A Proscriptive Relationship

A Proscriptive Relationship: 1o

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When I finally saw the lights of the fair I raised my eyebrows, slightly impressed. I wouldn’t have ever been able to find my way out of the forest. Mr. Heywood seemingly knew these woods by the back of his hand. He even told me where there were dips on the ground so I wouldn’t trip. While the lights distracted me, my foot got tangled in a root, and I plummeted to the ground face first. My already pounding head smashed against the hard ground, causing my vision to go black for a few seconds. Surprised, I tried blinking a few times, trying to regain my vision.

“Are you okay?” a slightly amused voice asked from above me.

“I can’t see!” I cried, scrambling to push myself to my feet.

A strong pair of hands suddenly wrapped around my waist and I was pulled to my feet before I could protest. Shakily, I reached out to find something to support me. One of the hands on my waist disappeared, and seconds later something warm enveloped my outstretched hand.

“Stand still,” Mr. Heywood ordered in a soothing voice. “You’re vision will come back in a second.”

I did as he commanded, trying to slow my racing heartbeat. With my eyes shut, I concentrated on my breathing for a few minutes, and when I opened them again, I could see. Dizziness swept over me, and I staggered a little. The hand on my waist quickly became an arm wrapped around it.

My cheeks blazed from the gesture. “Let me go,” I said, trying to escape from his hold.

“No,” Mr. Heywood ordered. “You’ll end up killing yourself.”

“Let go!” I reiterated.

I was very aware of his arm wrapped around my waist. Too aware. My body was growing hotter by the second. I avoided looking at his face as I continued to struggle to break out of his grasp. He was my teacher. I shouldn’t be blushing because he had an arm around my waist. Albeit he was a young, and very handsome, teacher, he was still a teacher. It was wrong. And yet here his touch was embarrassing me. I liked his touch.

“If you don’t stop struggling, I’ll have no choice but to carry you,” he warned, holding onto me tighter.

I ground my teeth together, and tried again to yank myself free once more. I couldn’t flat out tell him what he was doing to me. That would be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. But I wasn’t used to guys touching me, so maybe that was it. It wasn’t just because Mr. Heywood was the one with his arm wrapped around me. I tried once more to pull myself away, but only ended up tripping over my own feet.

Mr. Heywood sighed and put his other hand on my waist again. “You asked for it.” Suddenly I was hoisted up in the air and over his shoulder. I opened my mouth in shock, but nothing came out. He adjusted me slightly and placed a hand just above my bottom. Blood rushed to my face and I tried to get away again.

“Don’t move or you’ll fall, and I’m not sure how much more damage you can take to your head without dying.”

I stopped moving. I didn’t really want to take that chance. Mr. Heywood started walking again, and I bounced with his each stride. He didn’t even seem affected by taking on an extra hundred and ten pounds.

“Aren’t I heavy?” I asked in a quiet, embarrassed voice.

He snorted. “Yes, you are.”

I kicked my feet, hoping to land a strike on his face. He chuckled and readjusted me on his shoulder. “I’m joking.”

“It wasn’t funny,” I responded, bringing my hand down to slap him. Right before my hit landed, I stopped my hand, realizing I was just about so smack his butt. A small breath of relief left my lips. How awkward would that have been? Stretching my arm lower, I began to pound my fist in the lowest part of his leg that I could reach. It didn’t even affect him. He just chuckled again. Scowling, I hit him harder and repeatedly, which only made him laugh more.