Worth It

(41) Comings and Not Goings

Zara

"I have to go." I say to know one in particular because suddenly this room is too full for all of us to fit.

Because the walls are closing in on me and I fear that they will swallow me up into the darkness until I have nothing left.

So, yeah. I have to get out of here.

And I do. I walk out of there and into the hallway like a madwoman, but I don't feel like a madwoman. I feel like a shadow of myself. I feel like the pathetic little girl I was with Dean. I feel like it's happening again. It's happening again.

What if--

"Zara!" Jo yells as she catches up to me. "Are you okay?" She asks me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

And suddenly I'm not in the hallway of Princeton. Suddenly I'm all the way back in New Zealand in my sophomore year of high school with Mr. Borderra as my math teacher again.

Mr. Borderra has his hand on my shoulder. Should he be doing that in the classroom?

I look around the room to see if anyone suspects anything, but they all have their noses in the quiz he assigned us to do. He said not to talk during this. He said to stay seated.

So why is Mr. Borderra's hand on my shoulder? It's making goosebumps crawl up my skin. I meet his brown eyes that are deliciously wicked filled to the brim with sinful opportunities that I can't wait to do with him.

He gestures to his feet, mouthing to me 'get down'.

So I drop my pencil, and as I go to pick it up, I look up into Mr. Borderra's eyes and he subtly points his foot out. So, I put my hand on the side of his dress shoes and find a crumpled up note.

I sit back in my desk and Mr. Borderra walks over to his desk and sits down, watching me. Waiting for me to open up the note.

I put it in my lap and unfold it as discreetly as possible. It says on top of the paper that it is an answer sheet.

Mr. Borderra gave me an answer sheet to the test, but why? I look over to Mr. Borderra with questions in my eyes and he just nod once, signaling for me to keep looking.

And so I do and at the bottom of the answer guide he gave me, there's an arrow signaling for me to flip it over.

So I do and it says: I hope you like your gift, pet.

Pet? I've never been called a pet. What does he mean by that?

I keep reading.

If you want more of these, it's easy. All you have to do is keep letting me use you as I want.

The only catch? There are no limits. No safe words. You can't tell me no if you have a problem with me spanking your ripe cunt, ass, tits and whatever the hell else I want to spank.

If you use this answer guide, you become mine to do as I please. Think it over carefully. You only have about forty minutes left. So use them wisely.

I crinkle up the paper and put it in my pants pocket. I bite my bottom lip, mulling over his deal in my head. Not daring to look over and see if Mr. Borderra is staring. I don't have enough time for that.

Okay, Zara. Here's what we know:

I'm failing math. He's cute and how bad could a few slaps be, anyway? I mean, I know he's married, but so what? It's not like I want forever, anyway. I'm okay with being his pet.

Good point, mind. Good point.

And with that final thought, I use the answer Key.

"Zara?" Jo asks, snapping me out of my daydream, reminding me that I'm still in the hallway and no longer in a classroom where I am clueless.

And then I see Dean coming and I can't help it. I avoid his gaze, feeling unworthy of looking directly into his gaze.

Feeling like I'm still that clueless sixteen year old I was all those years ago.

And I know what I have to do before I actually do it. "I have to go." I tell Jo and with that I bolt.

I don't look back.

I just walk as fast as I can until I get to the safety that is my room and this time, I do lock the door.

Once the door is locked, I grab the scissors in my pillowcase. I sit on my bed and put the crutches on the floor, not caring where they land.

I only care about those scissors and my right arm. The one not covered in butterfly tattoos. The one that is whole and beautiful. Smooth. Golden. Skin.

I pinch the scissors between that smooth, golden skin with every intention of ruining it, but before I can I hear the door rattling and before I can do anything about it. It pops open.

And with it my demise. The reason I came in here to cut in the first place. All six plus feet and pure muscle of him walked into my room.

He locks it and then he looks back at me with that sinister smirk I know all too well. "I told you this wasn't over."