Page 2 of Life Lessons

Welcome to my new hell.

Pitiful.

That’s the only way I can describe what I see in the mirror. My skin looks dull, my scowl prematurely aged, and the bags under my eyes are big enough to need their own passports. My mousey brown hair is grown long enough to flick into my hazel eyes, not through style, but laziness. I look more like a frat guy than a teacher, but those two go hand in hand around here. Despite being thirty, healthy for the most part, and physically in peak condition, I have absolutely no desire to share my body with another on a regular basis.

When I moved halfway across the world and took the job at Willowmead Academy to hide away from the world, because let’s face it—that’s all I’ve been doing these past six years—I thought this might be a new start for me. But I should have known. Shit luck follows me like a dark storm cloud, and there’s no foreseeable sunshine in my future.

The evenings I’m not drinking myself into a coma, I spend in the nearby town on the prowl for a body to share the night with. Anyone will do really, as long as they have a slender neck for choking and firm ass for spanking. I’m fairly certain I keep some sad fucker permanently employed at Durex. So, wherever you are—you’re welcome.

I rarely fuck the same woman twice, in fear they will become clingy. I don’t have time for someone else to drag me down; I do a fine job of that on my own. Yet, the long-term relationship I have with my right hand doesn’t seem to cut it.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I grab my bottle of whiskey and drag my feet into the living area. Last night was a rough one and my head is pounding harder than usual. You’d think I’d have worked out a hangover cure by now, if there is such a thing. I’ve tried everything the internet has to offer, it’s all bullshit, so I just keep drinking.

Dropping onto the charcoal grey sofa, I raise the bottle and toast whatever higher power is constantly fucking with me before taking a long swig. Thank fuck for weekends.

My apartment is well furnished and a moderate size, on the ground floor of the staff quarters. I used to hate living beneath Terrance Walters’ stomping feet, until I discovered my bay windows allow me to sneak on and off campus without the cameras spotting me. That’s when said history buff from upstairs isn’t knocking at my door with yet another ‘technical issue’ on his laptop. I tell him the same thing every time. Pornhub is the way to go if you don’t like viruses, but you can’t teach an old fossil new tricks, right?

From the kitchenette behind me, complete with bar and stools, to the living area, every wall is pristenley white, and soft grey lino covers the floors. Despite living on takeout from the school’s canteen, my kitchen is fully equipped with more appliances than I know what to do with, with slick black counters and chrome handled cupboards. The excessive decor doesn’t stop there; there’s huge potted plants, scenic canvases, and a 42” TV on the wall opposite me for my various games consoles. This place does the job, in other words it keeps me dry from the rain and keeps me entertained when the quiet is loud enough to deafen.

As I nestle down into the cushions, a loud thumping starts pounding on my front door and doesn’t relent. I snarl, but remain where I am, refusing to be distrubed during my time. The banging continues, Principal Thornton’s voice booming through the wood. Fuck’s sake. Forcing myself up, my head squeezes painfully as I throw the door open.

“What?!” I bark harshly. Herbert’s jaw ticks and his narrowed eyes assess me closely. He’s old enough to be my grandfather, although surprisingly agile, and by that I mean, he can walk around without the use of a cane or heart monitor. As always, a sharp suit covers his saggy frame, which I’ll never be able to scrub from my memories after he fell in the swimming pool and I was the only person around. If I’d known he’d be here ruining my morning, I’d have let him drown. Herbert leans in closer to audibly smell me, scrunching his nose up at the alcohol on my breath. Judgey bastard. To prove a point, I swig from the whiskey bottle still in my hand and lean against the door frame.

“You were supposed to be in your classroom over thirty minutes ago.” I roll my eyes and groan, slinking back into my apartment with the door left open. Herbert follows me, crossing his arms as I drop onto the sofa once more, but I’m the one who should be pissed. We’ve spoken about this.

“What did I say about sending those fuckfaces to detention when it’s my weekend to be on duty?” I growl, my somewhat dulled Southern American twang coming out thicker when I’m annoyed. “They’re little shits and will always be little shits; writing lines ain’t gonna fix that.”

“It’s Tuesday, Jethro. You’re meant to be teaching those ‘little shits’.” I don’t like how he mocks me, but he kinda has me on the wrong day thing, so I drop it. My mood just went from irritated to annoyed as fuck, although I hold in my string of curses. Just.

“If you don’t stop pulling this stunt, I’ll have to fire you. Now, I don’t want to do that because you’re a fantastic mathematician, but as the years go on, you’re proving to be a terrible teacher. Frankly, I’m getting bored of coming here to look at you in your underwear.” I look down at myself, realising my legs are spread wide in a snug pair of Calvin Klein’s and I shrug. I have to keep the boys warm, and if I lessen the chances of reproducing more fuck-ups like me, even better. Rising on a sigh, I head into my bedroom to get dressed without letting his other comments bother me.

The thought of Herbert firing me is laughable. No one else would apply for my job, teaching rich snobs way out in the sticks. The pay is good, but people these days are too deluded by the notion of love and families, whatever the fuck those are. That’s why the rest of the staff are mostly elderly widows, building up a nest egg to leave their relatives or give to charity. Ugh, excuse me while I throw up in my mouth. Well...all except for Danny and Sam, a pair of foster brothers that look more like twins, who travel up each week for Physical Ed and swimming lessons. Those guys are pretty cool but are never around when it matters, to be my designated drivers from every pussy party town has to offer.

