Student from Hell MxM

Another half a year, another school.

I hate changing schools so often. I hate moving every 6 months. And no, I’m not a student; I’m a teacher, but I still hate it.

To be honest, hate is the feeling that rules my life nowadays. I hate myself for being so powerless, I hate myself for falling into his trap, I hate myself for being so gullible, but what I hate the most is him!

I hate the chills that crawl down my spine when I think of him, and no, they are not pleasant chills. These chills are the kind you’d feel if you were in a graveyard at three in the morning and heard a baby giggle.

Those kinds of chills.

He destroyed my life, and he still does. I’m constantly on the run, always watching my back, and feeling paranoid whenever I see a black SUV, black vans, or big guys in black suits.

I used to be happy.

I used to be cheerful.

I used to be romantic, and I used to read and write. That’s why I studied English literature in the first place.

But he broke me, took away all my pleasures, leaving only fear, and now I do it because it’s my job.

Yes, I sometimes lose myself in a novel, imagining or hoping that one day I will find my Prince Charming, the one who will help me find the light at the end of the tunnel. But I quickly shake it off because I know that even if I found someone, nobody would love me unconditionally. My baggage is just too big, too scary, and I’m damaged beyond repair.

My best friend Mia is the only one who knows about my past and present because, after I managed to run away from him, I cut ties with my family and other friends. When I say my family, I mean my baby sister, because my parents disowned me when they found out I was gay. Even though my baby sister is not exactly a baby—she’s 23 now—I still had to leave her to protect her because I know he wouldn’t hesitate to kill or torture to get to me.

But Mia? Well, she’s like a... stubborn, sweet parasite.

When I first ran away, I cut contact with her too, but she still managed to find me. I tried to break contact again, but she kept finding me every time. After the third attempt, when she made me swear I wouldn’t try to hide from her ever again, she told me she would always find me.

She gave me a watch for my birthday that had a tracking device in it, but she told me not to bother throwing it away because she had other ways to find me besides that. So, I relented, stayed in contact, and honestly, I’m grateful she didn’t give up on me because I would have gone crazy without her.

“Lost again?” Mia’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m glad we’re not on a video call right now because she’d definitely jump in her car and come over as soon as she saw my face.

She lives a few hundred miles away from me, but she’d do it. Even if it’s two in the morning and she’s in her pink PJs. And I’m serious. She did that once. Not in the pink PJs, but in the middle of the night.

“Just wondering about the new school,” I try to sound genuine because I don’t want to worry her. Besides, it wouldn’t help if I told her I’m actually frustrated, angry, but mostly tired.

Tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of living.

“Maybe you’ll meet some hot sports teacher,” she says playfully, and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s wiggling her eyebrows like a 15-year-old.

“You say that every time I change schools, and I tell you every time that most of them are either old or fat, and I’m usually right. It’s not like in the movies, Mia.” She definitely needs to stop watching those Hallmark movies.

Now, I don’t body shame, I’m a true believer that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but overweight people don’t attract me.

“That’s not true. My teacher was hot as Hell.” I roll my eyes because, as I said, she says this every time I switch schools, and if I don't interrupt her, she’ll tell me all about his six-pack, blond hair, and so on.

“You fantasize a lot about teachers. I think you have a problem.” Her vibrant laughter erupts from the speakers, bringing a smile to my face.

“No, I fantasize about you getting a hot teacher. Noooo, I don’t want to imagine dirty things with you and-- Oh, God! Why did I say that? Now I imagine-- oh, Jesus! I’m doomed! Erase the image, pleeeaaaseee!” My laughter muffles the rest of her very dramatic monologue, and now I regret that we aren't video calling. I would love to see her facial expression.

“Karma is a bitch! Maybe now you’ll stop,” I say while trying to stop laughing, and she sighs dramatically, making me laugh again.

“Nothing can stop me, and you know it! I’ll just think of my cat and birds, and it will pass. Oh, nooo, now I picture my cat going on a killing spree of birds! Poor little birds! I think I’ll abandon her. Jesus, what a cruel cat! Now I’m just holding my stomach because it’s starting to hurt, but I can’t stop laughing.

God, I love her with all my heart. I truly don’t know what I would do without her.

“Even though I do think that your cat is somehow evil, I don’t think she’s a serial killer, so don’t abandon her without any evidence,” I manage to say between sobs of laughter, and she starts laughing as well. With each second, my heart feels lighter, and the air is easier to breathe.

That’s Mia.

My antidepressant.

