The teacher of nothing, p.17
The Teacher of Nothing, page 17
“Time to eat,” Mom says gently. “Let Momma take care of you.”
As much as I want to scream, “It’s about time!”, I don’t. I sit up, ignore the anger brewing inside me at my mother for years of neglect, and allow her to take care of me.
I may be mad at her and hurt by her actions, but she’ll always be my mother.
And right now, I really, really need my mom.
Callum
What’s the point of a heart anyway?
To pump blood? Big fucking deal. My blood can turn to sludge for all I care as long as I don’t have to feel this soul-deep ache in my chest. It’s never-ending. Completely maddening. All those years of hardening myself against pain like this were a waste. I shattered the protective layer around me and let another wicked girl poison me.
Willa, why?
I want to grab her by her delicate shoulders and shake her until she gives me an explanation that makes sense. I’d thought she was perfect—different—and yet I was so completely wrong.
Alcohol seems like a good way to drown my sorrows, but that would require moving. I haven’t left the sofa all day. I’ve sat in silence, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it is about me that says: I’m a chump, so fuck me over, please.
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
A groan rattles in my chest. Whoever is walking into my house like they fucking own it is not welcome. I’m pissed at half my family right now, so this meeting won’t fare well.
“Callum?” a deep voice calls out. “I’ve been texting you all damn day. What the hell, man?”
Heavy footsteps thud into the living room, revealing Hugo’s tall form. He’s wearing a suit as though he’s been at the office on a Saturday. Sometimes he’s so much like Dad, I can hardly look at him. Right now, though, it’s how much he resembles his son that has my blood boiling.
“Get out,” I snap.
Both of his brows rise in surprise at my sharp tone.
“Hangover?” he asks, ignoring my demand for him to leave. He settles into an armchair and sprawls out. “You usually only act this bitchy when your head is pounding.”
“What do you want?” I scrub my palm over my face, noting the dark hair along my cheeks has grown in rougher from not having shaved today. “I’m not in the mood for chitchat.”
He snorts. “I’m not here to chitchat. I’m here to discuss the bratty twins and my reckless son.” A huff escapes him. “I appreciate you bailing them out last night. Spencer is grounded forever. It’s still a shit storm because of where the party was, but at least we don’t have three more Parks to add to the buzz.”
“There’s buzz?”
“If you’d stop ignoring my texts,” Hugo complains, “you’d know this already.”
Guilt trickles through my veins. I’d wanted to break up their fun, not get Hugo and his campaign involved. “I’m sorry.”
He studies me intently, blue eyes narrowed and piercing. It’s no wonder he’s a good attorney. He doesn’t miss much.
“It’ll pass,” he says after a moment. “My campaign manager has some community speaking engagements this week I’ll attend in an effort to redirect the focus. Annoying that I even have to do this, but necessary. Now, can we talk about why you look like someone stole your puppy?”
His words are a kick to the nuts.
“You won’t go away until I tell you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Might as well spill.”
Sighing, I sit up on the couch and run my fingers through my messy hair. “I broke up with my girl last night.”
His lips curl downward and familiar concern flickers in his eyes. “I knew you were seeing someone who was more than just a fuck buddy because of how you’ve been acting, but I didn’t realize just how much you liked her.”
“I don’t,” I lie, voice like acid. “Not anymore.”
He frowns. “She hurt you.” Not a question. A statement. “Like Jamie.”
For fuck’s sake, am I that obvious?
“It’s over now, so it doesn’t matter.” I shrug and avoid his astute stare. “I’ll be fine.”
“Man, you look like shit. Are you sure you’ll be fine? Do I need to lock away all the sharp objects?”
“I’m more likely to become homicidal than suicidal.”
“Don’t kill Jamie before Sunday dinner. Tomorrow she’s making her homemade tortellini.” He chuckles. “After is fine, though. I’ll even help you bury the body.”
This earns a smirk from me. Hugo is one of the few people who can bring me out of one of my dark moods. If it weren’t for Hugo back then, when Dad and Jamie nearly destroyed me, I would have gone to a low place and never returned. His annoying ass won’t go away until he’s sure you’re not going to off yourself.
“I really am sorry about your campaign.”
“And I’m sorry about your breakup.” He tilts his head up and stares at the ceiling. “Why God likes to punish us Parks is beyond me.”
“I blame Dad. He sold his soul and each of ours upon birth to the devil in order to make more money.”
“Sold his soul to the devil?” Hugo grins. “Nah, I think he just married her.”
This makes me smile in return. I’m thankful as fuck I can always count on Hugo. The rest of my life may be going to shit, but my brother always has my back and knows just what to say.
“Come on,” Hugo barks out, rising to his feet. “Grab a shower and shave your pretty boy face. I’m starving and you need a stiff drink. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can shit talk all your exes.”
Gemma: I’m worried about Willa. Did she say anything to you when you dropped her off?
My mood, improved by Hugo’s company and a steak dinner, sours instantly. He dropped me off not five minutes ago and I’m already back in this deep, dark hole of feeling sorry for myself at just the mention of Willa’s name.
Me: She was fine when I dropped her off.