Pulling on a random t-shirt, dark jeans and spraying myself with a shitload of deodorant, I rejoin Herbert and gesture for him to lead the way out. Shoving my feet in Timberlands that are thrown by the door, I close and lock the door behind me. Autumn isn’t far off but for now, the balmy air is still warm enough to not need a jacket. I squint against the brightness outside until I find my sunglasses in my back pocket and throw them on.

“Any chance of grabbing a coffee on the way?” I ask Herbet, his harsh stare telling me that would be a no. I’ll just bribe a student to grab me one in exchange for a higher grade anyway. That’s how I usually get through the day and seem to have the highest grades throughout the school. It doesn’t matter that it’s all bullshit, the kids who come here only do so to appease mummy and daddy until their trust funds are released. They’ll never amount to anything beyond dumb reality stars anyway, so what’s the point?

Trailing behind Herbert the entire way, I hear a commotion up ahead before I see it. There’s a crowd of students piling into the hallway as we step inside the building, the two boys tussling in the middle are from my current class. Fuck it. The new school year has only been going for two weeks and I’ve already had enough. Herbert starts to fluster, like he does when he panics, but like I keep telling him—we can’t be scared of them, they have to be scared of us. Otherwise we’d have a riot on a weekly basis and their dorms would have gone up in flames a long time ago. Placing a hand on his frail shoulder, I ease him aside with a reassuring nod. Thankfully, he takes my cue to leave and scutters away before he stresses himself into a heart attack. Again.

Shouldering my way through the crowd, I grab both boys by the back of their collars and throw them in opposite directions. The second I see the first cell phone being lifted, I turn to bellow at the crowd. “Get back to class before I fail you all!” Students shoot in all directions, more than one trampling over the aspiring fighters. I shrug, figuring that’s a better job than I legally could have done and walk into my classroom. There’s a girl I don’t recognise in the back row, her knees brought up to her chest but I don’t have time to reprimand her for having her shoes on the chair right now. The taller of the two brawling boys, Harley, hounds after me with his chest bumping into my back.

“But, Sir, Jackson smacked my protein shake out of my hand and my next shipment doesn’t come in until tomorrow!” I follow the line of Harley’s finger, seeing the liquid splattered all over my floor and partially up the windows. Removing my glasses, I pinch the bridge of my nose on a groan. God help me, I hate each and every one of these assholes.

Spinning, I shove Harley aside and glare at Jackson. He’s the ‘joker’ of the class, which is ironic given Harley’s parents obviously thought they were hilarious in naming him that since his last name is Davidson.

“If this place isn’t spotless by the time I wake up, I’ll transfer you into Irene’s booster class, and you know how much she likes young boys.” I raise an eyebrow, suppressing a matching shudder. We’ve all been there with the haggard sixth form learning support assistant, myself included, which is why that’s the one punishment I’d never really follow through with. Everything bar molestation is fair game. “Same goes for you, Harley, if I don’t have a coffee on my desk in the next five minutes. The rest of you, you know the drill. Page 116, wake me when you’re done.” As Jackson barges passed me to grab a mop from the supply cupboard, I hear him mutter under his breath.

“Why do you even work here if you hate it so much?”

I ask myself that question every damn day. I used to tell myself it was because my father went here. His photo hanging pride of place in the reception’s glass cabinet used to mean something to me. But the nostalgia wore off around the same time I realized people can fake smiles as easily as breathing. Dropping into my leather chair, I prop my feet onto the desk and place my sunglasses back on to the sound of pages turning. Sleep calls for me instantly, my head lolling to the side as the pulsing of my headache eases slightly. That is until a sickly sweet voice speaks up, the fakery in her tone making me instantly nauseous.

“Erm, Sir? I don’t know if you noticed but we have a new girl. She just arrived here last night.” I lift my head slightly in Harriett’s direction, before looking over the top of my glasses at the girl in the back row, properly this time. Her jet black hair hangs around her in a glossy curtain with streaks of electric blue catching the light. Between her hair and baggy hoodie, there’s not much to draw from her, except for the haunted gaze I recognize all too well as she stares out the window.

I’m used to the skanks around here begging for my attention and pushing their tits into my face, even though I’d never go there. So it’s almost refreshing that this one isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m fooled. She’s just another rich bitch having an identity crisis, skating by on her parents’ money until she leaves here and never has to raise a finger for the rest of her life. They make me sick, all of them.

“Hey, Newbie!” I shout, finally grabbing her attention. The irritation in her glare makes me smile like a child on Christmas morning getting a new, shiny toy to play with. “Page 116, either get on with it or get the fuck out. The only one who gets to brood around here is me.” And with that, I lean back and fall straight to sleep.

Sitting in my first class of the day on Tuesday, Advanced Maths, I keep glancing between the door and my wrist wondering where the hell the teacher could be. This academy is so high class that it only hires the smartest teachers, the most sought after in their field. Yet they all seem to be over sixty-years old, with the exception of the Phys Ed teacher I met yesterday as I was moving in. He seemed to be mid-thirties. I was one of the first to arrive in class, but at my previous school there was normally a teacher present when I arrived. Mentally, I wonder if we should be concerned for the safety of our absent teacher, but the hollering in the hall pulls me out of that thought.

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