So it goes [Breakable Heaven #1]

13. Special K

"Ok, repeat it one more time."

"My name is Matías, I come from Spain. I am Spanish. I have forty-five years."

My first instinct is to headdesk so hard I would leave a Sasha-shaped indentation on the table. It is at least the twentieth time that I correct this guy, and he still can't say something as simple as "I am forty-five years old". And what's worse is that he knows he's made a mistake, because he's staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I give him the mother of all dirty looks, and he finally mumbles the correct form and goes on with the sentence.

I sigh as quietly as I can, hoping for this lesson to end soon, otherwise, I might kill the poor student. I usually am a very patient teacher, but there are some people that really test me, and this Matías guy is one of those. When I have a lesson with someone like him, I have to repeat in my head that I love my job like a motivating chant.

I give him a written exercise so my ears can catch a break from bad grammar and an even worse accent, and I look up to the classroom in front of mine, my eyes immediately finding Rory's, who looks almost as desperate as I do. She rolls her eyes and subtly shakes her head, and I nod to signal her that I feel her pain.

It's been almost two weeks since karaoke night, and my attraction to her hasn't disappeared. I haven't talked to anyone about this, probably because I don't want to make it real by voicing it out loud to someone else, so it has just been in my head so far, and that's where I intend to keep it. And yes, maybe it isn't easy not to drool over someone you see five days a week, ten hours a day, who comes to work showing off her very alluring cleavage, but I know myself, I know I could easily put an end to these thoughts, if only I wanted to.

The thing is, I'm not sure I do.

In these two weeks, I have dreamt about Lilian only six times. It might sound like a lot, but it isn't, not for me. I used to dream of her every single time I was sleeping, and the fact that I've managed to keep her out of my oneiric subconscious for a few nights is a big accomplishment. I've also dreamt about Rory twice, one of which she was naked. What I've come to realize is that being attracted to Rory makes me think about Lilian a little less. It's like an anesthetic, it allows me not to feel pain for a little while. It's like she's morphine, ketamine, or some other shit like that. Which, honestly, works for me right now. If I can numb myself by staring at my colleague and imagining her without clothes on and with my head between her thighs, then so be it.

Not that I have that much experience with drugs - I have never done any, except a little bit of weed back in my late-teenage years - but Lilian had tried every single drug on the market before she met me, so she explained to me some of the effects and how being high on this or that substance felt like. With ketamine, for example, apparently, it's like flying, like not being in your own body, and the coming down isn't bad, you just feel sleepy, close your eyes and wake up the next day, sober. And, more importantly, prolonged use lowers the sensitivity to pain, which is exactly what I'm going for here. Obviously, I'm not going to start doing drugs, but Rory right now is my Special K: flirting with her, as playful as it may be, makes me feel less pain, and having my hormones react to her good looks make me forget about my heartbreak for a little. It works for me.

I turn my attention back to the student, who's still struggling with the exercise I gave him about ten minutes ago, so I sigh and help him with a couple of sentences, while shooting a glance at the clock on the wall and rejoice when I learn that the time is running out. Only a few more minutes and I can finally send poor Matías home. I try not to think about my next lessons, which are, if possible, even harder than this one. Days like this should be illegal.

As soon as the clock strikes four pm, I say goodbye to Matías and run out of the classroom, grabbing my lunch bag, my phone, and, of course, the cigarette pack. Only mere instants later, I meet Rory in front of her classroom.

We go out to the break room in silence, then the moment I close the door behind me Rory sighs loudly.

"I am so done with this day!" she moans, plopping on the chair.

"Tell me about it. I'm not going higher than a pre-int today, and you know how much I enjoy low levels," I reply, sarcastically. "Somebody should revise the schedule, because I don't think I can handle any more days like this one."

"What time do you finish today?"

"Nine thirty. Is there any other time?" I mumble while I take a bite of my sandwich.

Getting used to Spanish mealtimes was probably the hardest adjustment I had to make when I first moved here. Where I come from, we eat dinner pretty early - from five to about seven pm. We have big breakfasts and quick lunches, and that's what I have done my entire life. When I moved to Spain, I was pretty shocked to learn that mealtimes are way later than in the US, and that Spanish people prefer to eat a big lunch and a lighter dinner. I had to adapt, obviously, especially because the school closes at half-past nine every weekday, and we have random breaks for lunch. I still eat my big breakfast whenever I can - I don't think I could ever live without eggs and bacon at least four times a week - and I just can't get used to big lunches, but finally my stomach has learnt to wait until it's Spanish mealtime to start throwing a growling metal concert in it, which can get very awkward during a lesson.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" Rory asks me when we finish our very quick lunch and we move to the yard for a cigarette before we resume our lessons.

"Yes, banging my head against the wall until I forget everything about students and lessons and English grammar?" I joke.

"Fancy going for sushi?"

I nod. "Sure. If there's anything that can help me erase this workday from my memory, well that's sushi."

"Good," she smiles. "I'll meet you here at half nine, then."

"I'll meet you here in an hour for another cigarette, I hope." I will never be able to stop smoking, not if I keep working as a teacher. I tried, some years ago, to quit, and I was successful for a good six months, then I decided to start teaching, and I picked it up again.

"That, too. Alright, ready to go back in?"

I groan. "If we must..."