Rachel's POV
"Five more minutes on your trust assignment before you need to turn them in for me to read before class ends," Mr. Porter announces. "This is to see how quick you can write; it's an easy grade, just have something on the paper. Maximum is the whole page, remember guys."
I found it ironic yesterday when he told us that today we'd be writing about trust as our first real journal entry besides the memoir. I sure should know a thing or two about trust especially from what happened just last Friday. I had all Monday night last night to think how I wanted to write this thing, though I concentrated more on my anger and self-consciousness than anything.
It's been a few days since I've actually spoken to Harry. He's sent messages everyday of an apology and an 'I love you', with a plea to call him back when I'm ready. I know that he knows I've read them. He called only twice, knowing I probably wouldn't answer that either. My cousins however, thinking I don't know, called him everyday telling him how I am dealing— or at least how they think I am with everything I was told Friday. I'm not quite on good terms with them two either yet.
I've basically talked to no one this past weekend. I've gone to dance which was Saturday, in full hopes it'd distract me, but facing myself in a mirror surrounded room made it worse. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. I can't sleep, I'm now closely watching what I eat and how much thanks to those bikini pictures, and I'm just about ready to slam my head against a wall.
Unconsciousness ought to be better than consciousness with her face in my mind, right?
Poor Matthew, I felt awful on Sunday. At work that day he tried to be cool and sweet, making some funny inside jokes about what happened on Friday, but he noticed I was down and didn't bother much anymore besides taking me to the back, giving me a friendly embrace, and telling me he was here for me. When he saw me yesterday in class he had another coffee ready for me, and he kindly got me one this morning too. I don't think I've ever had a friend quite like him, and I appreciate him so much, especially through the shit irony that my relationship has come to.
I can't help but look over to him right now, and I glance at his page which is filled nearly to the end, and then some which he's still adding. I look back at mine, the whole page full, and start to re-read it. It took me a while to get started, but think I might just be done.
Prompt: Who/what do you trust? Why?
I will admit this assignment had me ponder much more than it probably should have, though after much thought I reached an answer. I do not trust anyone. You know why? People will always leave you, or break that trust. No matter what. My life as of the last couple of years has proved this immensely. They say they love you, show you that in ways that never cease to make you down, but then once someone or something else comes along, guess what? They'll change, and most likely leave you for it. Even people in love experience this. The lover sees a greater heaven in death and leaves you behind. Nothing proves this opinion of mine more than the example of love.
Trust remains a funny thing for me, something that I learned I must play cautiously with. Throughout the course of those last couple of years, my trust in others has continued to falter, then disappear into oblivion. I have come to really question trust and how we acquire it in the first place. Then I realized something, it begins in someone or something that you find obtaining the ability to make you feel safe, at home, or at ease; something that you feel comfortable with to truly be yourself. Whether it be faith, or a person, over time the relationship builds up. You latch on to whatever it may be with trust and internally pray it won't be broken. There's always something better, I have come to realize in my time on this earth. Whether it be alcohol, or another person, or absolutely anything, easily it competes to steal that trust and crumple it into pieces like a scrap of meaningless garbage. Sometimes, you cannot even trust trust itself.
So, who or what do I trust? It remains as nothing or no one for now, until I am truly proven that for once abandonment, or neglect, or judgement shall not be the breaking cause of my trust in someone. That is too much to deal with.
"Time's up! Hand 'em in, and you guys have the rest of class to work on another assignment or read, or pretend to look busy, I don't care. Just no talking." Mr. Porter ends the writing time and takes up the notebooks from everyone, immediately heading back to his desk to get started on reading them.
Until class ends I find myself testing ways to distract my wandering perfect-Kendall thoughts. Staring at a clock hurts my head, focusing on the sound of the student's pencil tapping on the desk behind me annoyed me, and I could barely do homework. What a life to be living, huh?
Once Creative Writing ends, I pick up my things. Matthew waits for me to gather my stuff, and as soon as I finish, I'm stopped.
"Miss Rachel, may I have a moment with you?"
I look back and see Mr. Porter leaning back on the front of his desk, his arms crossed, and he shoots me a grin. I turn back to Matthew, unsure what to say or do.
"I'm heading to my next class, I can't be late since it's a longer walk, so I'll catch you later?" Matthew gives me an encouraging smile before quickly wriggling his eyebrows in a teasing way and I'd love to gently smack him right about now.
