My Enemy, My Professor

Chapter 25 -Let Me Use You-

"If you just wanted the shirt you could have just said so." I grumble, facing the door.

"I could've." Professor Abel replies calmly but I can hear the mischievous in his tone. "But I didn't."
Forget about the butterflies in my stomach. All I have now is a massive headache and pouty lips. My view suddenly turns white and I gasp feeling the cold spillage of his shirt on my head.

"Sir!" I say a little annoyed. "I'm now wet because of you." I pull the soaked shirt off my face and fold it into my arms.

"You'll be fine." He mutters and I wait for a few minutes, wondering what's taking so long.

"Sir? As much as much as it's nice to be here, I'd rather we go back to Gregory. Before he calls for help."

"I am trying, Amaya. This bloody thing..." My head slowly turns, and my eyes rest on him, he's trying to button up his shirt. His fingers are fumbling with the small holes of the buttons and I find myself smirking at his confused expression.

"Something funny?" His grey eyes dart to me like lightening and I clear my throat, looking away.

"No, sir."

"Good. Now come here and help. You might as well do something about your mistake."

"I didn't mean to drop it on you. Gregory just caught me off guard with his-" I don't finish the sentence but slowly make my way towards my teacher, his body frozen as he remembers the incident. I place the shirt on the chair and allow myself to witness his jacked body once again. My eyes wander to see the large scar, its dark, jagged edge looks painful. I can see the faint lines of the stitches that go along just under his collarbone and across the right side of his chest, stopping just before it reaches his pec.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"How did you get it?" I ask quietly. His eyes move to his scar and his amused expression falls.

"When I was in the military." He begins softly. My fingers halt at the bottom of his shirt.

"What happened?"

"There was an ambush. We couldn't diffuse a bomb in time and the army vehicle blew up. A shard of metal struck me in the chest."

"That's painful." I mutter, vaguely remembering the scars on my father. He's got quite a few on his arms and back. But that's what you get for risking your life for others. A fancy title and gold metals is what the public see, not the darkness and hurt that follows after.

"Amaya?"

"Are you still in pain?" I whisper feeling a wash of dread pull over me.

"No. Trust me, it looks worse than it is."

"These scars never really heal, do they?" I can't help but think of my grandmother, in her dying state. Father was still in the military. He was going to be discharged soon. He was meant to be there for my grandmother, to see her one more time. But he didn't show. She died peacefully even though she couldn't see her child one more time. Father came back with a new scar then. At the back of his neck. He lost his closest comrade too.
It takes me a moment to finally look up at Professor Abel and that's when I see his grey orbs, softened and bright.
Without a word, he takes my hand into his and slowly places it on top of the scar. I gasp slightly feeling the rough texture of it.

"It's doesn't hurt." Professor Abel says and I bite the bottom of my lip, deep in thought. As much as I want to say that my teacher is just being innocent here, my thoughts are becoming a little candid and I reprimand myself quietly for getting a little hopeful.

This is inappropriate.

"I'm glad." I mutter pulling my hand away. My hands make their way back to the end of the fabric and I begin to button up his shirt. My heart stops its irregular beat and I'm reminded of what he said this morning. Once I'm done with this I'll leave. I can't afford another mishap.