Broken Cravings (REVISING AND REWRITING)

Broken Cravings; Six

As I entered the classroom at precisely six in the morning, I noticed Mr. Styles engrossed in the same book as before, seemingly making no headway with it. 

"You know the routine," he remarked, acknowledging my presence.

"Mr. Styles, I have a question," I said, clutching my bag tightly.

He closed his book and gazed at me expectantly.

I asked Mr. Styles, "Do you hate me?" as I nervously bit my lip. Despite putting in extra effort over the past week, my performance in history class hadn't improved.

"Bethlyn, I want to assure you that I don't harbor any hatred towards any of my students," he emphasized, shaking his head with determination. Standing firmly behind his desk, he allowed his weight to press onto the surface, indicating a sense of contemplation and resolve.

"Then why haven't you helped me improve? I've been pouring my heart and soul into my work all year. It feels like I've had to beg for the grade I deserve," I said, frustration evident as I crossed my arms.

"Try harder," he said, shrugging nonchalantly as he turned to grab a marker.

As tears welled up in my eyes, I felt the weight of disappointment settle heavily on my shoulders. I quickly brushed away the tears and lowered myself into a chair, overwhelmed with emotion.

Mr. Styles turned and stared at me. His face went from a frown to sympathetic.

"After school, meet me in the parking lot. I can give you the resources you need by then," I said, continuing to scan through my bag for my journal.

"What are you saying? Are you attempting to fail me again?" I asked as I pulled it out.

As his brow furrowed with intensity, he strode over to me and forcefully grabbed each of my books, slamming them down onto the farthest edge of the table with a resounding thud.

"I'm sorry, Bethlyn, but I need you to focus more in class. It's important that you don't doze off, as it affects your learning. I'm feeling frustrated right now, and I'd appreciate it if you could try harder. I don't have to be here, and I'm not in the mood for this."

I stood up and looked at him. "I don't care," he said as he approached closer, and I could feel his body heat. Before I could even blink, he pressed me through the rows of desks to the back of the room, making me hit the wall. He slammed his hands with giant silver rings onto the side of my face, and I could feel the vibration and echo through my ears.

"Please don't talk back to me, babygirl. Not today, not now," he said sternly, his eyes boring into mine. I could feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as his words cut through the air.

"I don't-" I began, but he covered my mouth and gripped my arm. I stared at him in surprise, feeling my knees starting to wobble. I wanted to resist Mr. Styles, but his grip was both strong and weak.

"You're going to listen to me or I swear...-I will punish you" He released his gentle grip from my arm, his fingers slowly slipping away as he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, alone and bewildered.

As my eyesight gradually blurred, I made a conscious effort to mask any traces of fear or pain from showing on my face. At that moment, all I could feel towards him was an overwhelming surge of anger.

"Call me Harold when we're alone," he whispered, his eyes meeting mine as he turned his head, the corner of his eye-catching the light, emphasizing the seriousness of his request.

"Whatever."

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