The Teacher: AKA My Best Friend's Mom (GxG) (TeacherxStudent)

Thirteen

*Alex's POV*

I just kept punching it.

Again.

And Again.

And Again.

The rage flooded through my body, anger finally reaching it's breaking point. I made a lot of noise, but I knew that my Dad was either not there, didn't care, or couldn't hear it. That wouldn't matter anyway as I thrashed my fists, over and over again, into the shattered glass of my bathroom mirror.

There were shards protruding from my hands, and blood covered the shattered mirror and floors, yet I did not feel, nor care about a thing.

I was just angry

Angry at life. At myself. At everything.

I started thinking about what could cause Hamish to kil-. I couldn't even bare to think it. It just, happened. Was he depressed? Was someone hurting him? Was he being bullied? All of the thoughts swarmed through my mind as I tried to find someone to blame.

My fists stopped swinging and I started to become light-headed. I balanced myself on the counter before dragging myself to my bed. I would not let myself sleep though. I would no longer be selfish. Hamish no longer had the privilege of being able to sleep, or wake up, so I decided that I didn't have that right anymore either.

The pain was tremendous as I turned the faucet on cold and let the water run over my hands. Yet, as it stung my body to extreme lengths, I did not cry. Did not scream. Did not flinch.

I pulled on a warm jacket over my blood stained clothes and walked down to Roxie's for a drink. My knuckles continued to bleed, yet I wiped them on my dark-coloured jacket and kept going. I felt like I was on autopilot, eventually finding my way to the bar and ordering a drink.

I started with a strong drink, then another, and then another. There was no taking it slow tonight.

It was March 22th, my fucking birthday.

By 11pm I had downed at least 12... 15... maybe 20 drinks? The pain that previously held my hands prisoner was no longer present as I was more than wasted. I was honestly surprised that I hadn't thrown up or passed out yet.

Many women had approached me throughout the night, but I was just not in the mood. I suppose if the right woman came around I would be up for it, kinda like a birthday present for myself. Yet, that woman never seemed to come.

The bartender was yet to cut me off, so I continued sculling drinks to last me as long as possible. Before long, the bartender cut me off, but surprisingly did not force me to go home. So I sat at the bar with my head in my hands as I let the alcohol overtake my body.

There is no feeling like being aware of your actions, yet unable to control your body due to alcohol intoxication.

Another hour of so passed and I was starting to get bored. I fidgeted a lot, and the alcohol was slowly wearing off as I ate the bowl of fries that I ordered.

As I was about to leave, a young woman sat in the stool beside me. At first glance, she didn't look like anything special.

She had plain brown hair, matched with chocolate brown eyes. She was cute, but not extremely attractive. Definitely not my type.

"Hi, I'm Layla," she said, and rubbed a hand across my shoulder. It took me a second to figure out that I had actually fallen into her, and she was just trying to keep me up. I mumbled something absolutely incoherent as I tried to tell her my name, and she seemed to find it amusing.

"You're a little drunk, aren't you?" she teased. She scooted her chair closer to mine and held me under one of her arms. I was starting to feel tired and comfortable in the warm crevice of her body.

She signalled for the bartender and ordered two more drinks, assuming that I had already been cut off, which I had.

My eyes fluttered closed slightly and immediately opened when I felt her give me a slight nudge. I saw her drinking what looked to be a whiskey neat with a sly smirk on her lips, and looked down to find another drink, this one positioned in front of me. I looked up to thank and pay the bartender, but he was no longer there.

As if reading my mind, Layla said, "It's all paid for. My treat." I gave her the smallest smile I could manage and sat up a little straighter to take a sip of my beverage.

Although I was thoroughly drunk, Layla pulled me up and towards the small makeshift dance-floor in the corner of the room. Even though it was close to 1am, many people still filled the bar, and we blended in well with all the other drunks hanging around on a Monday night/early Tuesday morning.

I could barely stand, but Layla did a good job at holding me up in her arms as she felt extremely strong through the thin shirt she was wearing. I was slowly becoming more and more exhausted, and looked up to Layla to recommend that we leave. She looked slightly different in the dark corner which we occupied. At first glance I guessed that she was not much older than me, but up more intimately I realised she had to be at least thirty. That didn't bother me much, but what did was the intensity that her eyes were staring at me. It was like she was waiting for something to happen.

"I think we should leave," she said and slowly dragged me out the door into the crisp night air.

I could not protest as I suddenly became extremely drowsy and unable to communicate at all. She was practically carrying me to the car park as I drifted deeper and deeper into an unconscious state. The last thing I thought before being slammed into darkness was:

This cannot be good.

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- T.J Starc