Page 12 of Life Lessons

Nightingale doesn’t shriek or lurch away like I expected, but given the vacant look in her eyes, her mind isn’t really aware of anything around her right now. Lines of smudged mascara have leaked down her cheeks, her blue eyes dulled to a pale green amongst her tears. Her hair is dishevelled and her face crumples as she recognises me, but I don’t think I’ve found her more beautiful than at this moment. She’s raw, open. The visual embodiment of how I feel every damn day. When she leans into me, I remain still like the anchor she clearly needs.

Her fingers shift to link with mine and I hold them gently between our chests, sobs racking through hers. And I simply hold her. My mind begins to drift, her crying having the same affect on me as her singing did. Images of my father appear before my vision, how he used to be in his prime anyway.

Not the genius mathematician who chose to leave his respected career and country to work here, believing he could make more of a difference inspiring the minds of the new generation. Never mind how much he inspired me, sitting at home, looking at the photo of him on the fireplace. But the version of him who came home in the holidays and took me fishing. There were always learning curves, calculating the water pressure versus the weight of the bait, and I welcomed them. I wanted to be just like him, and for a short time, I was. He got me the job here, wanting me to follow in his footsteps.

And then just like that, right before my eyes, dementia took him. The smartest man in the country at one point, turned to a living vegetable who didn’t even recognise me. It took years for the sweet mercy of death to take him, and the second he did they all came out of the woodwork. Termites offering awards and commendations, a hero’s burial and statue after fucking statue was erected, plaques on park benches and all that shit. They still write to me now, wanting me to reveal their latest ‘tribute’, wanting a thank you for honouring him. Well, where was my thank you for holding him while he died, only because he was too weak to fight me off?

I’m jolted from my thoughts as the softest pair of lips push against mine. I close my eyes shut, trying to pull myself back from the dark path my mind took. Preferably, times like this call for a hard drink but as I only have this sensation against my mouth to hold onto, I focus my attention on that instead. I marvel at the feel of them kissing me back to reality. So soft, so light, but I need more. Pressing my mouth against hers hard, my hands shift into the silky locks of her hair. The saltiness of tears seeped through my lips and I poke my tongue out, gliding it along her bottom lip.

On a whimper, she opens up for me, her tongue pushing its way into my mouth and toying with me. I respond, dragging her into my body. My tongue dives in and out, coaxing hers to dance this slippery tango. My head feels dizzy, caught up in tasting the forbidden fruit. Soft moans leak into my mouth, my hands and body moving of their own accord. I don’t usually let myself delve so deep into the past but when I do, I need something to remind me that I’m still human, that I’m still alive.

The jagged sound of the piano cuts between us, Nightingale’s wide eyes looking over her shoulder and then back to me with a small laugh. That’s when I see this for what it truly is. Her lips are bruised, her hair all around us like a curtain. At some point, I shift her to straddle me, her ample chest a head tilt away from me rolling my tongue along to her erect nipples. My hands around her nape and hip are holding her in place, in the perfect position for me to plunge straight into her hot center. My groin is straining against both sets of our jeans, desperate to find it’s target. But this isn’t his target, it can’t be.

Shoving her aside, I don’t even wait to see if she landed on the bench or floor before I’ve moved halfway across the room. Nightingale quickly jumps to her feet, stepping towards me with that desperate look back in her eyes. I hold up my hands, backing away and tripping over a drum kit. Righting myself, I make it to the safety of the doorframe. Silence passes between us, neither knowing what to do or say but there is only one thing that can be said.

“I’m transferring you to Regular Maths. Don’t come near me, don’t even think about me. This,” I point between the both of us, “can never happen again.” With that, I turn and leave, almost jogging down the stairs and through the entrance. It’s pouring with rain now but I don’t give a shit, no more shortcuts, I just need to get home. Breaking into a run, my hair is soon stuck to my face like my t-shirt is stuck to my chest. My lips are tingling, my erection pushing against the zipper uncomfortably. I meant what I said, whatever that was will never, ever be happening again. So after I’ve jacked off as angrily as I can to teach my brain a lesson for dropping into my ballsack, I will wash my cum-stained hands of anything to do with little Miss Nightingale.

Tossing and turning all night, I literally didn’t get a moment’s worth of sleep. I was expecting Saturday to be the worst day of the year so far, but it really wasn’t. I may have spent the whole of Sunday letting depression consume me as I allowed myself to think of her, but after a day of living with her again, I knew I would need a down day. I honestly felt like I honoured Tillie’s memory by doing the things we both loved to do together. But I’m not sure she would have approved of what happened at the end of the day when I was minding my own business, and finally singing for the first time since her death. It just felt right, whilst also being incredibly heartbreaking.

I can hear my own brain actually laughing at my feeble attempt at convincing myself that any of those things were the reason I couldn’t sleep. I woke up burning hot to the core and literally panting for more. I had been dreaming about that kiss. The way he came and held me was exactly what I needed. I felt like I was falling apart and I didn’t know what to do, but in seconds, he took those negative feelings away and replaced them with passion. A passion that had me up all night, simply because I refused to treat the ache. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of coming over him, again. He literally dumped me on the floor.

It was like a bucket of iced cold water was thrown over us and he ended up standing tall, looking like his high and mighty self, while I ended up curled up on the floor panting like a bitch in heat. I hated to admit that I was attracted to him, or that just that one kiss was better than all the others I’ve had in my entire life. Sounds corny, but I realised I had been dealing with boys all this time because even though the kiss didn’t last as long as I would have liked to, he had complete control of my body and he played me like I was a rare instrument that only he knew how to tune.

