My Teacher and I

Chapter Eighteen

The club was alive with the thumping bass and flashing lights as we stepped inside. Toby was grinning ear to ear, clearly excited to be out here, far away from school and responsibilities. The fake IDs had worked perfectly—no questions asked. The energy of the place was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel a thrill as I made my way to the bar.

"I'll have a Mojito," I said confidently to the bartender, while Toby leaned over and ordered a whiskey on the rocks.

"You think anyone's going to notice we're gone?" Toby asked, raising his glass with a smirk once our drinks arrived.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors blending perfectly. "Doubt it. Besides, even if they do, they'll just assume we're resting up for tomorrow. We'll be fine."

The music pulsed through the air, and we made our way onto the dance floor. The lights flashed in time with the beat, casting colorful shadows across the crowd. It was easy to get lost in the moment, the weight of everything that had happened recently seeming to disappear with each step and each sip of my drink.

Toby was in his element, laughing and dancing without a care in the world. I couldn't help but feel lighter being around him. He was always good at pulling me out of my head when things got too heavy.

As the night wore on, the crowd thickened, and the energy in the club reached a fever pitch. I found myself moving to the rhythm of the music, forgetting about Mathew—about everything that had been weighing me down.

But even as I tried to lose myself in the moment, there was a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. The memory of last night still clung to me. It didn't help that I could almost feel Mathew's eyes watching me, even though I knew he wasn't here. I shook the thought away and focused on Toby, who was now calling for another round of drinks.

"You good, man?" he asked, noticing my brief distraction.

"Yeah," I replied, forcing a smile. "Just trying to shake off some thoughts."

He handed me another Mojito, clinking his glass against mine. "To a night of freedom," he said with a grin.

"To freedom," I echoed, taking a long sip.

The night stretched on, a blur of drinks, laughter, and music.

"Do you want to dance" A gruff man asks, I nod 

The stranger's hands were all over me, and for a moment, I let myself go with the flow, moving to the rhythm of the music. But something didn't sit right—there was this weight gnawing at me. Mathew flashed through my mind, and guilt crept in. I wasn't sure why; it wasn't like we were anything official, but it felt like I was crossing some invisible line.

I was deep in thought when I felt a firm tug on my arm, snapping me back to reality. I looked up to see Mathew standing there, his face tight with anger. My heart dropped.

"Who the hell is this?" the stranger asked, his grip on me tightening slightly.

Mathew's jaw clenched, and before I could say anything, he answered with a cold, sharp voice. "I'm his boyfriend."

My heart skipped a beat. "Boyfriend?" I muttered, stunned. That wasn't something we'd ever said out loud. The word felt heavy, loaded with implications I wasn't sure I was ready for.

I shook my head and started to reject the idea. "Mathew, that's not—"

But before I could finish, the stranger clearly didn't like Mathew's answer. He squared up to him, shoving Mathew back. "Boyfriend, huh? Doesn't look like it to me."

It all happened so fast. Mathew swung first, his fist connecting with the guy's jaw, and the next thing I knew, the two of them were in a full-blown fight. The stranger swung back, but Mathew was quick—dodging, weaving, and landing another solid punch that sent the guy sprawling onto the floor.

I stood frozen, watching as the stranger hit the ground, knocked out cold. Mathew's chest was heaving with anger and adrenaline. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm, hard, and yanked me out of the club. We pushed through the crowd, slipping into a dimly lit alleyway where the music from the club became a dull thud in the background.

"What the hell, Mathew?!" I shouted, yanking my arm from his grasp. "You can't just do that—"

"You can't just let random guys put their hands on you like that, Atticus!" His voice was low, angry, but there was something else—hurt. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching him—"

"You said 'boyfriend,'" I interrupted, still processing. "Why would you say that?"

Mathew's expression softened for a moment, but then his frustration returned. "Because I'm sick of pretending I don't care about you when I do. I saw him touching you, and it drove me insane. I couldn't just stand there."

I stepped back, trying to make sense of it all. "You think you can just fight for me and then everything's okay? You hurt me. You said we couldn't be anything more, and now you're claiming to be my boyfriend?"

"I know I messed up," Mathew said, running a hand through his hair. He looked frustrated, torn. "But when I saw you with him, it all just... came out. I've been trying to push you away, but I can't. I don't want to."

I didn't know what to say. My emotions were all over the place—confusion, anger, and maybe even a small part of me that was relieved. But I wasn't ready to forgive him just because he decided now that he wanted to be with me.

"You can't just decide this for me," I said, stepping further away from him. "I'm not some toy you can pick up and put down when it suits you."

"Atticus, I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I just... I need you to understand. I do care about you. I don't want anyone else to have you."

I felt torn between wanting to believe him and the hurt he'd caused. I took a deep breath, unsure of where to go from here. "You can't keep playing with my feelings, Mathew. If you really want me, you're going to have to prove it."

I didn't even have time to process what Mathew had just said before his lips were on mine, rough and urgent. It wasn't soft or tender; it was filled with all the frustration, anger, and desire he'd been holding back. His hands cupped my face, pulling me closer as if he was afraid I'd slip away.

For a moment, I was caught off guard. My hands instinctively went to his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. The alleyway around us seemed to fade as his kiss deepened, and all I could focus on was him—his lips, his hands, the way he pressed into me like he needed this as much as I did.

But it was too much, too fast. I pulled back, breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. "Mathew, stop," I said, my voice shaky. "You can't just fix this with a kiss."

He let out a ragged breath, his forehead resting against mine, still holding me close. "I know," he whispered, his voice rough. "I just... I couldn't help it. I'm sorry."

I pushed him away gently, needing space to think. "You can't keep doing this," I said, my voice firmer this time. "One minute you're pushing me away, and the next you're acting like this."

Mathew's eyes were full of regret, his frustration still visible but tempered by something deeper. "I don't want to hurt you, Atticus," he said quietly. "But I can't pretend that I don't feel anything for you."

I crossed my arms, trying to regain control over the situation, over my feelings. "Then you need to figure out what you want. Because I'm not going to let you mess with my head like this anymore."

There was a long pause, the tension between us heavy and unresolved. Mathew nodded slowly, stepping back. "You're right," he admitted. "I need to sort myself out. But I do care about you, Atticus. That's real."

I didn't know what to say. I was still angry, still hurt. But there was something in his voice, in the way he looked at me, that made it hard to walk away completely.

"I need time," I finally said, taking a step back. "We'll talk, but not like this. Not until you're sure of what you want."

Mathew nodded again, understanding. "Okay. I'll give you space."

As I turned to leave, I could still feel the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on me. Nothing about this was simple.