“Okay, fine, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. For now.” She emphasizes the last two words very seriously, as if the possibility that her cat might be a serial killer is real.

“Wise choice. But I think I’ll go to sleep now because tomorrow will be a tough first day.” I sigh involuntarily because, honestly, I’m really not in the mood for another first day.

“Cass, smile. Tomorrow you’ll find your one true love. Mark my words.” And I start laughing again.

“Don’t laugh. I have a feeling that this sports teacher will be hot. So, put a smile on that abnormally gorgeous face of yours because tomorrow you’ll meet your life partner.” And I keep laughing.

Even if I find someone, I’m not sure I remember how to flirt. It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone that I honestly think I’ve become a virgin again.

“And about gorgeous, believe me, now I’m far from it,” I say as I settle down from my laughing marathon.

"Cassius, you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. If you weren’t gay, I would have kidnapped you and forced you to be mine. You’re gorgeous even in the morning. I mean, who’s gorgeous in the morning? Let’s be honest. And don’t tell me Tom Hardy, because we don’t know that for sure. I haven’t seen him in the morning, but I saw you. And you’re damn gorgeous.” I want to contradict her, but it’s pointless, and it’s also dangerous.

The last time I did that, we were in college, and she took a picture of me when I woke up, then conducted an opinion poll across the campus. And I’m not joking.

The woman is batshit crazy.

“Goodnight, Mia. I love you.” She giggles victoriously, and I roll my eyes.

“Sweet dreams, Cass. I love you too, and good luck tomorrow.” I hang up, head to my room, and lie down in bed, hoping I can get some sleep and avoid any nightmares.

I wake up to my alarm after less than five hours of sleep and, as usual, groan in frustration while lazily heading to take a shower and get ready for school.

White shirt, black suit, silver watch, and black shoes. That should work.

I go downstairs and look at all the boxes scattered around the house, and for a moment, I seriously consider taking them all to the backyard and burning them.

The thought of unpacking makes me gag.

I turn and quickly get out of the house because I’m on the verge of actually doing it, and drive to school.

I park my car and sit for another two minutes inside, just looking around and thinking about how in six months this will be just another distant memory.

“You can do this, Cassius. One day, this torture will end. One day, you’ll park your car in the same spot for years in a row.” I tell myself the same speech as always, but each time I say it, it feels less real and more like a distant dream.

After I finish my little pity party, I head out to the principal’s office.

As I walk down the hallway, I suppress my urge to laugh at the quiet whispers of the blushing girls’ groups and put on my most serious face because even a small smile could give them the wrong impression.

Been there, done that. Not fun.

One year ago, I had to move sooner because of a sympathetic smile.

I was heading to the bathroom when I saw a girl curled up on the ground, crying her eyes out. I made the mistake of asking her what was wrong. She told me she was heartbroken because her boyfriend had broken up with her. But when she looked at me, all the tears suddenly stopped, and the nightmare began.

At first, it seemed innocent. Notes and compliments were left on my desk, but then things began to worsen.

She found out my home address and started coming over and staying in front of the door for hours, crying. Then there were the suicide threats. I talked with her parents and advised them to get her to a therapist. After that, I moved.

The point? No more smiles.

“Good morning, I’m Cassius Bourne, the new English teacher. The principal is waiting for me.” I politely introduce myself to the elderly woman behind the secretary’s desk, who takes a few seconds before she finally looks up at me through the lenses of her thick glasses.

“Good morning. Nice to meet you. I’m Frieda. You can go in. He’s free.” She introduces herself as politely as I did and smiles warmly.

“Thank you, Frieda.” I smile back and walk toward the door with ‘Principal’ written on it. Before I can knock, the door opens, and the principal greets me with a smile and a handshake.

The man is shorter than average, and his hair is gray. I thought he was only 35, but if you look past that, he actually seems to be in his early 20s.

“Mr. Bourne, you made it.” He motions for me to sit down across from him, and I do. The guy is nice, but I think he’s getting very bored here because he starts telling me what I already know from the email he sent, and to my displeasure, he slips in a few gossip pieces, too.

“Thank you, Mr. Hudson. I’ll see you around,” I say with a polite smile, which he returns, then offers his hand for me to shake again before I head to my classroom.

Let the fun begin!

I go inside, and my worst nightmare becomes reality.

Damn!

Alright, take it easy, Cassius.

Don’t get fired or land in jail on your first day!

