Teacher's Pet

Chapter 1:

"You stupid, little bitch!" He screamed, eerily grinning from ear to ear, eyes wide and bloodshot.

He stood a mere few inches away from me, his 6ft, menacingly muscled figure towering over my 5ft5, skinny frame.

"P-please d-don't hurt me!" I begged, covering myself with my arms so that they took the full impact. "I'm sorry." I apologised, stammering.

I didn't hear any movement for a bit so I slowly brought my arms down from covering my face, with caution. It was a mistake. As soon as I gazed up into the dark green, almost black, eyes of my abuser, his fist made contact with my cheek. I felt the pain instantly, my cheek burning as the familiar black bruise began to form.

"I should have never let her keep you!" He screamed, hitting me in the chin and knocking me to the floor "I should have made her get rid of you like the trash that you are! You're nothing!!

Once I was down I knew I had no chance. His steel-toe capped black boots penetrated my side twice. I heard a familiar snap, meaning I had probably broken my rib - and the agonising pain shooting across my body only proved that theory.

I tried to grip at my sides but it was no use - his rock hard boots only kicked those too and my arm fell to my side from the pain. A few more kicks to the side later and I was struggling to breathe, blood soaking my clothes with each attack that my abuser made.

It went on for what always felt like hours until I could barely move and he was growing tired of assaulting me.

"Worthless little bitch!" He spat, standing on my already injured arm, my screams and cries of pain barely even audible to him.

I saw one last glimpse of his eyes before he stormed out of the room and I inevitably passed out, everything fading to black. Everything except the image of his eyes. A warm, wet droplet slid down my cheek, remembering the eyes that were once kind and loving, now just dark and void of any emotion. The eyes of a man overcome with drunken mourning over the wife that had been gone for 7 years. The eyes I could have inherited. The eyes of my father.

**************

I woke to the usual beep beep sound of my alarm, reminding me to go get ready for a different kind of hell, entirely. The kind of hell where my bestfriend was twice my age and called me "pet". The kind of hell where nobody even noticed my presence: High school.

Throwing myself out of the covers, I walked to my bathroom, each step as horrendously painful as the last, and got into the shower, trying to wash away the pain, along with the crimson residue that was going down the drain.

I stepped out of the shower and searched for something to wear. Donning a long-sleeved, blue and white striped hoodie with a pair of black skinny jeans and my red high-top converse, I got out my make up bag and started to do damage control. I had already put some ice on my cheek,  so the swelling had gone down enough for it to be unnoticeable, but I had to cake my face in about two tonnes of foundation and concealer to hide the purple-blue bruise, on my cheek, that had formed, overnight.

Looking at myself in the mirror, one last time, before giving myself a "that'll do", I threw my rucksack over my shoulder, ran down the stairs, pulled my hood over my head and I was out the front door before my father could notice me.

*************

Entering the familiar halls of the same old boring high school, twenty-five minutes early, as usual, I made my way to my locker, grabbed the books I needed and decided to just go straight to the classroom. My teacher never minded. She is practically my bestfriend after all. In this world that tortured me every day, Miss Jones was the only one who made me feel like there was a point in even living. Well, her and my fantasy boyfriend: Jason Morgan. Football quarterback and the golden boy, here.

Okay, so maybe he barely even knows I exist but it would be wrong of me, in this school, to not like him.

And I know what you're thinking: if he barely knows you exist, how do you know he's a good guy. And honestly, I can't see him being anything other than a good guy. Look at that sexy hound dog: he's a star athlete, here, he's hot as hell and he's popular. I know that the two former points mean nothing, in the scheme of things, but to be popular you have to be pretty likeable, right? I mean you wouldn't become friends with someone for no reason... would you?

But it's much more than that and, by now, it's sort of become habit, to be in love with him - like it's become a part of my very being. I've been in love with the guy since I was eight.

His family moved to town when I was seven. Some of his family were already here, though they weren't at all popular. It all started at school; where else? He was always bigger and taller, so that never changed, in him. Though, before, he accepted everybody and cared about everyone.

It was first lunch and I was in one of the tunnels of the jungle gym. All was happy and cheerful, until these two bullies, who had been picking on me for years, blocked me in, at both ends of the tunnel. I started to panic, begging them to let me out, the air in the tunnel becoming thick. They sneered at me, their maniacal smiles tied in with their wide eyes. They didn't care. Tears threatened to spill, from my eyes, the air threatening to escape my lungs and never return.

Until he showed up.

Suddenly, one of the bullies wasn't there, anymore. They weren't blocking me in. Instead, they were lying in a lumpy pile, near the steps, leading out of the jungle gym. He was leering over the bully, holding him by the collar, telling him if he ever caught him doing that, again, he'd regret it.

I thought he'd leave it at that, walk away and leave me a shaking mess, still inside the tunnel. He turned around, crouching to see me shaking and sobbing. Holding out his hand, to help me out, he pulled me up from my crouched position.

"You're okay," He told me, hugging me as I shook the fear out of my system.

That was over ten years ago, and I've been smitten, ever since. But a lot can change in ten years, and he certainly has. Though, he's still just as popular as ever. I know he doesn't notice me, right now, but he's just busy. He'll talk to me when he has time, right?