I walk closer to my teacher, who speaks just when Matthew leaves the room. "Now don't worry, didn't call you here to lecture you," he reaches back and puts the strap of his back over his shoulder. "But I wanted to compliment you. Miss Rachel, I must admit, your journal impressed me a lot today."
Secretly very happy that this was what he wanted to speak with me about. As I've been saying, Matthew keeps overreacting over absolutely nothing.
"Thank you, I mean it...it's not my best, usually with more time I'd revise it, type it.."
"But, without all that embellishment, and for a speed assessment, yours impressed me more than anyone's. Your friend there did exceptional too," Mr. Porter silences my rambling. "I wanted to talk more with you, but I'll let you head to class for now. See you around?" He smiles at me again, putting his hand on the small of my back as we make our way to the door.
I give him a slight nod and return the smile. "See you soon, goodbye." We both wave at each other, and I can feel his powerful eyes on me as I head out of the hallway for my next class.
* * *
Hey Rach, change of plans. I can't eat take you out for lunch today, my mum wanted to have lunch with me. I'm sorry. Hopefully tomorrow?
As I read through Matthew's text, my heart drops. I understand completely, but I really wanted to eat with him again today. He took me out yesterday, and we planned for today. I told him I don't care to eat with Jen and Hayley, and I still don't want to.
It's okay, Matthew. Maybe I'll just head home in a taxi. See you. I reply, then switching apps to Uber. Matthew is probably already with his mother since his class are over for the day, and here I am, taking an Uber to and from school to avoid my family and boyfriend.
Uber ought to just get to know me personally already.
"Miss Rachel?" I hear a whisper behind me. I turn and see Mr. Porter, his lips curled into a smile. "Thought it was you."
I slip my phone in my pocket and step over to him. "Hey."
It's awkward as hell, especially when he looks at you. Matthew may be right about the intensity of his stare.
"You..okay?"
Guess I'm bad at hiding my emotions, another thing to add on the list of things to improve on myself.
"Is it obvious? Just lost lunch plans with my friend, so I'm going to have to just go home probably. I was about to call an Uber." I explain myself and realize with each word I sound lamer and lamer.
"Why don't I just take you out for lunch?" he shrugs simply.
"Huh? I mean, you sure? You don't need to—"
"Yeah, don't mind a bit. We can talk about America, something I doubt you do much over here," Mr. Porter teases.
Is that weird? Is going out to lunch with my professor weird?
I mean, why shouldn't I go with him? Yeah, he's my teacher, but we're sort of just catching up. Maybe...maybe he knows of Jacob or remembers him.
But do I want to know anything about Jake?
Gosh Harry would kill my teacher if he knew any of this.
Screw it.
Like Harry did, I can go out to eat with anyone I please.
I dismiss the argument in my mind and reply. "Sure, better than being alone," I nod, letting him lead me to his car.
With a welcoming smile, he opens the door to his rather nice looking vehicle, and I thank him when I sit down. I decide to turn off my phone to be polite, I don't want to look bad after all.
We hit the road and instantly I'm hit with a wave of awkwardness and I begin to regret this decision. I don't want to look like a pusher for good grades, I don't want people to view me like that. What if the paparazzi see me? There is no way I can get out of being photographed.
"Hey, you sure you're alright?" Mr. Porter questions, glancing at me before continuing to keep an eye on the road.
"Yeah, it's just," I rush the words, rubbing my temple. "It's just I don't want anyone to get any ideas of why I'm eating lunch with my professor, y'know?"
He nods slowly, turning a street corner. "Ah, I see. No one's gonna find out, don't see how they would. And if they do, I have no problem in setting things straight, okay?"
"Okay.." I take a deep breath.
I let a few moments of silence come by us before attempting conversation. "So, this car—it's pretty nice I should say." It's obviously way older than I am and probably than he is, and it's a convertible. I could only dream in affording anything this nice.
He smiles that smile again in pride of his vehicle. "Gosh yes, I love a good classic. Got it as soon as I moved here back in June, I've wanted one for years."
We pull to the side of the road in front of a small French bakery and cafe that I've seen before and he puts the car on park.
"You moved here when?" He turns to me, taking off his seatbelt.
"Early June too, a sudden decision but I'm doing alright now." Memories of my life transitioning from LA to London in June resurface in my mind; it was a scary time.
I take my seatbelt off as my teacher rushes to open the door for me. As he does he replies, "Considering that's when you really should be planning if you are going to go to college in the same university, I'd think so."
