Encounters(Teacher/Student)

Ch.2

15 minutes of driving and an indescribable silence we arrive at a small house. To me it looks like a Barbie dolls house, but it's probably not that small.

"Why are you leaving this cute little house Mr.Richard?" I ask him, slightly confused. I mean it's small but he can live in here, right?

"James. Mr.Richard was when I was your teacher," he says totally dodging the question at hand.

Me being me I dodge his answer and step outside. The wind that was warm as a burning oven was now slightly cooler and blowing my hair away crazily.

"Let's go," he says locking the car.

Why are we awkward. Why's there tension? Isn't this supposed to be a normal teacher student help out? But one thing that's irking me is that he's off. I can see it. There's something bothering him, his smile is fake. I've seen better ones from him, genuine ones.

He opens the front door and let's me go in first. Having a completely different image of what the inside would look like, it would be unfair if I said I'm shocked. In a bad way. There's shattered mirrors, plates, clothes everywhere. The whole house is a mess.

Horrified thinking he might have brought me here to kill me, I take two steps back. To my luck I only bump into a wall that's rising up and down. Quickly turning around I see its him and lose my balance. But he's quick to catch me.

Pushing him off me I walk back outside. What's wrong with me? My breathing is not normal and everything seems blurry. Is he a bad person?

"Ayla," I hear him calling my name.

"Ayla what's wrong?" he asks coming near me.

"I know it's not my place to ask but you've brought me here knowing damn well the condition of your house. So here I'm asking away what the hell happened?" I ask him my voice getting louder by each word.

"Did you bring me here to kill? And feed me to some next wolfs? Huh?"

To my surprise this man laughs. He starts laughing his ass off. What the fuck.

"Come in I'll explain," he says. His laughter dying down.

He leads me upstairs to which I'm assuming is his bedroom. The room is even more torn apart. Pictures are ripped, there's letters that are ripped too. And then there's two huge suitcases right in the middle of the bed.

"This," he says pointing all around the room. "Isn't done by me but my ex," he says and my mouth pops a 'oh' out.

"Why are you moving out?" I find myself asking.

SHUT UP! I mentally scold myself.

"Not my house. It's just hasn't been working out for 4 years now. I know it's my fault and should've left earlier but I was in denial," he says.

"That you don't love her anymore,"

"Love," he says in a bitter tone.

"She broke all this why?" I ask.

He looks up at me.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Because she found out the reason why I don't love her," he says his gaze longing on my face.

"I don't blame her either, she was going to explode anytime soon. Haven't touched her in four years either. I'm an asshole," he says.

"As long as you didn't cheat on her with the women you are deeply in love with them your not an ass," I tell him. He looks taken aback.

"How d-," he starts but I cut him off.

"Your eyes,"

After that I don't know why but I start cleaning the room. Thinking once him and his ex shared some memories in this room my heart clenches.

After about an hour the house is clean top to bottom and his luggage is packed. We put everything in the car and start driving towards his new home. Well apartment.

We carry his luggage upstairs, to the 50th floor. Last one in this building. I walk inside and all you can see is a beautiful scenery. The small lake at the left side surrounded by the city rush. I push open the doors to the balcony and stand outside.

"Like the view?" Mr. Richard asks.

"Hmm,"

"Why, out of all people did you want me to help you?" I ask.

"If you don't want to I can drop y-," he says but I cut him off.

"No. But why?"

"I can't answer that," he says.

"Why the fuck not?" I half yell.

He pushes me against the balcony railing and dips down close to my face. His hands pinning my wrists against the railing. His eyes travel down to my lips and he leans in, his lips merely a cm apart.

"Don't ask me questions I can't answer, Ayla. Don't,"

I stare right back into eyes. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and steps back. His hands still holding my wrists, I snatch them away and push him away from me. But before I can walk away he grabs my arm and pulls me towards him. His hand at the back pulls me closer as his other hand pushes away the strands of hair on my face.

"Don't," I whisper.

"Don't repeat it," I say remembering the last day.

"You wanted answers," he whispers in his raspy voice.

"I don't. I don't want any answers just let go," I beg him.

I can't let him touch me, the feelings only will arouse. I can't let him in again when taking him out was the hardest. This is impossible. This love is impossible. He loves someone else, why is he doing this.

My phone rings and he lets go.

"Hello?" I answer without looking at the caller ID.

"What's up man? I'm so bored," my best friend Katy says.

"You're always bored," I say laughing at her. "Dude I'm busy right now, I'm supposed to helping out just so I can bump up my mark. Ms. Hartley I swear to god comes up with some fucked up ideas. I did rather be at home, sleeping," I rant.

"Oh you're at school,"

"No,"

"Then? What the hell,"

"Mr. Richards house," I tell her.

Silence.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?"

"I'll explain later dude I need this credit," I say and hang up.

By now he's in the kitchen making something. I drag his suitcase to his bedroom and start unpacking his clothes. After about an hour everything is put into his closet. Except this one shirt. The stain is still on it. What the hell? He didn't wash the lipstick stain off. I grab a hanger to hang the shirt in the closet when I turn around he's standing at the doorway watching.

"I hope this helps," I say motioning towards the closet.

"Would you like to eat some Italian pasta?" his genuine smile is back. What happened to him?

He serves me pasta with coke while he pours wine for himself. I scrunch my face up in disgust. I hate anything related to alcohol.

"What's wrong," he asks with a worried tone.

"Alcohol. It's smell," he takes it and pours it down the drain and pours himself coke.

"Ayla, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I did. But you have to know I don't regret anything,"

My heart might've stopped beating right now. What does that mean? He winks and continues eating.

Ayla! You're screwed.

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