Page 138 of Unloved

“I’m driving you.” Bennett’s words leave no room for arguing, so I don’t bother responding.

“I can’t miss class.” I choke back an angry sob, feeling stupid and scared. But every single breath hurts deeper. “I need—”

“It’s Saturday,” she says. Somehow that’s more embarrassing than showing up drunk to class, getting my days mixed up. It’s happened before, but I had a system. And I had my mom—

I swallow through pure fire, rubbing my eyes hard enough to physically push back the tears. But it doesn’t help, and they spill out anyway.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Do you— I don’t—”

She sounds as awkward as I feel, which only makes everythingworse, shame amplified by a thousand. I shake my head. “Sorry, I— Just give me a minute.”

She does, stepping away and eyeing me a little strangely, like she’s not sure what to do with a crying six-three mess. I swallow back everything that I can, until I feel shakily in control again, a firm grip on my own reins.

I smile at her, and that seems to relax her—as it does with everyone—as I follow her to her car.

“What’s your name?” I ask, halfway out of the parking lot, feeling regretful for not asking earlier.

“Carmen,” she says. “Nice to meet you, Freddy.”

I barely dress for practice before I decide to lie back down.

Just for a few minutes.

The bed is all silken smoothness against my bare back as I stretch my arms out over my head, relaxing a little after a strenuous round. Carmen smirks, satisfied and picturesque as she carries two glasses of dark liquor back into the room, skin shining in the moonlight from her balcony and grand windows.

I run my finger along the hem of her black satin slip, grinning up at her as the room finally stops spinning.

“Feel better?” Carmen asks, handing my glass over. I nod and gulp the shot down quickly. “You did beautifully tonight, Freddy. So talented.”

The praise makes me blush—makes my stomach flop at the strange mix of commendation and snark.

“I have a good teacher,” I say, watching her eyes flare a little.

We ran into each other again, once, before school started—and the realization that the woman I’d kissed impulsively in her car in front of the dorms was my new professor should’ve deterred me. I’d been embarrassed by the entire thing at first, until she asked me to come home with her.

So I did.

And it made me feel good.

I’m late.

Like, nearly twenty minutes late. Which I haven’t done since freshman year. I’m off my game entirely.

I miss a loop on my laces distractedly, cursing beneath my breath.

When she wanted to keep things going, it was almost too easy to say yes. I’d been sexually active since arguably too early, and this unfortunately wouldn’t be the first time it was with a teacher.

But this was different. It was strange, how brutal she wanted me to be with her, and I aimed to please her. I wanted her praise, which I only really received when I fucked her hard and fast, furious. As if…

As if I hated her.

I didn’t like it. But I did like the way she soothed me afterward. Let me cuddle her or stay the night. Agreed to dinners or away trips with me in lieu of aftercare. She fought me on it often, but I was growing desperate for it.

My goalie won’t look at me as I skate onto the ice, head ducked, embarrassed. Coach Harris doesn’t say anything, only sends me a vastly disapproving look. Which makes me thinksomeonetold him something they shouldn’t have.

It only feeds the anger and self-hatred churning through me.

“Seriously?” The yelling is what wakes me up, cheek sliding off silk sheets, brow furrowed at the deep male voice yelling in the distance. “You couldn’t have waited a few more weeks?”

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