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 most is HIM!!!

I hate the chills that run down my spine when I think of him, and no, they are not nice chills. They’re the kind of chills you’d get if you were in a graveyard at three in the morning and heard a baby laugh. Those kinds of chills.

He destroyed my life, and he still does. I’m always on the run, constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid whenever I see black SUVs, black vans, or big guys in black suits.

I used to be happy and cheerful. I used to be a romantic, and I used to love reading and writing. That’s why I studied English literature in the first place. But he broke me, took away all my pleasures, and left only fear, and now I do it because it’s my job.

Yes, sometimes I lose myself in a novel and imagine, or even hope, that one day I’ll find my prince charming, someone who will help me find the light at the end of the tunnel. But I quickly shake off that thought 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 or present because after I managed to run away from him, I broke contact with my family and other friends. And when I say my family, I mean my baby sister because my parents disowned me when they found out I’m gay, and even though my baby sister is not quite a baby, she’s 23 now, I still had to leave her in order to protect her because I know that he will not hesitate to kill or torture to get to me.

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

When I first ran away, I cut off contact with her as well, but she still managed to find me. I tried to break contact again, but every time she managed to get a hold of me, and after the third attempt, after she made me swear that I wouldn’t try and hide from her ever again, she told me how she would always find me.

She gave me a watch for my birthday, and it had some kind of tracking device in it. She told me not to bother throwing it away because she had other ways to find me, so I relented and kept in contact. To be honest, I’m grateful she didn’t give up on me because I would have gone crazy without her.

“Lost again?” Mia’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I’m glad that we’re not video calling right now because she would definitely get in her car and come by as soon as she saw my face. She lives a few hundred miles away from me, but she’d do it, even if it were two in the morning and she were still in her pink pajamas. And I’m being serious. She did that one time. Not in the pink pj’s, 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 won’t fix anything if I tell her that I’m actually frustrated, angry, and most of all, tired. Tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of living.

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

“You say that every time I switch 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 has to stop watching those Hallmark movies.

“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 colorful laughter booms through the speakers and pulls a smile out of me.

“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, please!!!” The rest of her monologue is muffled by my laughter, and now I’m sorry that we’re not video calling. I would die to see her facial expression.

“Karma is a bitch! Maybe now you’ll stop,” I say, trying to stop laughing, but she sighs so dramatically that I burst out laughing again.

“Nothing can stop me, and you know it! I’ll just think of my cat and birds, and it will pass. Ohh, nooo, now I think about 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 holding my stomach because it’s starting to hurt, but I can’t stop laughing.

God, I love her with all my heart. I really 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, and, with each second, my heart gets lighter, and the air is easier to breathe. That’s Mia. My antidepressant.

“OK, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. For now,” she says, emphasizing the last two words as if her cat really might be a serial killer.

“Wise choice. But I think I’ll go to sleep now because tomorrow will be a hard 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 continue laughing.

Even if I found someone, I don’t know if I even remember how to flirt. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone that I actually think that I’ve become a virgin again.

“And about gorgeous, believe me, I’m far from it these days,” I say, finally managing to stop laughing.

“Cassius, you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. If you weren’t gay, I would kidnap you and force you to be mine. You’re gorgeous even in the morning. I mean, who is 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 has no point, 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, and then conducted an opinion poll throughout 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 and go to my room and lie in bed, hoping that I’ll be able to catch some sleep and I won’t have any nightmares.

I’m awakened by my alarm after less than five hours of sleep, and, as usual, I groan in frustration while I lazily go to take a shower and prepare myself for school.

White shirt, black suit, and black shoes. That would do.

I go downstairs, take one look at all the boxes scattered around the house, and seriously consider dragging them into the backyard and setting them on fire. The idea of unpacking really makes me gag.

I turn and hurry out of the house because I’m two seconds away from actually doing that, then drive to school.

I park my car and sit inside for another two minutes, 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 be over. One day, you’ll park your car in the same spot for years in a row.” It’s the same speech I always give myself, but every time, it feels less like the truth and more like a distant dream.

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

As I walk down the hallway, I suppress my need to laugh at the hushed whispers of groups of blushing girls and put my most serious face on because even a small smile can lead them in the wrong direction. Been there, done that. Not fun.

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

I was on my way to the bathroom when I saw a girl curled up on the ground, crying her eyes out, and made the mistake of asking her what was wrong. She told me she was heartbroken because her boyfriend broke up with her, and when she actually looked at me, all the tears faded, and the nightmare began.

At first, it was innocent. Notes were left on my desk, compliments, but then it got worse.

She found out my 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 take her to a therapist. Then I moved.

The point? No more smiles.

“Good morning, I’m Cassius Bourne, the new English teacher. The principal is waiting for me,” I introduce myself politely to the elderly woman behind the secretary’s desk, who takes a few seconds before she actually 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 to the door with ‘Principal’ written on it, but before I get to 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 grey. He’s only thirty-five, but if you look past the grey hair, he could easily pass for someone in his early twenties.

“Mr. Bourne, you made it.” He gestures for me to get in and have a seat across from him, and I do. The guy is nice, but he must be bored because he starts telling me everything I already read in the email, and to my displeasure, he slips some gossip, too.

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

Let the fun begin!

I get inside, and my biggest nightmare comes true.

Damn!

Calm, Cassius, don’t get fired and locked up in jail on your first day!

A guy who looks about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, wearing a pair of leather boots, black torn jeans, a white T-shirt that exposes his neck tattoos, and a leather jacket, with jet black hair that’s styled in a messy way, tall and muscular, is sitting on my desk like it’s the most natural and normal thing to do. The cigarette is not 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 far he can fuck with me. Well, not far!

I go to my desk, not paying him any attention, put my briefcase on the right side of the desk, and clear my throat, even though I don’t have 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’ll start with a quiz. Don’t worry, it won’t be graded. I just want to see what you already know.” I don’t think anyone is even breathing. They are all looking between me and the brat with wide-open eyes and open mouths.

I take the tests out of my briefcase and hand them to the girl in the front row. She gives me a wide smile, but I quickly look away.

“Are you serious?” And, the brat spoke! But I don’t react. I remain calm and refuse to acknowledge him.

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

I go back to my desk, see the cigarette lying on it, and throw it in the garbage can.

“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 on my chair, and start reading.

“Are you really going to ignore me?” The irritation in his voice grows, and so does my heartbeat. 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 fast, ignoring the fact that the chair falls over, grab the front of his neck, and push him down hard, causing his body to collide with the desk harshly, and a booming sound to fill the classroom, a sound that quickly mixes with the loud gasps of the students.

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

“If you think 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. But 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 his eyes to drop on my lips, looking at them... hungrily?

What the actual fuck?

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

“You know, I saw you in the hallway, and only by the way you walk, with your chin up, 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 leave me speechless.

I did not see that coming.

AT ALL!

“Can I go now... sir?” He emphasizes the word sir suggestively, then bites his lower lip.

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 mouth turns up, forming a mischievous lopsided smirk that tells me 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, somehow, is 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 let go of him and straighten up, honestly wanting to pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming.

“Go!” My command echoes throughout the classroom, and I know for a fact that my deep and loud voice is intimidating. I have been told that many times, but it doesn’t work with him. He doesn’t so much as flinch. And that infuriating smirk? It only grows. His smirk widens as he gets off the desk. The bastard even winks at me before strolling across the classroom as if he owns the place. He gives me one last meaningful look before walking out, leaving me frozen in shock.