Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

35 - "When Bad Boys Misbehave"

Christopher
***

I only stayed an hour with Kent before making up an excuse to leave. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy his company or that I wanted to be alone, my mind was just elsewhere and I was afraid he'd ask what's the matter.

I had this weird feeling weighing on my chest the entire lunch after I dropped Alison off. It resembled anxiety, but not quite. It felt like heartbreak, but not as intense. Maybe it was regret, but it didn't feel as constricting.

It just felt totally wrong to leave her when things clearly weren't alright. I completely lost it in a way I hadn't in years. Just the thought of her finding out my art blinded me.

This would be the sort of thing I wanted to discuss with Kent, to vent my frustrations, to confess my guilt, to ask for advice, but obviously I couldn't. I had to suffer in silence.

When I got to my apartment, everything reminded me of her. The table, the kitchen isle, the oven, the sofa, the paintings on the walls, the windows... Even the goddamn floor.

My bed smelt like her, that floral lilac perfume. Why hadn't we stayed under the sheets the whole day? Why did she have to think about the paintings? Why did I lose my temper instead of making up some lie?

I did the only thing I could do. I drank. I drank to forget about Alison, my art upstairs, and that haunting day. I knew what my doctor would say if he saw me like this, you're destroying your liver in an attempt to destroy your guilt. He'd say what I was doing was wrong, that there were other ways to deal with it, but I had already tried them all.

I drank until the sun was down, until I had lost the ability to make proper judgments.

I was alone and I hated being alone. Even though I knew she was mad at me, I had to hear her voice. I had to fill my empty house with her.

I picked up the phone, my vision blurry, and searched for her name. When she picked up, her voice hushed so her flat mates wouldn't hear her, I completely lost my words.

"Chris?" She called when I didn't speak. Her voice was sweet and melodious.

"I'm sorry." I managed to say, my intoxicated brain providing just enough clarity. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Shit, I fucked up. I'm sorry Ali, I'm sorry."

"Are you drunk?" She asked, shocked. She saw right through me. "Chris, you have work tomorrow, you can't be drinking—"

"I shouted at you, I was mean, I fucking lost it." I said, my eyes closed as I rested on the couch. "And then I dropped you off and I felt bad, it felt like I discarded you, but I didn't know what to do."

"Oh Chris," She sighed. "Is that why you've been drinking?"

No, that's not the only reason why, I wanted to say.

"I'm an asshole."

"You were upset. I apologized, you apologized, end of story." She said, her voice tender. "Chris, please don't drink anymore. For me. We're fine, I swear we're fine."

Her words soothed me so much.

"Chris, it's normal to fight sometimes, that's what normal people do." She added when I didn't say anything. I instinctively brought the bottle to my lips, but put it down when I remembered her request.

"Yeah," I slurred. I knew I was going to have a killer headache tomorrow morning.

"And the next time you feel like things aren't resolved, you have to tell me babe. It's better to talk than to drink."

When she called me babe, it left like she was hugging me through the phone. I knew she wasn't mad anymore, I could feel it.

"Come over," I pleaded, the alcohol stripping me of all common sense. "Come over and I'll cook for you and I'll kiss you and touch you just the way you like and—"