Being rejected by him hurt, but not as much as spending all night reliving that kiss in my dreams. Now, though, I’m faced with what to do about the very last thing he said to me. He made it clear he didn’t want to see me again, and that he was demoting me to fucking Regular Maths. Ha, over my dead body. I’m the top student in his fucking class and believe me, that is not because of his teaching skills. I work hard in my own time to excel and there is no way I’m being punished for something we were both responsible for. He can deny it all he wants, but I felt his hands clawing at my skin to get impossibly closer, his lips claiming me for all to see, and most importantly his erection that was hard and straining against me the whole time. He wanted it just as much as I did and I am not going to be punished for it.

I put a bit more thought into dressing this morning, in my head I say it’s because I’m feeling less down, but who am I fooling. I still wear my dark skinny jeans and a baggy t-shirt, but this time I pick a t-shirt that sits slightly off the shoulder revealing the tattoo sleeve I have on my left side. It also dips low over my cleavage before finding the right shoulder. It’s not provocative to anyone who isn’t looking, but I have a feeling someone will be looking.

Normally I am the first person into Advanced Maths, sometimes I’m even there before Mr Caine, but today I am late for a reason. Call it dramatic effect. Class has been going for five minutes already and there are a set of equations on the board and a timer is ticking down in the corner. Everyone looks like they are panicking, but I can see from where I am standing outside of the room, that these are the equations he set us as homework over the weekend. Stupid people in class don’t appear to have realised yet as you can almost hear their little brains ticking over from here.

Right, here goes nothing!

Opening the door, I waltz in, not even bothering to look at Mr Caine. Not wanting to see his reaction, and instead making my way to where I always sit like it’s the most natural thing to do. But from the second I open the door, without even looking I can feel his eyes on me. How is it that I am physically able to feel areas of my body warm up as his eyes drift over them? It’s like he is setting fire to my skin with his gaze, which I know will be full of fire. Not just the passion that always seems to be between us, but also anger at me disobeying himself.

“Newbie, what are you doing here?” he asks with his usual clipped tone and I can’t stop the eye roll that I am sure he sees. His tongue was in my mouth yesterday and I could feel his hard length grinding against my stomach, yet he can’t call me Abbie!

“I’m here for Advanced Maths like always. Why wouldn’t I be here?” I ask, challenging him with a flick of my hip, wondering what he can possibly say in front of all the students

“I thought we decided that you would find things easier being in the Regular Maths class,” he says and Harriett starts to laugh. I quickly flit my gaze across to her, killing her laughter instantly with my stare.

“Yes, and as I said to you, I don’t feel I have done anything to deserve being demoted. If you are going to demote someone, surely it should be someone like Harriett over there who has probably got all the equations on the board wrong, despite probably getting full marks on her homework. She is so dumb that she hasn’t even realised that what is on the board is the exact tasks you set us to do over the weekend. Then again, if she spent less time hopping between Jackson and Harley’s dicks, and more time doing her own homework then she wouldn’t be looking this stupid right now.”

I had never planned on bringing Harriett into this argument, but she brought it on herself with that hideous, high pitched cackle. And it’s the truth, everyone knows she gets other people to do her homework and coursework for her. She is coasting through and getting good grades thanks to the hard work of others and I feel like now’s the time to expose her.

The laughter, whoops, and hollers from everyone in the classroom, including Jackson and Harley, indicates they all seem to enjoy watching Harriett get called out. They’re also looking at Mr Caine to see what his next move will be. His mouth is wide open and he realises, possibly for the first time, that I’m smarter than he thought. He knows that not everyone gets to the harder section of our homework. Most people do the easier bits and hand those in to get an average grade. But not only did I do the hard ones, I remembered and recognised them. Standing in front of the class he looks like he is about to address me when Harriett stands and starts her screeching again,

“Fuck you. Maybe he is demoting you because he knows that someone who has been held back a year can’t possibly be smart enough for any advanced classes.”

As she talks about the fact I should have graduated last year but didn’t, I feel my heart start to race. My father may have ensured that what happened was not available in my school records, but I was still a fucking Nightingale. I may have enrolled at the school under a shortened version of my name, just Night, but if anyone found out who I really was and simply did a Google search, it would be easy enough for them to discover my secrets. My breathing speeds up as I start to panic that maybe Harriett has found out.

“What are you talking about, Harriett?” asks Harley. For a guy, he bitches and gossips like a little old woman.

“It was her nineteenth birthday yesterday, wasn’t it, Bitch?” Harriett replies and I can feel all eyes on me, including Mr Caine’s. Fuck, I really need to learn his first name because after what we did yesterday it feels really wrong, and kinda sleazy to still call him my teacher.

I risk a glance in his direction and although he is looking back at me, it’s a very confusing look. The anger that was there from me challenging him is gone and now he is looking at me like I am a puzzle that he can’t quite work out. But there’s also a part of him that looks relieved, probably because he realised he didn’t break any laws by kissing me yesterday. Although it is still frowned upon to have a relationship with a student.

At this point I feel like I need to slow my brain down because it is going in numerous directions. Why the fuck am I thinking about a relationship with the man who literally dumped me on my ass? He should be begging for my forgiveness instead of treating me like this. Right now, I need to deal with the issue in hand and the twenty students who are currently looking at me.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, Harriett, but I needed major surgery at the end of last year, meaning I didn’t graduate. So I started the year over again here. Do not ask me any more questions as you do not deserve for me to answer them. But I think now would be a great time for you to tell the class how you found out yesterday was my birthday? I haven’t told anyone here, so how is it you know?” I ask in my incredibly judgemental voice. We all know she gets all her knowledge by reading other peoples files whilst she is supposed to be working in the Head’s office. Now, I want to force her to admit it, and everyone is waiting on bated breath to hear her reply.

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