, hearing her statement as proof for our delay but explaining and begging became a miserable waste of time. We do what we're told to do in great annoyance. When I say we, I mean Passion and I.

She hates me. She hates me. I can feel it in my skinny bones. The cold looks I'm given makes my hands itch under these sticky yellow gloves. I'm sweating under my bandages. This school better have something interesting about it because I'm slowly starting to lose an interest.

"Keep up your pace, Passion and you'll have no energy left to mop the floors," Miss Madrid snarls then winks. I hate the enjoyment that's glistening in her eyes.  Passion looks at her with an unreadable expression while she wipes the table she terribly scrubbed.

"As students and young adults, you need to learn that missing a lesson because of time or your mature hormones is unacceptable,"

Miss Madrid swiftly walks to my side and wipes the little spot of dust off the table I believed I wiped nicely. She shakes her red-head with a pouted mouth and sighs. I hold my breath so I won't have to inhale her murky breath and quickly look aside to breathe once again when she turns and walks to Passion's table.

"Time is everything. Time is money...knowledge...and wisdom." She says wisdom so passionately as if her cranium is the only cranium that has it. England.

A tall bold man walks in grasping all our attention with a black, tight suit and well polished shoes. We silence, listening to the echos of his shoes. His black shoes are the only things that shine in the dull hopeless room, along with his grey bob hair. He isn't old. Just old enough to be a Dean. Maybe around the mistress' age, so dying his hair grey is no surprise at all. The only surprise is how young he is for a Dean. He doesn't smile and doesn't falter in any way at all.
Tall, chubby and serious. Miss Madrid's face suddenly lights up with a disgusting smile I know the meaning of.

"Dean Henry," she greets cheerily. 
"Miss Madrid," he greets back, serene.
"Oh, you know with me it's just Mary Madrid. Mary I'll prefer," she rolls her eyes up and down his tight muscles as she fails a perfect catwalk because of her pencil heels, to his side.
A walk I know the meaning of.

He nods tightly at her then at Passion and I making us fearfully nod back. "Of course," he says. "I see you've got everything under control here, yes?"
Passion withers at that.
"Oh, everything is under control Henry," Miss Madrid waves her skeleton-like hand at us, signalling we should get back to work.
Passion rolls her eyes when her back is toward them and stares at me for a couple seconds, I wonder what her thoughts are saying. The Dean continues,
"Very well then. As students of my school and as your Dean, I will not tolerate anybody late for any of the teachers' lessons especially on the first day of school."
I sigh mentally, there's no use explaining. Passion can see that too. Might as well accept it.

"We take our classes seriously and our education seriously. I hope we meet next time under better circumstances," he says when he's finished.
"The next time it won't be so polite," he spits so rudely. "Severe," Miss Madrid adds, as if he hasn't said enough.
"I hope I've made myself clear."
"Yes sir," Passion and I chorus.
He touches his hip, allowing Miss Madrid to embrace it with her own as he walks to escort her. "I'd be delighted!" We hear her say then giggle when they're out of earshot. Further down the corridors her witch-like laugh choruses. I wonder if they're dating or just having some kind of fun. They don't look like a good match though, very dangerous to be an item.