The Music Producer and the Teacher 2

Chapter 5: Shady aftermath

(I know that's a lame title, but it does fit :P)

Sleeping that night proved to be very difficult. I kept hearing Marshall's words echo in my head whenever I drifted anywhere close to sleep. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME!? I just wanted to cry, but I feared being thrown into an episode. Plus, I knew it wouldn't help. Against my better judgment, I got up and went into work today. Honestly, I wasn't really feeling one hundred percent up to it, but I thought it might would make me feel better than staying home alone and wallowing in my self-pity.

I hated work when I felt this way. Which isn't me, because I love my job. But being a teacher to younger students brings certain challenges. For example, when you're having a rough day, emotionally, like I am today, you must paint on a smile and act like everything is fine when it most definitely isn't. This makes a normally already long day longer, and more draining.

It was my break. My class was in another teacher's classroom for art. I usually took this time to check emails, maybe enter a few grades in my gradebook. It usually lasted about forty-five minutes. I had been distracted enough by all the eight-year-old faces in my classroom to keep any negative emotions out of my mind. Since now I was alone, I knew this would probably be changing. I made the extremely stupid mistake of pulling out my phone and re-reading old texts that I had saved from Marshall. I think a part of me was also hoping I had missed a notification from him in the form of a text or call. After I noticed I had nothing, I should have put the phone down, but my dumbass missed him. What I really wanted was an apology, for him to tell me it was all going to be okay like he always does. I started to feel the familiar lump that forms in my throat right before I'm about to cry. There was no way I was going to have a breakdown in my classroom, so I got up and went into the closest bathroom with the intent to just put come cold water on my face and try to gain some control of my emotions.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I began to feel worse. All the symptoms that had become so dreadful to me over the last week or so hit me before I knew what to do to stop it. I ended up outside the bathroom in my usual position, crying. One of the teachers on my hallway was walking past and stopped when she saw me. "Marissa?" she asked, her tone confused. "What's wrong?" Everything had hit me by now, including the shortness of breath, so I was not in any shape to communicate. I'm sure I was scaring her, especially because she had never seen me so much as frown while in the school building. "Hold on, I'll run and call the nurse." She said. Just as quickly as she had found me she was gone. I heard her heels clicking against the floor in a hurried pace. She rushed back to me almost as quickly as she had left me. "Can you get up?" she asked, sounding even more concerned. "You're not hurt, are you?" I shook my head to indicate 'no' without lifting my head from my knees. I took a second and began to get myself up off the floor. The teacher handed me a cold paper towel to dab some of the sweat off my face. I finally took in a deep breath and knew I should say something to her. "I'm okay, thanks for checking." I managed. "Okay, well I think you should go see the nurse anyways. Just to be sure. I'll even cover your class for you for a little while." She said. I knew it was a waste of time, she wasn't a psychiatrist after all, but I agreed anyways.

The nurse evaluated me by giving me a quick look over and taking a few vitals. The teacher who brought me down explained how she found me. As I expected, everything had returned to normal and she didn't find anything alarming. "It's anxiety." I said to her, for the first time out loud. "I have a lot of personal stuff going on right now. Today was brought to you by my asshole boyfriend." The look on her face said she had no idea what to say or even do with the information I had just given her. She's only probably used to dealing with checking temperatures, dispensing medicine, putting band-aids on skinned knees. "Have you ever considered a therapist? Or a psychiatrist?" she asked. I thought about this for a minute, but before I could answer my boss, aka the school principal walked into the room. "Marissa are you okay?" I nodded. "Do you think you could benefit from having the rest of the day off?" I thought about this. I really didn't want to go home to be alone. I started to say no but before I could she continued, "I don't want you to return to class and have this happen in front of your students." I knew she had a point now. This wasn't something you want to stick with your students. "I don't really want to," I started to say, "but I understand your point, so maybe it would be best." My boss offered me a sympathetic smile and nodded. "I'll call on one of the guidance counselors to cover your class for the rest of the day okay?" I tried my best to smile in return. "Thank you." I said.

I got out to my car and suddenly felt the desire to call Marshall. I'm not sure why. It's not like I didn't have another episode because of our fight. I dialed his number and felt a tightening in my chest as it rang in my ear. To my surprise, it only rang twice before he picked up. "Yeah?" he asked, rather coldly. He must still be mad at me. "Babe? Its me." I said sheepishly. I wasn't sure of his mood or what he was going to say to me next. "Oh, Marissa? Hey. I didn't even check to see who was calling. My bad." As he said this, I heard his tone change. It became more mellow and I realized maybe he was already over whatever had happened between us last night. "How are you?" I asked, filling the silence. I felt my shoulder relax and my chest start to feel normal again. "I'm good, actually, I'm packing." He was very matter-of-fact with this statement. Like he couldn't be persuaded into doing anything different. "Packing? Going somewhere?" I asked him. I was trying to tease him a little and cut some of the tension in the conversation. "Yeah. I told you I'm busy. I have to go to New York for about a week and finish up some work on this album I've been producing." He was serious. Was he even going to tell me he was leaving?  So, I asked him. "No." he replied sharply. "but I've got to have the fucking chance to first!" I was beginning to wonder why I had called. The only thing I was feeling now was defeat. Like the man I had began to fall for had suddenly changed. I was baffled. "Marshall, is something wrong? Why are you so short and mean lately? Whatever it is, I can try to help you through it. There's no need to shut me out." "There's nothing wrong with me." He said, immediately after I finished. "I need to go." Before I could say or even think anything, he hung up.

I sat in the parking lot for a minute, dumbfounded. Did this just happen? The only word I could think was defeated. I had never felt so defeated. Now I wished I had never even called him in the first place.