The Teacher

23: WREN

The sounds of my moody playlist blast in my ears as I push myself to run another lap around my neighborhood. I didn't have a decent night's sleep. I tossed and turned all night because of Skylar. A wife. He is married, but didn't act like he was when he was fucking me repeatedly. The initial hurt has worn off since last night, now I'm pissed off. A fucking asshole he is.

I try to shake off the feeling of betrayal, twisting like a knife in my gut, but running isn't cutting it today. Each stride only pumps more adrenaline and anger through my veins. I thought about confronting him, demanding answers, but that seemed like a road leading only to more heartache.

And it's not like he was in any rush to tell me, either. He had an entire month to do so, and he didn't do it. What he chose to do was ghost me while doing God knows what with his wife. I couldn't even show up to work today because I feared that if I saw Summer, I would tell her that her good-for-nothing husband had been fucking me silly.

I don't want to destroy Bella and Gabby's happy family. So, over the next two days off, I will get it together. I have to, if not for my sake but for theirs—they are innocent in all of this.

As I round the corner, I notice a very expensive car parked outside my house—an unusual sight in my otherwise sleepy neighborhood. My pulse quickens because I know who it is. No one drives this kind of car in my neighborhood. Nor do I think anyone in my neighborhood knows anyone who drives such a ridiculously expensive car.

The driver's door opens just as I approach, and out steps Skylar, looking as composed and enigmatic as ever in his perfectly tailored suit. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine immediately, an unreadable expression on his handsome, stupid face.

"Why are you here, Skylar?" My voice is steadier than I feel.

"I need to talk to you," he says simply, shutting the car door with a soft thud.

"No." I shake my head, walking past him. I expected him to grab my wrist and stop me from further walking, but he didn't. He lets me walk away. Of course, he would. He let me go for a few weeks, thinking he was a single dad trying his best. But in all actuality, he was married, and who knows, the mother was probably just working abroad all this time.

Pulling my keys out of my sports bra, I make it to my front door. The metallic jingle of the keys barely registers over the pounding of my heart. I'm fumbling, furious—a mess of emotions. My hands shake as I attempt to unlock the door, but it's useless; my fingers slip off the key every time.

Then, I hear footsteps behind me. I know it's Skylar coming closer, and despite my anger, a part of me unravels at his proximity. And that just pisses me off a little more.

"Let me," his voice is low. Without waiting for my consent, he takes the keys from my trembling hands and unlocks the door.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you here?" I ask as he pushes the door open, but makes no move to enter. He stands in the doorway, a barrier between me and the escape inside my own home.

"I owe you an explanation," he says, his tone earnest. I know if my back wasn't facing him, his eyes would be searching mine for something I'm not quite ready to give. "Can we talk?"

Part of me—a very small part—wants to hear him out. Maybe there's a reasonable explanation that doesn't end with me feeling like a fool. But how can anything he says change what he did? I don't want to be the cause of breaking up a happy home, nor do I want to be labeled a mistress. He put me in this position, and part of me hates him for it.

My mother left my dad when I was six. Mentally, it will fuck you up. Richard cheated on me and married the woman he cheated on me with. So, Skylar definitely reopened wounds I thought I had long healed from.