We walk into the not too busy restaurant and are seated immediately, a small table in the back. I order a simple water and he gets a coffee, and the waitress disappears.
"So, what made your talented mind choose to move halfway across the world to another school for your other two years of college?" He folds his hands and gives me his attention. "The best school in America not good enough for you?" he teases.
The two of us laugh before I reply, "Not quite that. Academically I adored UCLA, I fit right in there. It was my first choice in schools, and I applied for as many scholarships as possible which made my dreams come true."
I can't help but smile, remembering myself back in my late high school days. I was so young, quite naive of what was going to come. I remember being so giddy from my acceptance, and every scholarship win felt like a miracle. I was so happy back then, my parents were too. My life was just beginning, and it was glorious. Looking back, it's so weird how everything had a domino effect of going wrong.
I find my teacher mirroring my smile as I continue. "Just...social problems that I couldn't quite escape so simply got in the way, and London was my next best bet."
"Huh..." he nods, looking like he's deep in thought. "I mean some of the kids there were rascals but didn't think it was that bad to the point of having to move. I loved my job there for the most part, I'm surprised I never ran into you. I'd remember you," he points, smiling slightly.
Then he gets a little serious. "If I may ask, was it bullying?"
I shake my head, "Oh no, not at all. I mean I'm not the most social person but I had a couple good friends."
"I'm gonna take a guess: a relationship issue?" The way he says this makes me kinda smile, like he's used to meaningless drama.
"Ding, ding, ding," I sigh, forcing my harsh memories out from my mind.
He shakes his head, "Some guys are such—excuse my adult language—but such dicks. Bet he was some dumb frat kid. You probably showed him how awful he was when you up and left, let alone to another country."
Yeah...when I never told him I was leaving or where I was going. I answer in my mind.
"But a lovely lady like you, God, you don't deserve wrong treatment. No one does," my professor looks me in the eyes, his enticing eyes showing sincerity when he grins. "I hate that you had to give up your dreams because of whatever happened between the two of you."
His words hit me hard a little bit. I feel like I'm talking to a friend, but it's weird to think I'm opening up slightly to my professor.
I respond with the same smile, "Thank you, Mr. Porter."
"Please," he stops me. "You know I hate formalities. Outside the classroom, you get to call me James," he smirks, raising his brows.
"Alright James, you can call me Rachel then," I decide to play fair.
After a while we order and continue talking and laughing a bit, and I realize, it's cool to see this side of a professor. Mr. Port—I mean, James, is actually more laid back outside campus and very funny, and I'm not regretting this anymore. He can be a little cocky, but it's all in his humor, and I'm genuinely enjoying my lunch with him.
We're quite for a moment but he looks deep in thought again.
"What?" I giggle.
"No, I'm just trying...trying to remember the group of idiots I had in my Creative Writing class back home." He looks up, staring at the ceiling before looking back to me. "There were five of them, all frat boys, and they annoyed the living hell out of me..."
I gulp, "R–Really?"
Rachel, force down the fear.
"Yeah, idiots! They'd never shut up, and after a while I hated playing nice. They'd be talking so openly about drugs, the parties they threw, bets, women, and I certainly yelled at them a numerous amount of times," James rolls his eyes. He laughs, "Surprised that they're not the reason I left UCLA."
I force a laugh out that sounds way too fake, but I just picture Jacob and his anonymous buddies I never met acting like total jerks.
"That bad, huh?" my voice nearly cracks and I mentally slap myself to not let my guard down.
James doesn't notice though, and continues. "Yeah, I think their names were Reid, Jackson, Jacob, Tyler, and Jeremy, and they're worst students I ever taught. Don't get me started on their grades."
His name. His name strikes a pain in me that constantly runs yet becomes prominent in moments like these: reminders. Even nearly four months later, I can't handle hearing his name.
"You really didn't know any of them?" He asks, taking me out of my trance as the food arrives.
"Not a clue who they are," I lie.
"Lucky for you then, you had enough to deal with. Now, new topic. What do you miss from America?" he slyly smiles, taking a spoonful of his soup.
All of lunch is filled with laughter, excitement, and agreements of all we wish London had to offer that America does. Apparently James and I love the same frozen yogurt place just a couple miles from campus. We laugh together at the irony we never met, and crack up when we both agree on the tiring walk that is the entire campus. I feel...I feel so nostalgic, and like the best parts of back home are always closely accessible if I just talk to him.
