Game On, Pretty Boy. ♕ RUCAS

♕ Chapter ThirtyOne ♕ - Classic Matthews.

Lucas' POV.

Deep breathe. I inreale and shake my whole body, jumping a little on my spot as I make myself ready to face the one thing that scared me the most. Except actually having a conversation with my dad. 

Looking at the woodensign right before my eyes, I inhale one more time, gathering courage before I place my hand above the doorhandle and open it. The door wasn't old, but it still managed to make a sound as I opened it whole.

Mr. Cory Matthews. 

His eyes fler up from the desk to meet my terrified ones. I gulped and stepped inside. "Hello, sir."

The face he was making was telling me he did not want my company now nor ever. His eyes were hardly open, mouth tight in a thin line and his jaw was ticking. I guess Riley was right about the stages he went through. I'm just not sure he actually reached accaptance. 

"Mr. Friar," he slowly raised up from his seat, eyes glued to mine. He's still on stage anger, definetly. "What a...delighted surprise to see you here."

"Same goes to you, sir." 

He tilted his head to the side, eyes not leaving my face. "I'm always here."

I let out a nervous laugh, scratching my neck, thinking about my next words carefully. "Right, you're the teacher." 

"You'd know that if you ever cared to show up to class." 

"I–"

"Oh, no, no, no," he rounded the desk and stopped when he was just in front of me, making the stare even more uncomfortable than it was before, "don't worry, Mr. Friar. I understand completely."

"You do?" I ask, baffled. 

He nods, "Mm, yes, I do." 

"Wait," I put my hands in front of me, furrowing my brows as I tried to read his expression. "What exactly is it that you know?"

He heaves a sigh, "Mr. Friar–"

"Lucas." I correct him. I hated when people were beign formal with me, calling me Mr and all. Especially teachers. And Mr Matthews knew that. 

"Lucas." He corrects, "We have had talks since you were in fifth grade, am I correct?" 

I nod. "Yes." It was true. I've had talks with Mr. Matthews after school, three times a week, ever since fifth grade. It was a tough year when my dad doubled his drinking from two bottles to four a day. Teacher noticed I didn't concentrate as much in classes and my grades started to crumble down. So, one day the English teacher decided to take me to Mr. Matthews. Apparently, people went to him when they needed advice about anything; life, trouble, family, love and etc. And in the beginning it helped, it really did. But then puberty kicked in and instead of going to him three times a week, I skipped two times and if I felt like going once a week, I would. Ever since high school started, I stopped going completely. No more sessions, no more talks about my feelings and life problems, daddy issues. 

"How's your dad?" His question brought me out of my own mind and I could smell the beer in my nostrils, the blue-ish and purplie-ish bruises stung on the side of my stomach from yesterdays' beatup. 

"He's good, than–"

"Don't lie." He cut me off, his eyes boring into my skull. He was reading me. Trying at least.

I broke eye contact with him, my eyes falling on the pile of papers he had been sitting with on his desk. "I cam here because I wanted to talk about me and Ri–"

"You and Riley?" He cut in and I closed my eyes. It was starting to piss me off. "How's that going by the way? You treating her right?"

"Yes." I say through gritted teeth.