“I will never feel differently. I can’t work. I can’t concentrate.” I can’t breathe. My sister raised me, goddammit. And what have I done in return? Dragged her down a rabbit hole of drugs, alcohol, and bad choices.
“You will, Mr. James.” The left corner of Headmaster Charles’ lip slides up in half a smirk. “When you’re ready, it’ll happen. There’s a lot to look forward to in life, even if it doesn’t seem that way right now. Always remember that, hmm?”
The screen door whines as it swings back and forth, and how long has it been since this house has seen a handyman? I want to get her out of here. I was goddamn close to doing that, too.
Pacing on her porch, I inwardly convince myself that I can reason with her. Remington is a smart girl. Surely, after I give her the whole truth, she will understand.
But then I remember that Remington is like a live wire. She’s emotional and bold, and she doesn’t do anything half-assed. She feels everything so much deeper than I—or most people, I suspect—and that’s why she’s so hurt. She’s been badly burned by almost everyone in her life, and I’m no better.
I knock on the front door—it’s locked, thank God—three times, lose my patience before the second is over, and ring the doorbell endless times. It’s not working. Big surprise. I wait a few seconds, then knock again.
Nothing.
I know she’s here. It’s creepy as hell, but I can feel her. Like I know she’s in a classroom even before I walk through the door.
“Remington!” I shout, not giving two shits about the fact that anyone can hear and see me. I’m way past killing my career. At this stage I’m pretty much dancing all over the corpse of it. “Open the door, sweetheart. Come on.”
The worst part is that I can actually hear her sniffling. She is crying. I can peek and look at her through her window, but I’d like to think I have more dignity than that. “Remi,” I say, now more softly.
Nothing.
“I have news on Christian. I know you want to know,” I lie. Jesus Christ. I am a fucking douchebag, but I can’t help it. After a few seconds, I hear her padding barefoot on the floor, and the door opens. She looks like hell. Pretty as spring, because it’s still Remi, but still.
“How is he doing?” She hugs the door to her chest, like it can protect her from me. Like she needs to be protected. I shake my head.
“Sorry, I don’t actually know. I just needed you to come here. I…”
As I start talking, she tries to slam the door in my face. I’m quick to sneak an arm and stop her—fuck, that hurts—and push the door open as I walk in without her permission. Technically, she can call the police. Logically, she should. But I’m taking some risks here in the name of whatever the hell it is that we have.
“You’re a liar, a cheater, and an asshole,” she spits in my face, pushing me away. Her eyes look sunken. Like she’s been crying for hours. “I trusted you, Mr. James! It may not mean a lot to you, but to me? To me it was everything.” She grabs an empty vase on her dining table and throws it across the room, and I feel a stab of pain, because I know that she’s the only one here who would ever think to put flowers on the table. She wants everyone to think she’s hardened and callous, but there’s still a girl in there who, no matter how much life throws at her, still tries to make her dark world just a little bit brighter with some goddamn flowers. The vase misses me by an inch. I take a step toward her. She holds up a finger at me.
“Don’t. You’ve lost your right to come anywhere near me. I will call the police right now if you don’t leave. I don’t even care enough to ask what fucked-up obsession you have with my stepbrother. I just want you out of my life. We have one more semester to tolerate each other. Don’t come near me.”
“You know that’s not possible,” I say coldly, taking another step in her direction, knowing exactly what I’m doing and how dangerous it is, and still taking the risk. “I can’t stay away from you.”
“You can, and you will. From me. From my family. From everything I care about and you want to destroy.”
“Remi, I did this for you.”
“Mr. James,” she enunciates, like we’re not personal anymore. Like we never happened. Like I didn’t study every single curve in her body and saw her bewildered expression as her body let go and combusted with pleasure in my hands. “I hope you don’t believe the bullshit you’re feeding me, because I sure as hell don’t.”
“Ryan is dangerous,” I tell her. She is shaking all over and hugging her midriff. I want to make her pain go away, but I know that I can’t, so I continue. “Ryan is the reason my sister died. She overdosed on the shit your brother gave her. He fucked her and he drugged her and ultimately he killed her.” There is no emotion in my voice.
“Liar!” She lunges in my direction and pushes me away. “You’re lying. Get out!”
“I was afraid he would do it to someone else.” I stay rooted in place, staring at her dead in the eyes. “And then I met you, Remington, and that trickle of fear became paralyzing when I realized his next casualty may well be the woman I’m falling in love with.”
No truer words were spoken, and yet, I don’t find my truth particularly liberating or comfortable. I find it oddly infuriating. Maddening, even. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen, and yet it did, despite my best efforts.
I fell in love with a girl who felt like a woman and made me feel like a man instead of a ghost.
I fell in love, at the beginning with an idea, in the middle with her curves, and in the end, with the whole package.
I fell in love with my student, and now I am standing here, asking her to sin. Asking her to do the thing I would argue against and frown upon. Asking her to love me back.
Remi throws her head back and laughs before shaking it somberly.
“Get out.”