Crashing to Fall (Student/Teacher) (ON HOLD)

Chapter 2: Everything in Common

“Here, put this on your ankle, I’ll get you some bandages and stuff.”

I sat on his couch as he ducked into a hall. I heard a cabinet open and close as I leaned forward to put the ice pack from his refrigerator on my swelling ankle. My jeans were permanently ruined by the tearing and the blood, and sweater had a hole the size of my fist on the sleeve.

He—Mr. Andrews, to be more exact—returned with a gigantic pack of all different sizes of Band-Aids, some Neosporin, a damp washcloth, and some Q-Tips. He stood there awkwardly, holding them at his sides as if trying to figure out what to do. I then realized I would have to take off my pants in order for him to get a good Band-Aid application. My swollen foot was up on his coffee table, my Converse on the floor beside me. I figured this was probably the most awkward situation I could ever be in. I knew he didn’t recognize me; he’d only been working at my school for a couple months, and it’s hard to memorize the entire student body’s faces during passing period. And he probably either wouldn’t recognize me until school on Monday, or, worse, he’d realize he just helped a student from his job take off her pants in the midst of our wound cleaning. Oh, God…

“So, um…I kind of have to either cut off some of your jeans or you have to…um…”

Ah, screw it, I thought. I unbuttoned my pants and slid them down to my knees, my laundry day granny panties showing off the absence of ass that is me. He blushed (who thought teachers could blush?) and came over to sit on the couch beside me, a good foot away.

“OK…Here we go.” He dabbed at my biggest scrape, the two inches wide and three inches long wound on my thigh, with the cloth, removing the dirt. Then he squeezed some Neosporin out. A Q-Tip rubbed it around, and I clenched my jaw with a hiss through my teeth as the gel started to do its job. He paused for a moment, sympathy flickering in his eyes as he stared at me with a furrowed brow. “Are you doin’ OK?”

I nodded, closing my eyes. “Just…finish this one. I’ll be better after.” I could practically hear his nod as he continued applying the Neosporin, and finally a gigantic Band-Aid was pressed onto my thigh. I fought a shiver as his hand came in contact with my leg, his icy fingers hovering ever so slightly after he had pressed the bandage on my leg. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. I held his gaze, despite the blush creeping up my face, and after a moment we both looked away, his hand leaving my thigh. I pulled my pants back up and as I did, he cleared his throat and said, “Where’s the next one?”

I slid my arm from my sweater sleeve, wincing as it stuck to the raw scrape, and showed him my upper arm, just a small scrape about an inch long and a half inch wide. He did the same thing he did with the other. I slid my sweater all the way off when we reached my jaw, and his gaze settled on my bare shoulder for a moment before he set to work again. Who’d have thought my decision to wear a tank top would prove beneficial? Once he finished on my jaw, he hovered again, almost tracing the shape of the scratch. I shivered, and he acknowledged that with a brush of my hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes, unsure, and noticed that he’d slid closer throughout the cleaning. His knee kept brushing mine.

We had chemistry, that was for sure. But we shouldn’t have. We’d only just officially met, and we were already caressing and staring. This wasn’t something I’d do to a boy my age, let alone an older one. But he was different. He made me feel hot, sexy, worth staring at. I knew I wasn’t; I had regular length light brown hair, a weirdly square face, little care towards what I wore, spindly legs. I wasn’t anything special. But he made me feel that way. I was different in his presence, for some reason. I was less shy here, more daring. I felt like I could’ve actually reached over and stroked his cheek if I’d really wanted to. I kind of did...But I wouldn’t. He got that privilege with me, just because he was hot enough to pull it off, but I didn’t quite have the guts to try myself.