My conversation with Mr. Way left me feeling weird. Like, really, really weird. I supposed that the responsible thing would be to tell someone about it, to make him stop, but the thought of it made alarm bells go off in my head. Truth be told, I didn't want him to stop. Even though I felt insecure and nauseous after our talk, I felt oddly satisfied. As weird as it was to be told that your teacher wanted to fuck you (and it was weird, even repeating it in my own mind), it made me feel superior, almost. I met my friends at the lunch hall with an air of confidence that I'd never had before, feeling like I was walking on clouds instead of the plastic, sticky floor.
Though, my confidence immediately dissolved when we sat down at our usual table and I saw Mr. Way sitting on the table adjacent to us, in the seat right across from mine. My cheeks burned, and the nausea won in the battle between my emotions.
"Can we sit somewhere else today?" I blurted out.
"Why?" asked Chris. I chewed my lip, trying to get a good answer.
"I don't know...maybe sit outside or something? The weather's nice." I said feebly. My friends made grunts of disapproval, muttering about how cold it was, and that I was 'fucking crazy'. I just nodded like I agreed, and tried to focus on something else except the man sitting almost exactly across from me. I knew that at some point I'd have to look up, and the thought made me feel like my stomach was in knots. I couldn't bear to face him after what happened. I mean, the guy practically jacked off in front of me, and then threatened me with voyeuristic sex. You can't get much more awkward than that, and frankly, I wasn't sure if I wanted to face him yet – bearing in mind that I had our little session after school to look forward to. I'd resolved to ignore him as best I could for now.
But one little peek couldn't hurt, right?
I flicked my eyes up and was happy to see that he wasn't looking at me, but instead was looking down into a book. His eyebrows were furrowed and his hair was sticking up in places from where he'd clearly run his hands through it several times. He looked so friendly and approachable that it made me question if the conversation had ever really happened. Maybe I was just projecting some secret desire onto him, and that made everything he said seem dirtier than it was?
No. Of course not. Even if I'd imagined some of it, I'd definitely heard his threat, and the way his eyes looked when he glared at me. My cock twitched in my jeans at the thought of it, and I took a deep breath to calm myself down.
Unsuccessfully, of course.
I looked up again, half-hoping he was looking at me, and was actually disappointed when he wasn't. His face was still buried in the book, his hair even more disheveled than before. I got a strong urge to run my hand through it, and clenched my fist under the table, as a physical reminder of why I should totally not do that.
He sighed, as if frustrated, and snapped the book shut. He lifted his head ran a hand through his hair again and, in doing so, made eye contact with me. My breath caught in my throat as he looked at me. He didn't smile, or glare, or do much of anything. He just stared at me, like I was a problem that he couldn't work out. My heart leaped in my throat, and I knew I had to do something to make him stop looking at me like that, but before I had the chance, he was on his feet. I let my head fall into my hands and sighed. I didn't even know how I felt, and it was that asshole's entire fault. Why did he have to ruin everything? I was happy having my meaningless little crush, and then he had to turn it into something sinister. Before, it was a bit of fun, something to get me through the day (granted, this was only the second day of me having found him attractive), but now it was a burden weighing heavily on my chest.
As he reached the door of the hall, he looked at me again, with a gaze so intense, it sent shivers down my spine. He seemed to be debating something, before he stepped through the door, and was gone.
