Lessons In Butterflies ｡ ｡ ｡ (StudentxTeacher Romance)

Chapter 58: Excuse me?

Shella's POV

My phone buzzed in my pocket just as he was about to say something else. I grabbed it, desperate for the distraction, but the second I saw the name on the screen my stomach dropped.

Cheryl.

I hesitated. Then opened it.

"Maybe wear looser clothes next time. You don't have the body for tight jeans, Shella. People will talk."

It was like someone punched me straight in the chest. All the air went out of me.

Of course. Of course she'd notice. She always noticed. I should've stuck with my uniform, should've hidden myself like always. What was I thinking?

Heat crept up my neck, but this time it wasn't from him. It was shame, ugly and choking. I shoved my phone into my bag, stood up so fast the chair legs screeched.

"I need to go," I muttered, already reaching for the door.

But his voice cut through the fog instantly. Rough, sharp, commanding. "Shella."

I froze.

"Turn around."

I shook my head, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood. If I looked at him now, if I saw that smirk or worse — pity — I'd break in half.

He moved before I could stop him, stepping between me and the door, blocking my escape completely. Too close. Too much.

"What happened?" His voice was softer now, careful, but his eyes burned into me.

"Nothing," I lied quickly. My throat felt raw. "I just... I don't feel well."

He didn't buy it. He never bought it.

"Shella." My name in his mouth sounded like something else entirely — like a promise, like a threat, like he'd tear the world apart if I asked him to.

And God, I almost cried right there.

He steps forward, into the space I was already trying to shrink from. His eyes are dark, fierce, something broken underneath.

"Show me the text," he says, voice low, hard.

My breath catches. "No."

"You will."

"No." I spit it out. "I won't. Because it's private."

He's too close. Too real. "Don't—don't hide it from me."

"I'm not hiding it from you." I push past him, try to reach my bag. He slides a hand over my arm and stops me, firm.

"You can't keep shutting me out." His voice cracks.

"Well maybe I don't want you in," I snap back, tears hot behind my eyes. "Because the last thing I need is someone seeing all of this," I gesture at myself, at my chest, at my face, at everything — "and thinking it's okay. Thinking it doesn't hurt."

He winces, as if it stung.

"You think I don't know pain?" he retorts, voice louder now. "You think I don't carry scars of my own? You think all this—" he gestures at me, at us "—is easy for me?"

I swallow hard, chest burning. "Don't pretend it is."

"You think I'm perfect?" he hisses. "Fine? Untouchable? Because of this damn facade you see?" He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate. "I wake up every morning trying to be better, trying to contain this mess I feel for you—"

My heart nearly explodes.

He pauses, breathing hard. I stand frozen, chest heaving.

He's so close I can see the catch in his Adam's apple, the trembling of his lips.