Gemma: I went by to grab my stuff today and she was in bed. Her mom was taking care of her. Said she had a bug, but I don’t believe it. Her stepbrother is a prick. I just worry.
As much as I don’t want to care, I can’t deny that I do. That asshole’s smug face pops into my mind.
Me: You’re a good friend. If she seems weird in class on Monday, I’ll ask her if she’s okay.
The thought of talking to her has both a ripple of dread and a slight thrill of desire warring for ownership in my body.
Gemma: You’re the best.
She wouldn’t be thinking that way if she knew it was me who called the cops on their little party and interrupted their fun.
I flip over to Willa’s contact and pull up our text conversation. It takes everything in me not to scroll through the entire thing, reminiscing on a time when everything was blissfully perfect. Before I can talk myself out of it, I shoot her a text.
Me: Gemma is worried about you.
I can’t bring myself to tell her I am too.
No response.
I wait for a good five minutes before texting again.
Me: Just let me know you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone.
Still nothing.
An uneasiness settles in my gut. She doesn’t deserve my concern, but it’s there anyway. My mind whirls with reasons as to why she’s not responding, none of them good.
Me: If you don’t answer me back, I will be forced to check for myself.
If she’s fucking my little brother or nephew, then surely she’ll respond to keep me from showing up.
Five more long minutes pass.
Me: Has Levi done something?
Me: For fuck’s sake, Willa. Answer me.
Since she won’t reply to my texts, I call her. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. The unnerving feeling intensifies and worry begins taking over my every thought.
“Fuck this,” I grumble, grabbing my keys from the bar.
I stalk out of my house and climb into my car, thankful I didn’t get shitfaced at dinner like I’d originally intended. Within minutes, I’m out of my driveway and headed her way.
The entire way there, I check my phone. She hasn’t read my messages or attempted to call me back. Dread infects my every cell. I hate that, despite the fact she’s hurt me so fucking much, I’m pining over her.
Again, screw having a heart.
It’s pointless.
When I arrive at her house, I pass by it and park a little ways down the street. I climb out and prowl through the shadows like the creeper I am until I’m standing outside her window. The curtains are drawn and only a sliver of her room is revealed.
A body lies on the bed, barely illuminated by a lamp.
It’s early to be in bed already. Maybe she really does have a bug.
I tap on the window, but she doesn’t move. Anxiety crawls over my skin like a thousand angry ants. If I tap any louder, I chance someone in her house hearing. I’m only able to wait patiently for a whole fifteen seconds before I’m attempting to open the window.
Not locked.
Relief floods through me as I slowly lift the glass. Once I’ve opened it all the way, I push apart the curtains and let myself inside. As quietly as I can, I close the window and then survey the room. It’s slightly messy with discarded clothes and shoes on the floor. On the dresser there’s an untouched bowl of soup, an unopened box of PopTarts, and a couple bottles of water. Her nightstand is pushed against the door, blocking it.
Somehow, deep in my gut, I know.
That motherfucker hurt her.
I can’t explain how I know. I just do. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading Willa. This is completely out of character for her. Something’s wrong.
Against my better judgment, I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed behind her. She stiffens and a whine filled with terror escapes her.
“Shh,” I rumble. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”
Her body relaxes and then she sniffles. All my anger and rage have taken a back seat to the desire to comfort her. I wrap an arm around her body, pulling her to my chest, and greedily bury my nose in her hair.
God, I’ve missed this—missed her.
I shouldn’t feel so relieved to have her in my arms like this after all she’s done, but I can’t help myself. You can’t turn off feelings with a snap of your fingers. She’s not pushing me away and I certainly don’t see Dempsey or Spencer here holding her. We may not be like we were, but she’s still hurting, and I can make her feel safe.
“Want me to kill him?” My words are soft, though the threat in them is heavy and laced with intent. “I’d take pleasure in it.”
She doesn’t reply, and I’d almost take it for rudeness if not for the fact her fingers have found mine, digging into my flesh like she can keep me from ever leaving her again. In this bubble—this frozen moment of time—I can nearly pretend last night didn’t happen between us. That things are still perfect. That she didn’t betray me and ruin a beautiful, blooming love story.
I let my lips find their way to her neck. Gently, I press a kiss to the warm flesh there. She feels so fucking right in my arms. It’s why it’s so gutting what she did to me. That wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to happen.
“When you’re able to, I need to know what he did, sweetheart. I’ll need to know what I’m going to prison for murder for.”
Her fingers relax and she slides them between mine, squeezing. I grip onto her hand like I have the power to drag her back to a few days ago when she was in my bed where she belonged.
Though our mouths don’t speak the words, our hearts do it for us. She’s clearly upset with me, hence the silent treatment, but needs me.
She may have broken my heart with what she’s done to me. However, it doesn’t make my feelings for her disappear instantly. I still care about her and her well-being.
It kills me that she’s lying in bed so…broken.
All I want to do is hold her until she’s whole again.
Willa
Two Weeks Later
I don’t recognize my life anymore.
Everything is a blur. Time passes too quickly and I feel almost groggy when I note just how much time has gone by. All I want to do is sleep.
