A Proscriptive Relationship

:A Proscriptive Relationship: 21

"Ow," I hissed, trying to pull away from Mr. Heywood's grasp. "Stop it! That hurts!"

Mr. Heywood sighed for the umpteenth time. "I need to disinfect the cuts, Holly."

"Yeah, stop being a baby," Lance called from the couch.

I turned to scowl at him. "You made more of a fuss then I did!"

He blushed slightly and looked away from me with a huff. When he did, I saw the bandaged wrapped around his head. I felt guilty immediately.

Mr. Heywood forced my head back to the front. I immediately locked gazes with him. His gaze was so piercing it made me embarrassed and I had to look down at the floor.

Mr. Heywood continued to gently clean my cuts with disinfectant and cotton balls. Every now and then I'd hiss in pain, but Mr. Heywood's constant, regular breathing kept me calm.

After what felt like forever to me, but in reality was actually only five minutes, he was done. He placed two band-aids on the biggest cuts, and left the rest alone.

"You know, if you weren't clumsy, you wouldn't have any cuts," Mr. Heywood informed me, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Shut up," I muttered, turning pink. "The only reason I fell was because Lance threw me off balance the first time. And the second time I was tackled down football style, so I don't think this was my fault."

Mr. Heywood sighed. "I'm sorry. I knew something was going to happen. I should have stayed closer."

I shook my head. "I didn't expect to have to leave the diner. We had parked right next to it."

"But Holly didn't see the no parking sign," Lance added.

I snatched the box of band-aids from Mr. Heywood's hands and chucked them at Lance. They hit him in the bandaged area and I heard him suppress a groan of pain.

"But still," Mr. Heywood continued. "I got you into this mess. The least I could do is protect you from getting hurt, and I couldn't even do that. What's worse is that I dragged another person into it. And it's another teenager on top of that."

I placed my right hand on Mr. Heywood's shoulder. He looked at me flatly.

"I hate this. I hate how I was dragged into this. I hate how Lance was dragged into this. I hate being injured. I hate everything about gangs and wish I was never involved with them."

Mr. Heywood blinked, looking surprised. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"But since it's too late for all that, all I can do is do my best to stay safe, keep you safe, and now keep Lance safe. I don't want to see anyone else get hurt."

Lance snorted. "Save the soap opera stuff."

I scowled, looking for something else to chuck. Mr. Heywood chuckled, patting my head.

"You're a good girl, Holly."

I half-smiled. "But why do they hate you so much? So much that they even go after one of your students?"

Mr. Heywood smirked. "Remember? I told you I did something bad. And I left the gang, which just makes it worse."

"But what did you do?"

Mr. Heywood shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Chris."

Mr. Heywood raised his eyebrows. "You remembered to call me Chris!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Lance," Mr. Heywood said, turning to look at him. "Are you ready to hear my tragic story of woe?"