Lol. You're totally right about it being anti-climactic. You'll find out why it was so anti-climactic in a few chapters… In about three. There's a pretty good reason why it's so anti-climactic. I guess it's because the breaking-up of Vince and Gretchen, while being the original issue is no longer the main issue. That's just kind of how it started… Matter of fact, I'm not really sure this story's got a climax… But it'll all come together in the end. And believe me… I don't know how many times I rewrote the ending. So, at eighty-five pages, the story's all complete. I'm just withholding the chapters… smirks
Anyways, so yeah…
It's Mr. Fitzgerald. I nearly drop my cigarette. He takes it out of my fingers.
"Didn't know you smoked, Spinelli. It's a dangerous habit to have," He replies seriously, tossing it on the ground and grinding it under his heel.
I shrug, looking away from him. I pull another cigarette out of my dress, looking up, lighter in hand. I put the cigarette in my mouth.
"So what? Maybe I don't care that it's dangerous!" I hiss venomously, lighting the cigarette.
I blow smoke in his face, furious.
"You do know that smoking makes your teeth yellow and gives you wrinkles, right? Aside from the higher risks of pulmonary, esophageal, and oral cancers, it's still terribly unhealthy. It contains cyanide, nicotine, tar, tobacco, and ammonia, to name a few dangerous components. In case you didn't know, cyanide's in rat poison, ammonia's in bleach, and, why, tar's used on our roads. I believe it's made from oil, right?" He criticizes nonchalantly.
I scowl at him, blowing more smoke in his face.
"I'm self-destructive, okay? By the way, second-hand smoke kills!" I snap, cigarette in hand, then I blow more smoke on him.
He merely shrugs, smirking at me.
"Ah, see, now you've learned something," He mutters sarcastically.
I'm working myself into an intense rage over here, steaming more than my cigarette.
"We ought to talk."
I whirl around, shooting him a glare that would've killed just about anyone else.
"Don't worry, Mr. F., I won't tell your boss that you kissed me. I won't get you fired," I growl, pissed off.
He shrugs, looking down nervously.
"Actually, that's not what I was worried about, Spinelli. I just wanted to apologize," Mr. Fitzgerald says, sounding serious.
I roll my eyes, putting my fingers in a v-shape around the cigarette and then blowing out.
"More like you just wanted to jump my bones!" I mutter violently, glaring at him.
He shakes his head, leaning against the porch rail.
"No, Spinelli, I don't," Fitzy tries to reassure.
Of course, there's no way I'm buying that crap. I throw my cigarette at him, which he deftly catches.
"You're a sex-starved teacher, you're so horny you could jump anything!" I bark, annoyed.
He rolls his eyes.
"Spinelli, while that might be true, I don't sleep with my students… No matter how…" He trails off, looking me over.
Oh brother. I think I might be sick. He sighs.
"Look, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for what I did. Do you think you could forget about it?" He pleads.
How can I forget something I'm so ashamed of? How can he even ask me to do that? I want to forget. I want to forget so bad it hurts. But I can't. I can never forget anything.
It's my curse. No matter how much I hate my memories, I'm stuck with them. And smoking, getting drunk, or sleeping with every single person in the world won't change it. But it does make it easier to deal with sometimes.
And so I turn away from him. This lesson is one I learned the hard way. It's a lesson I thought I already knew. Oh well. I try and leave, but he grabs my arm, looking me straight in the eyes.
"No, okay, I can't forget. You can't just forget your worst memories, the miserable times in your life, okay? I could pretend, but what would the point be?" I condemned.
He looks hurt. But right now, I don't care. I try and leave, but something's changed in him. I don't know what it is, but he pulls me back. And somehow, that's not what freaks me out the most. It's the way he looks at me.
I can't say I've never seen this look before because I have. I've seen it before on every guy who's ever looked at me with desire in his eyes. I've seen it before on every guy who's ever been interested in me. I've seen it on every boyfriend I've ever had.
"Spinelli, please forgive me for doing this, but I just can't do this anymore. I promise that if you feel uncomfortable around me for the rest of the year, I'll get sick or move or something, okay? But I've just got to say this…" He starts.
I know what words are going to follow that. I know what they are, what they will be, and I dread them. These words are the words I have tried to run from my entire life. Words I can hardly say aloud, or hardly ever mean if I do. I can't remember someone who's ever really sincerely said those words to me. And that's why I've run from them. I can't react to them. I don't even know how.
He kisses me then, grabbing my face, in almost groping motions. I can't react. But I am, I'm responding and I don't know why or how. He breaks the kiss, looking sad and serious. I can merely gape calmly, trying once more to hold myself together.
"I know that that was another terrible moment in your life. I get that. But, Spinelli, I love you; even though there's no way that you could love me. And that's okay, because my feelings are wrong, and I understand that," He expands nervously.
I can hear the hurt in his voice, even though I've said nothing to him. Sometimes silence can hurt more than words. Trust me, I know.
I place a hand on his shoulder, as he turns away.
"You always manage to make me feel bad for you when I'm the one being wronged. I hate that. And you're right, there isn't a way I could love you. If things were different, it could've been you, even," I apologize, or, at least try to.
He nods gruffly, eyes misty.
"Yeah, I know. You've got T.J." He replies, sounding depressed and somewhat jealous.
I'm flattered in some ways by his affection… But what did he just say about T.J. and me?
"No, there's no one else. I'm not in love with T.J. I just can't love you because I don't know how to love anyone. And besides, you're my teacher. You're older than me. Way older," I declare, though I don't understand why these words are spewing from my mouth.
He laughs a little. I've never understood why he laughs when he does.
"I'm twenty-two, Spinelli," He mutters, laughing bitterly.
I scowl at him a little.
"Well, that's six years! That's pretty sad. I've got brothers older than you. And you're still my teacher!" I hiss, annoyed.
He sighs.
"Can I ask for just one favor?" He begs.
He looks so sad, and it hurts me to know that I did that to him. So I give in, nodding.
"Sure."
He looks down, licking his lips.
"Will you kiss me one last time?" He questions nervously.
I nod, moving in to kiss him. I kiss him one last time, softly. It's strange to do this, but, hey, I've done stranger things. When I break the kiss, I look at him, holding his face.
"I'm sorry, Jack," I whisper, looking over his shoulder and seeing T.J., whose face contains an expression I can't recognize.
I smile at Jack weakly, walking past him, looking for T.J.
Loren ;
I would like some pretty, pretty, pretty reviews, please? (HINT, HINT) I collect them, you see, and I'm hoping for a few more. Y'know, just to keep me warm at night…
Okay, so T.J. saw that… What's he gonna do about it? Hmm…