Sleep and never wake up.
Probably because when I sleep, he’s there with me. Every single night.
My heart clenches painfully in my chest. Though we’re still not on speaking terms, Callum comes into my room each night since Levi’s attack and holds me.
It’s so messed up.
All of it.
Though Levi hurt me, and both Darren and Mom know what happened, he’s still living under the same roof as me. At school, he follows me like a dark shadow. It’s as if he’s claimed me somehow and is making sure the whole school knows it.
In Callum’s class, I keep waiting for him to notice. To swoop in and save me from the monster in my life. He probably would if I actually talked to him. So badly I want to whisper what Levi did to me whenever Callum has me wrapped in his safe arms, but I always find a reason to bite my tongue.
He hurt me.
Callum really hurt me when he blew up, assuming I did the worst with his brother and nephew, and never let me explain.
“Hey, Willa,” Levi says, flashing me a boyish grin as he passes by my desk. “You look pretty today.”
His words—his niceness—make my skin crawl. I don’t want him to look at me or speak to me. It’s bad enough sharing a class and a house with him.
“Take a seat, Mr. Paulson,” Callum calls out as he enters the classroom, voice thunderous and commanding. “This isn’t social hour, though your grade in my class begs to differ.”
The class sniggers. The chill that had settled in my bones is chased away by Callum’s warm voice. He doesn’t know the story, but he’s accurately deduced Levi did something to me. In his subtle way, he’s protecting me.
Tears sting at my eyes. This is all such a mess. If Callum cares enough to protect me from Levi, why didn’t he care enough to protect our relationship from his past trust issues?
Class goes by in a blur. I take half-ass notes but don’t pay attention to much other than Callum’s deep voice as he lectures. It’s nearly as soothing as his strong arms when he holds me at night. When the bell finally rings, I startle at the unexpected shrill tone.
“Miss Reyes,” Callum rumbles. “Can you stay after class?”
I lift my chin, tearing my eyes from my notes to where he sits perched on the edge of his desk. Somewhere during his lecture, he lost his suit jacket. The crisp, white material of his dress shirt stretches to the limits over his broad shoulders and muscular biceps. He’s leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and his plum tie slightly sways in front of him.
I want to wrap my fist in the silky material and pull him to me. To kiss away the frown on his lips and beg him to take us back to where we were two weeks ago. Before all this…drama.
Instead, I gather up my belongings once the last person has left the room, shoulder my bag, and walk toward the front of the room.
“Set your bag down,” Callum instructs when I’m up front.
He slides off the desk and strides over to the classroom door. My eyes follow his ass, barely contained in his charcoal slacks. It’s hard not to drool over this man. His body is perfection, his voice is heaven, and his mouth is an addiction I’m desperate for another hit of.
The door clicks shut, effectively silencing the noise in the hallway. Now, all that can be heard, is the dull roar of blood rushing through my ears.
“Come here.”
His command is deep and authoritative. It leaves no room for argument. Despite my lingering anger and hurt, I find myself obeying him. Needing to be told what to do.
I slowly walk toward him, my knees slightly wobbly, until I’m two feet away from him. He closes the gap, stepping until we’re so close I have to crane my neck to look up at his handsome face.
“Sweetheart, you’re breaking my heart.”
I swallow at his pained words. Concern etches into his face at the tiny crow’s feet near the corners of his eyes and a few lines between his brows. Fierce blue eyes dart over my face, inspecting every detail, every expression.
“Why?” I croak out, swallowing hard.
He lifts a hand, cupping my cheek. My eyes flutter closed and I lean into his touch. “You’re so fucking sad. I can’t stand seeing you this way.”
Tears fill my lids, but I don’t let them spill over, instead blinking several times to chase them away. I attempt to look away—anywhere else—but his thumb presses into my cheek and he clutches my face so I can’t. A whimper crawls out of me as his thumb caresses my skin.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” His words are filled with the same pain that claws away at my insides. “I need you to talk to me.”
The desperation in his voice has me lifting my hands and skating them over the front of his chest. I want to comfort him somehow. Make the sadness go far, far away from him. He shudders at my touch and a sound I’ve never heard him make echoes in the classroom.
Need.
Anguish.
Misery.
I understand his feelings wholeheartedly and want to erase them. It was easier to be angry at him when it felt like he was being a dick, but this is different. He’s in pain. Pain I’ve somehow caused, even by accident.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You had it all wrong and I was mad at you for assuming the worst.”
His gaze darkens as he swipes away a tear that’s escaped down my cheek. “Assuming the worst?”
God, he’s such an idiot, but clearly Jamie screwed with his mind. Instead of getting upset, I should have been patient with him. I should have let him cool off and then explain that I’d never betray him like she did.
“It was just a party with my new friends. Nothing more. I thought about you the whole time. Wished I were with you instead. Everything transpired so quickly with them showing up at my house, so I didn’t have an opportunity to let you know what was happening. But I assure you, it was all in fun, and nothing whatsoever romantic. I didn’t deceive you intentionally.” I bite down on my lip when it wobbles. “I hate that you didn’t trust me. You never let me explain, Callum.”