A guy, who at first glance looks like he’s 22 or 23 years old, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, wearing leather boots, torn black jeans, a white T-shirt that shows his neck tattoos, and a leather jacket, with jet black hair styled messily, tall and muscular, is sitting on my desk as if it’s the most natural thing to do.

The cigarette isn't lit, but that’s not the point.

The point is that I have to keep my temper in check and not kill him.

Spoiled stupid brat!

He probably wants to see how much he can fuck with me.

Well, not far!

I go to my desk, completely ignoring him, place my briefcase on the right side, and clear my throat, even though I don’t need to. I have all the attention in the world.

“Good morning. I’m Mr. Cassius Bourne, your new English teacher, but you can call me Mr. Bourne." Everyone is in shock, probably wondering why I don’t say anything to the brat who’s on my desk.

“We will start with a quiz. Don’t worry, it won’t be graded, but I want to know your level.” I don’t think anyone is even breathing. They are all staring between me and the brat with wide eyes and open mouths.

I open my briefcase and take out the tests, then hand them to the girl in front so she can spread them out. She smiles widely at me, but I quickly avert my gaze.

“Are you serious?” And, the brat spoke!

But I don’t react. I keep my calm and don’t address him a word.

“And don’t forget to write your name. Remember, it won’t be graded.” The girl keeps one test for herself, then hands the papers to the boy behind her, but they all seem to move in slow motion, still stunned that I’m not reacting at all to the brat’s behavior.

I go back to my desk, see that the cigarette is now on the desk, pick it up, and throw it in the trash.

“Hey, that was mine," he complains in a deep, slightly irritated voice, but again, I don’t spare him a glance.

“Good luck, and do your best.” I take my book from my briefcase, sit down in my chair, and start reading.

“Are you really going to ignore me?” The irritation in his voice is growing, along with my heart.

He’ll flip, I know he will. And when he does, we’ll have our little chat.

“Are you fucking blind or deaf? Or maybe both?” And that’s all I need. I get up quickly, ignoring the fact that the chair fell over, grab the front of his neck, and push him down hard, causing his body to collide forcefully with the desk, and a loud boom fills the classroom, a sound that quickly blends with the loud gasps of the students.

I tower over him and lean down until our faces are just inches apart so I can look directly into his eyes.

“If you think that whatever you’re trying to do here is gonna work with me, you’re fucking wrong. Now, get your fucking ass off my desk, and go fuck yourself, will you?” Okay, I know, it’s not very nice of me to act and talk like that. I’m a teacher, I should be against violence, and I am. However, these kinds of students only respond to these kinds of warnings.

Besides, it’s not like I actually hit him, and about cursing, he probably curses more often than I do.

So, don’t judge.

Now, what I didn’t expect was for him to lick his lips, which curl into a small smirk, and for his eyes to drop to my lips, looking at them... hungrily?

What the actual fuck?

The shock makes me loosen my grip on his neck, and if I thought I was shocked before, after his low whisper, which he made sure that only we could hear, even ‘flabbergasted’ is an understatement.

“You know, I saw you in the hallway, and just by the way you walk, with your chin up and shoulders back, I could tell that you’re dominant and rough, but I wanted to make sure.” The intensity of his gaze and the honesty in his husky whisper make me lose my speech.

I did not see that coming.

AT ALL!

“Can I go now... sir?” he emphasizes the word “Sir” in a sexual way, then bites his lower lip seductively.

Is this really happening?

What in the name of God...

Okay, recover, Cassius. He’s just a kid.

“Keep that mouth of yours clean. It’s a little dirty, don’t you think?” The right side of his lips curls into a mischievous, lopsided smirk that hints that nothing good will come out of his mouth.

“Not yet, but I would love to get it dirty.” His voice, even though a whisper, is somehow deep and husky, and his green eyes turn a shade darker as he lowers them until they land on my dick.

I’m dumbfounded.

I’m in shock.

I release him and straighten up, almost pinching myself to check if I’m dreaming.

“Go!” My command echoes through the classroom, and I know for sure that my loud, deep voice is intimidating. I've been told that many times, but it doesn’t work on him.

He doesn’t even flinch; he doesn’t even lose his smirk, quite the opposite.

The smirk widens as he steps off the desk, then he fucking winks at me, and casually walks across the classroom as if he owns the place. With a final meaningful look, he opens the door and exits, leaving me frozen in shock.

A/N.

Hi, lovelies.

I hope you enjoy the story. This is book one from the series. If you want to read them all, you can go to my Patreon or subscribe here. You can click support me, here or search for my page, www.patreon.com/Francesca2

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