Unconventional
[Warnings- Drinking, Drug Use, Self harm, suicide, depression, anxiety, swearing.]
[Genre- Teen, Angst, Humour.]
Chapter One
I pushed the door open, causing it to swing violently on its hinges. His head snapped up from his computer, clearly shocked by the abrupt interruption to his late afternoon and I tossed my bag onto the floor as the door slammed itself shut. He raised his eyebrows at me, indicating I should explain myself, but I simply jumped onto the table closest to his desk and sat there, the unlabeled bottle hanging limply from my hand.
"I'm a mess." I whispered, my head dropping to stare at my feet.
"You're not a mess." He replied, and I laughed in his face. "What's in the bottle?" He asked me, and I rolled my eyes.
"Apple juice."
"Yeah, and I'm doing work" he laughed, causing me to roll my eyes again, but this time it was a more light hearted action and less drunk bitterness. "Seriously, what's in the bottle?"
"I didn't completely lie. It's Apple product." I joked, a frown appearing on his face for a split second as he figured it out.
"Ah."
"This has to stay between us." I demanded, and he shot me a disinterested look.
"Have you been drinking that slowly all day, or just drank it all in one go after school?"
"The latter." I replied and he gave me a sympathetic look, but I avoided his gaze. I didn't need his pity. I didn't need his sympathy, although judging by the minimal amount he's told me about himself it's more likely empathy. "This is gonna kill in the morning." I laughed, though genuine emotions hid behind the humour.
"Yes. And I'm about to make it a hell of a lot worse." He replied cryptically, and a stab of fear hit my stomach. "Tomorrow morning. Here. 7:30."
"Cock off!" I yelled, in disbelief, at his expectations of me. "I'd be lucky to get out of bed for 8.". He laughed, probably knowing I wasn't even kidding.
"Here. I'll be expecting you for half 7, give or take a few minutes obviously. No one is exactly accurate and punctual."
"Does that mean I have to leave now?" I asked, my gaze on my feet again.
"No. I want you to stay a little longer. We have things to discuss."
"Oh joy." I muttered and he laughed, his computer adopting his attention again. He seemed to be scrolling through something, his emails maybe? Knowing him probably Twitter, or some other social media platform. He's definitely not a conventional teacher.
A few minutes of comfortable silence later, he ran his hands through his hair, probably in stress, with one hand and worked the mouse with the other. Frowning and muttering to himself at something or other every once in a while, he appeared to be thinking something over.
"How are you feeling now?" He asked, keeping his gaze on the screen.
"Shocking. Awful. Depressed." I listed, lifting the bottle to my lips again, earning me a stare from him. I took a swig and offered him the aluminium container. He shook his head and rolled his eyes light heartedly at me.
"You can't drink in my classroom."
"I clearly can." I retorted, and he sighed.
"Fine, you're not allowed to drink in my classroom."
"There's probably a lot of things I'm not allowed to do in here. Doesn't necessarily mean I haven't"
"Fair point. Gimme." He said, reaching out his hand as if he wanted a drink. I handed it him easily, and he rose from his seat and slowly ambled towards the shelves nailed to his classroom wall. Placing it down on the top most shelf with a metallic clang way out of my reach. I give him my best death stare and he just smiles sarcastically. "You can have that back tomorrow morning. I'll empty it and wash it out and, if you're lucky, I'll make you a coffee before you arrive."
"Oh you're too kind." I snap back sarcastically, giving him my fakest smile, one which he effortlessly reciprocates.
"No more drinking." He commanded and I smirked. "What?"
"Guess I'll just have to get stoned instead." I murmured and his eyes shot to mine, an alarmed look apparent in his eyes. "Relax, I'm kidding." I explained in monotone and he let out a breath I didn't even know he was holding. "I'm not a drug addict."
"I'm glad. Where are you going after this?"
"Home, obviously." I replied and he smiled a genuine smile. "I'm walking though."
"No you're fucking not." He told me, and I frowned.
"Well, I am. No one's picking me up and I have no money for a bus or taxi or any other means of transport." I explain and he seemed to mull things over in his brain before he grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair, slipped out of his white lab coat and pulled on the jacket. Gesturing for me to follow, he made for the door, hanging up the white coat as he stepped out into the hall. Once I followed, he locked the door behind me and bee-lined for the office. I heard him tell whoever was occupying the room that he was 'stepping out' for a bit and that he has his phone if he's needed for anything. Walking quickly, we headed for the double doors and up the stairs, emerging in the English corridor and strolling slowly side by side down the hallway.
"Why today?" He asked me out of nowhere, causing me to jump slightly
"Why not?"
"But you've been through so much shit in your life, what made today so much worse to the point where you had to do this?" He asked, appearing to be genuinely interested and curious.
"Thursday has been a tough day for me since... You know?" I asked and he nodded.
"Ah. A special day for you both I assume."
"Used to be. Now it's just depressed misery." I sighed, with a laugh to ease the seriousness but he just shoots me a sympathetic glance.
We walked out of the doors, and were hit with the icy bitterness of an English summertime, the wind tousling my hair. I stopped, realising I didn't know where he was parked and he stopped centre metres after me, looking back
"What's wrong?" He asked, concern glinting through his eyes. I simply shook my head and carried on walking, hoping he'd let it go. He did. But only temporarily. We approached his car, and I walked around to the passenger side, and simply stared at the door handle not making any move to open it.
"I'm sorry." I whispered to the ground as my head dropped. I heard him address me by my second name light heartedly, the way he does sometimes, but I refused to meet his eyes. "I can't." I concluded before turning on my heel and making for the pavement. He yelled my name and I stopped in my tracks. I realised he never actually calls me by my name.
"I can't force you to let me drive you home, but I'd be a pretty awful person if I didn't try to keep you safe, and I wouldn't be doing my job right if I let you go knowing you'd be a risk to yourself or others. But it's completely your choice." He said, looking me in the eyes, and giving me a small smile.
"Fine." I agreed, understanding his motives and knowing it wasn't just a scheme to get me to open up to him. We entered the car, and he apologised jokingly for his music taste, and tuned in the radio to 'save me from the torture'. I laughed at his joke and watched buildings and shops fly past my eyes out of the window.