mr. hemmings // l.h.

37 • madeline

I'd rather not discuss the next few days that took place, if I'm being completely honest. And truly, I've blocked most of it out. The next few days consisted of a hospital check up, long talks with multiple police officers, my mother sobbing across from Travis' mother, who also cried. And after a long, painful few days, the court decided that since he was a minor, with alcohol in his system, and a clean record up until that point, he'd get by with only a restraining order. It's amazing what being a young, male, student athlete could do for you.
He wouldn't be doing any jail time, he wouldn't be expelled, he wouldn't be kicked off the baseball team, but he would be required to stay the fuck away from me at all costs. An officer would be assigned at school to make sure he did so.

I guessed that would do.

I was back in my room, just like the previous weekend, not wanting to leave the promised comfort of my bed. This time, my mom let me get away with it. It was decided that I wouldn't attend school at all that week and Celia would bring me all of my school work so that I could stay on track. All of my teachers readily agreed to this considering the circumstances. I was also able to get out of work, and wouldn't be put on the schedule again until the following Monday after school. My boss didn't hesitate to let me off the hook. It was quite uncomfortable for all of us, really.

But, luckily, my plan seemed to work and I was able to avoid all human interaction.
That is, until, Wednesday arrived.

The message in my email inbox stated loud and clear:

Madeline,

I have put together a small packet of at-home-assignments for you to complete this week. These assignments should keep you on schedule with the rest of your class. However, it is urgent for you to come collect these assignments yourself, and I will not be able to give them to anyone on your behalf.
I need to have a meeting with you to discuss these assignments and how they will affect your grade, today, after school hours.
This is urgent and mandatory.
Thank you for your cooperation.

Mr. Hemmings

Fuck. What a little shit.

"Mom," I begged, "can you please go for me? You're my mother, just explain to him-"

"Madeline," she sighed, "you read the email. He needs you to be there, it's about your grade. This is important stuff. You're almost 18 now, you're responsible for things like this."

"I don't want to show my face in that school." I whined. "Not like this."

"Honey, the meeting is scheduled for after school hours for a reason. I'm sure your teacher knows you don't want to draw attention to yourself. You have to trust him."

Ha, I thought. That's going to be harder than you think, mom.

But of course, I had to suck it up. At 4:05 I pulled into the school parking lot. I checked myself in the mirror.
The swelling in my face had gone down a bit, but I had an enormous black eye, and bruising along my jawline. My lower lip was still busted, but definitely healing.

I sighed, took a deep breath, and made my way into the building. I walked with my head down all the way to Mrs. Reynolds' classroom, where Luke sat at his desk.

"Madeline." He said. He sounded surprised. As if he didn't underline "mandatory" in his email like a petty little brat.

I slowly lifted my face to meet his. His eyes widened. My heart sank.

"Madeline." He said again, rushing to get out of his chair.

I closed the door behind me, and approached him.

"Yes, Mr. Hemmings?" I asked, bluntly.

"Shut up," He said, "don't do that."
He grabbed my forearm softly, gently, as if he were afraid to touch me.
He pulled me into him.

I wanted so badly to pull away, fiercely. To tell him he wasn't allowed to act like the hero now that I was damaged. I wanted to tell him that it wouldn't work.

But instead, I let his arms wrap around my body as my own arms fell limply to my sides. I let him hold me close to his chest. I let a tear fall out of my eye.

He rested his chin on my head, being that much taller than me. He squeezed hard. I didn't have the strength to hug him back.

"Madeline," He said softly, "I am so sorry."
He held me for a few silent moments, then he lifted my chin so that I could meet his eyes.

I felt like I watched his heart shatter.
"What has he done to you?" He asked. His voice shook.

I shrugged, "It doesn't hurt as bad as it looks. Not anymore, at least."

Tears welled in his eyes
"Don't do that," he cried, "don't normalize what he did."

I chuckled, blankly.
"I'm kind of numb to it, if I'm honest." I admitted. "Everyone is so shocked. It's not shocking to me. I don't really feel anything at this point. I mean, no, it's never been this bad before. But I knew what he was capable of."

He shook his head, "I must be misunderstanding. There is no way I'm sitting here listening to you blame yourself for this."

"It's not a big deal-"

"Of course it's a big deal, Madeline!" He argued. "Come here."

He pulled me back into him. I let more tears fall. So did he.

"Madeline," he whispered into my hair, "listen to me. I will never, ever let anything happen to you again. I promise."

I wiped my tears away, and he stroked my back.

"This is what I was afraid of." I shook my head against him. "Don't pretend like you want me now. Just because you pity me."

"Look at me." He demanded. "I do not pity you."
He put both hands on my face.
"I love you, Madeline."

My heart stopped beating, and the color drained from my face.

"Do you hear me?" He asked, shaking me lightly. "I do not pity you. I love you! I love you, Madeline. I will say it over and over until you get it through your thick, stubborn skull."

"I-"

"No, don't talk, just listen." He cut me off. "Don't you ever act like I don't care about you. I care about you more than anything on this planet. I know I don't do the best job of showing that sometimes. I know I can be an idiot, and a jackass, and I can be insensitive to you and your feelings. I don't always make the right choices and I'm not perfect. Maybe neither of us are perfect. But I am damn sure we are perfect for each other."

I was full on ugly crying now, like in the ending of a romantic comedy. He was crying, too. I always knew he was a softie.

"And I'm sorry." He said. "I'm sorry I made you feel unwanted. I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't care. I just wanted what's best for you. I'll only ever want what's best for you. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am what's best for you. I'm sorry that I ever thought otherwise. I'm sorry that I pushed you back into the hands that hurt you. And I swear to God, I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

"Luke." I cried, softly. "This hurts."

"I know it hurts right now. I know you're scared. I know that's my fault. But I need you to trust me. I know, that might be asking for a lot."

I buried my head in his chest. I couldn't help but find comfort in him. He drew circles on my back, relaxing me, and stroked my hair with his other hand.

"I love you, Madeline." He said, again.

"I-"

"You don't have to say it back," he whispered, "I know I'm dropping a lot on you right now. But I want you. Of course I want you, baby. I need you to know that I want you. And I need to know what you want."

I thought for a moment, before looking up at him.
"I want you to kiss me."

He put both hands back on my face, and gently pulled me closer. He kissed me softly, and lovingly, and a warm feeling washed over me. I had missed this so much.
I wanted to be stronger. But he was my weakness.