We switch topics and he tells me more about himself, that he has similar failing relationships like mine and he moved away from his ex to LA like I did. His relationship wasn't like mine too much though. He wasn't abused, and it was a normal break up. I hear about how he was a crazy kid but somewhat matured and wrote and read constantly through his years like I did. I give him a sum up on my boring backstory and he assures me it's not boring at all.
"It's getting late probably," he says after some silence, looking around the restaurant that's gotten busier since way after we split the check. He checks his watch, "Let me see—oh shit–I mean crap." We both laugh, reminding me back when we were talking he apologized he's not good at restricting profanity. "It's actually been nearly two hours."
I feel my eyes open wide. "Oh, gosh I need to get home. My cousins are probably clueless to where I'm at."
We stand from the table and head out, and as he holds the door for me he offers, "Let me drive you home, it's less lame than an Uber."
"You calling me lame?" I glare, smiling.
"I'd love to say no, Rachel, but I hate lying," he chuckles. "Get in, I'll take you. This one is free too, might I add."
"Sign me up," I agree, making us both laugh.
The drive home, I tell him where to go and who I live with, and he tells me he lives closer to campus in an apartment building alone. He asks how I like living with twins, and I can't help but laugh.
"Speaking of the two, I should probably tell them that I'm almost home." I get my phone out and turn it on right as we turn the street to my house.
As I wait for it to turn on, James speaks, "This is the one, but there's a car parked in front so I'll just park behind it."
"That's," I begin, but when my phone turns on I see ten messages and four calls from Harry, and a few from my cousins. I look up and sure enough see Harry's Range Rover parked in front of us. "Fine."
Oh my gosh, I haven't fully thought about Harry or the drama for more than five minutes.
"I'd better go, I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Porter." I tell him, bringing back up the formality as I assure him I'll get my own door. I snatch my backpack and exit his car. When I do, I hear the front door of the house slam, and Harry meets my eyes, and I can't seem to look away. Its been four days, and even though I've been going through hell, I missed him.
Harry starts walking over and I snap into the reality that is my professor taking me to lunch then taking me home, which is 100% going to piss Harry off. I walk away from the car but Harry catches up to me, pulls me to him and hugs me.
What..?
"Oh my gosh, you're okay," he whispers in my ear, hugging me even tighter and running his hands through my hair. He pauses, and his voice changes drastically to a stern tone in my ear. "Who. Is. This."
I step away from his embrace and turn around to see my professor boldly still here with his window down, looking at us both.
"Harry, this is my Creative Writing teacher, Mr. Porter," I introduce nervously. "Mr. Porter, this—"
"I'm her boyfriend, Harry," he shocks me by smiling, stepping forward and shaking my teacher's hand through the car window.
I can sense his fakeness to mask the anger from like eight feet away.
Mr. Porter nods slightly, "Well, alright. Nice to meet you, Harry. You look familiar."
"I get that a lot," Harry says. "Well, I'm going to take her in now. Thanks for getting her home, take care."
The man full of surprises sarcastically waves off my professor before taking me in the house, and my nerves grow with every step.
Walking in, I receive glares from Jennifer and Hayley, but complete silence, and start to worry what the hell is going on. I'm about to ask when Harry comes to me after shutting the door.
"May we go to your room?"
I don't know what I'm supposed to do; do I resolve things now? It's better than getting the scary silent treatment I'm getting now. I don't understand how anything can be resolved. But I nod, and Harry takes my book bag and slings it on his shoulder and I lead him to my room.
I walk straight into my place to put my phone on my nightstand as Harry gets the door. "Harry, look," I turn around. "Don't—" I'm cut off when Harry attacks my lips in a hungry, shaky, powerful kiss.
"I was so worried about you, don't ever turn your damn phone off on me," he whispers in the kiss, and his hands running all over my body and through my hair is taking me into a trance. I feel safe again, secure in his arms.
"Ha–rry..."
I feel our bodies stumble and he is leaning back against my bed, his lips begging for me to move mine with his more in sync with his but I struggle to escape the memories of this past weekend. I push through and let my impulse take over, earning a groan of relief from him.
My brain screams at me, and I know I don't want to go any further until I understand what the hell is going on.
I break the kiss and watch Harry's expression change to a sadder one, and I pull my body out of his hold to stand in front of him. He runs his hands through his hair, his face falling in disappointment.
