"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I spit at him, the anger laced in my voice angered him and I loved it. I watched as he clenched his jaw, staring at me as his eyes darkened; walking up to me, soon towering over me making me realize how small I w...
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F I V E
"HOW is she? Have you done what you needed to do, my son?"
"No, Father. It is going to take some time."
"I don't have time, boy. I gave you an opportunity to show me that you are of worth to me; don't make me regret sparing you."
"Father, I'm trying my best. I've made improvements, I promise, I can do it."
"You know what will happen if this does not succeed."
"Yes, Father."
+++ CALANTHA
The rest of the night went by fast--Kassandra opened the door to the closet and Mattheo and I stepped out, neither one of us looking near each other for the rest of the time spent in his dorm. Niccolò went in with Kassandra, and afterwards, everyone left to go to their own dorms. I hadn't told anyone about what happened between Mattheo and I in the closet, solely because I was afraid of what I knew they would tell me: that he's playing with me.
I didn't need someone to tell me what game he was playing, because I already knew. I was barely sober, stuck in a small, dark closet, with an unfortunately attractive asshole, and I'd let it get the best of me. It wasn't going to happen again, I was going to make sure of it.
I kept telling myself it wouldn't happen again, over and over as I walked through the empty corridors to my third period class--the class I had with him, the class that I was dreading the most. I was usually one of the first ones there--to my classes--but I forced myself to withdraw from the idea of not even showing up; the small instantaneous voices in my head continued to remind me that it was only the first week of an entirely new year, meaning that if I planned to ignore the matter today, I'd have to do so for the rest of my Sixth year.
I knew he wasn't going to let me forget about what happened. I was preparing myself for his small comments, his quiet, subtle hints--telling myself to keep calm, to ignore him. And as I tried to keep myself from completely pretending his existence was everything but protrude, the small waves of confusion continued to hit me--the neverending questions that infiltrated my mind, the vivid rememberings of his hand in mine, the way he would tell me a collection of different mysteries all with just his eyes.