"Well..." I wait for him to lash out about my lunch plans today.
"What?"
"You're telling me that you're not pissed at me that I ate lunch with my professor and we went out for a couple of hours and had a really good time?" I cross my arms and huff in disbelief.
He stands up straight, "Of course I'm pissed, I'm angry out of my mind! You could've kept your damn phone on! I'm not the only one pissed, your cousins are too."
"Like they care, I'll deal with them later. Why aren't you acting mad then?"
"Maybe because I want to be calm for you? I want to fix everything, baby. I can't handle not seeing your face, not speaking to each other— I'm losing it."
He's really trying to be calm, and it makes my heart swell that he's trying so hard for me. I don't like when he explodes, and it's crazy to see him pushing that anger down.
"I am trying so much to get over this," he continues. "I want to be the one to take you out and make you happy, not your fucking professor. But I want even more to talk to you again, so please let us just talk about last Friday. I need you, Rachel, and I need you to hear me out."
My heart pleas with me to give him a chance, and I listen. "Go ahead."
Harry steps towards me, "Ever since I met you, no one else is worth thinking about."
My boyfriend rubs his temple, trying to get his words right. "Nothing Kendall could've said to me would have changed my mind, and I ignored every second of it. I'm pissed at her, she had no fucking right to mess with who I love. And I love you."
I look down and cover my face with my hands. Harry causes me to jump a little when he's suddenly in front of me, lowering my hands from covering myself up and lifting my chin so I face him.
"When I say 'I love you', what I'm really saying is that I don't ever want to live without you. That every moment I'm with you, I never want to let you go. That I love every single thing about you, and think about you all the time." His hands cup my cheeks gently, and he presses a kiss to my forehead.
"Please, talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling."
Where should I begin? How I feel betrayed by everyone I love? How because of one girl, my self esteem is shot and I've made a pact to change myself because of it? How I feel like nothing now?
"I don't think you get how terrified I am to lose you," I blurt, not knowing why I'm saying this, but I guess I should continue. "Like.. I get so damn scared that when you take hours to reply or when you are working you just want to get away from me. I'm always paranoid. I can't lose you, you are my first everything, mainly my first real love. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I almost hate myself for loving you because I know one day you'll be gone. I think about everything from Friday night on loop and I can't get it out of my fucking head no matter how hard I try."
"That's not true, baby don't think that way. Let me distract you from it, let me be here for you," he begs.
"It's hard to distract myself when I'm reminded on a constant in my mind or on tv or anywhere how perfect she is, and then I see this," I point at myself, "every time I look in a mirror!"
"Who hurt you so much that you started to hate yourself?"
Quickly I change the subject. I am not going to cry for Jacob, I am not going to cry for the constant physical and mental abuse I was tormented with. No way am I going down that road right now.
"I get jealous, okay?" I sigh, starting to tear up. "I still don't understand why you chose me, when you literally could have had any girl, any model...just anyone you wanted."
"Baby, I would never leave you," Harry replies, sincerity in his eyes.
I burst out, "How do I know that? Harry, so many people have told me they'd always be by my side, and they are all gone now, or they've hurt me in some way. How can I trust that you won't do the same thing?"
His face falls, disappointment written all over his features.
"You can choose to trust me," Harry begins, and I notice an edge to his voice. "Or you can leave what we've had behind. I chose you. And I'll choose you over and over and over. Without pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat. I'll keep choosing you."
"I don't want to leave it all behind," I admit quietly.
"Then let me back in, Rach. Let me be here for you. I love you, let me show you that?"
I want my Harry back, I am losing my mind without him. Maybe, maybe he can help? I need to at least try to let him help me, but aside from my self-consciousness. I want my boyfriend back.
I nod slowly, and that's all it takes for Harry to sweep me off my feet literally and take me to my bed. He lies me down gently before climbing over me.
"What are you doing?" I can't help but giggle.
"Showing you that I love you, something I promise to do over and over," he grins, lowering his body to kiss my lips, but he stops, centimeters away. "On one condition, you promise me to never eat out again with your teacher, that fucking creep..."
"Done," I promise, biting my lip as Harry's eyes go wild.
"I love you," he responds, before kissing me like he hasn't seen me in years.
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a/n
wow this was a fun one to write, I love how it all correlated with trust!
please vote/comment! I've worked so hard to get this one just right, I'd appreciate it.
so new update soon! all the love xx