Punishment

No one should be twice punished for one crime - Legal Maxim

"Greg, darling. A word if you please?" I grimace inwardly, as Laverne Morris, our Vice Principal bears down on me. She's English, as eccentric as they come, and sees fit to flirt with me, which is always awkward since she's perilously close to sixty and really ought to know better. I'm tempted to walk on but I'm hoping to be made Head of Faculty any day now and she's on the selection panel so I think better of it.

"What can I do for you Laverne?"

She chuckles salaciously and I get the urge to vomit, in part because of what the chuckle implies but in part because she clearly bathed in scent that morning, and then she finally gets to the point. "I need someone to take Senior Staff detention tonight. I've got an appointment with my foot doctor."

I'm meant to be playing badminton after school, but I sense my hands are tied on this one, given my Head of Department aspirations. I nod, "Sure. No problem. What do you have for me?"

She smiles genially and pushes a sheet of paper into my hands, "Oh nothing much. Just the one inmate, I'm sure it'll be an absolute doddle for a man of your talents."

I glance down the paperwork she's given me, and instantly feel my heart sink.

Whatever a 'doddle' is, I suspect this isn't going to be one, not by a long shot.

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

Detention. This has to be someone's idea of a joke. I get punished every day for being who I am, for having the audacity to live and yet 'they' think this is going to get to me? A nice quiet room to do my homework in? A reason not to have to go home? Sounds good to me.

I sit slumped at my desk, working on my math. Old Lady Morris is late, but there's nothing new there. She's never on time for anything. Doesn't bother me. I've got plenty to be getting on with. Mr Stevens has set me some neat quadratic equations to get my head round. I love quadratic equations nearly as much as I love Mr Stevens himself.

I'm deep in thought when I hear it. The sound of him clearing his throat from the door. I look up, surprised, yet delighted, to see him there.

"Hey…" I smile at him, forgetting for a moment where I am, and therefore I'm taken aback when I see the stern look on his face. Still that stern look quickly puts me in my place. I look away, embarrassed that he's found me here.

I hear him cross the class room to my desk then he stops, then he speaks.

"Student refused to remove make up. Twice. In spite of being asked by the Principal. Student subsequently swore at both the Principal and her Secretary."

I cringe inwardly as he reads out my detention slip. I wouldn't care if it was anyone else. I don't care what they think. But I care about him. I keep my gaze firmly on the list of quadratic equations on my desk. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask the same of you." he retorts as he drags a chair up beside mine and sits down next to me, "But I already know. You were belligerent and rude and disrespectful."

I open my mouth to point out that he hasn't answered my question, and that I'm still none the wiser as to why he's supervising a Senior Staff detention, but he speaks first and silences me.

"And you know what Liv, that doesn't sound like you. So," the quadratic equations in front of me are replaced with a bottle of make up remover and pile of cotton wool, "take that muck off your face and talk to me."

I sigh, and although it's the last thing I want to do, I look up at him, stubbornly and angrily, giving him attitude I reserve for teachers who aren't him. "No. Forget it." He looks disappointed, and I hate the fact that I've made him feel that way, but it's a self preservation thing. There's nothing else I can do right now. No other way I can behave.

He picks up the bottle, unscrews the cap and squeezes its contents on to a wad of the cotton wool. For one horrible minute I think he's going to try and take the make up off himself but instead he just pushes the cotton wool into my hand, "Take it off, and I'll let you go home."

I snap then, pissed at him for being just like the rest of them. For not getting it.

"I don't want to go home you prick." Yeah, I know, it was harsh. But he ought to know better. Should know better. We've talked about it enough, he knows how much I hate going home, so why would he think getting to go there would be some big rewa-

Ah. I get it. Silly me. I was missing the point. "You know I don't want to go home." I say softly, looking up and seeing the concern in his eyes. "You're trying to provoke me into talking."

He nods slowly, "I want to know what's going on Liv. And more to the point, what can I do to help?"

I want to tell him. I want to tell him so badly because I know then he'll understand completely and stop being disappointed in me. But how can I? There are some things that are meant to stay a secret. So I don't break down, I toughen it out, rack up my attitude a few more notches.

"You can stop fricking telling me to take my make up off. You never normally care."

He reaches out and slips his hand under my chin, using it to tilt my face upwards towards the light. I'm at school with girls who would cry rape for less, but this is Mr Stevens, who I know cares about me so I just let him, although offering silent words of prayer to a God that I don't believe in that he won't notice what I'm trying so hard to hide.

He lets my chin go and just stares at me for a long time and then, "I let you get away with wearing make up because you do such a good job of it. Its always delicate, subtle… mature. You look very pretty." I feel myself blush at his words, at the very obvious compliment. I'm so touched, that my defences start to fall, start to fall that is, until he speaks again. "But Liv, today, you look so many other girls… you just look trashy."

Trashy is bad. Being 'just like the other girls' is bad. But nothing is as terrible as what comes next, as he gently reaches out to touch my cheek, as he finally comes to the truth,

"Liv sweetheart, what are you hiding under there?"

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

She starts to cry then, burying her head in her hands, and I feel like an utter shit for pushing her so hard. But then, as she lifts her head again and wipes the tears from her face I realise I was right to.

Because as she wipes away the tears, the make up comes too and suddenly I'm confronted by what she was trying to hide all along…

A large, purple bruise on her cheek.

And then it all comes tumbling out.

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

It happened two nights earlier. Or Day 5. Day 5 of my mom attempting, not for the first time in my sad miserable life, to be sober. I'd known all along it wouldn't work, it never does, but I supported her anyway, because she was so full of hope and so full of resolve and it would have been rude not to.

I'd got in from school to find a message saying that she had a dinner at the university. That was a bad sign to begin with. My mom is the worlds most appalling 'social drinker' because she never knows when to stop, but I knew if she was looking for an excuse to start drinking, a dinner, a 'social drink' would be where she'd start.

All the same, what could I do? I didn't even know where she was eating, so instead I settled down at the kitchen table to get on with my homework, then ate leftovers for dinner then headed into the living room to watch some TV.

I must have fallen asleep, cos next thing I knew it was nearly midnight and my mom was banging on the front door of the apartment because she couldn't find her key. I got up, let her in and that was when the fun started.

She was drunk, and I suppose I should have been disappointed but, what would have been the point. She'd gone, she'd done it, she was off the wagon. It wasn't like it was a new experience for me. I helped her out of her coat, thinking that I could help her into bed and then turn in myself but before I could she was pulling a bottle of scotch out of her briefcase.

And that did for me. It was more than I could take. Because, like her, I'd almost convinced myself that a 'social drink' was ok; was acceptable. Never mind if she couldn't walk in a straight line or find her door key (it was in her coat pocket) as long as it was from social drinking.

A bottle of scotch though, that didn't signify social drinking. Especially not since I knew where she was intending to go and drink it. In her study. Alone. And that was when I snapped.

"Mom?" That got her attention, then all that was left for me to do was take the bottle away. Which actually, was easier than I thought it would be. I guess the alcohol slowed her reactions.

But once the bottle was in my arms, that's when the night goes into slow mo. She turned on me furiously, demanded to know what the hell I thought I was playing at. I'd never seen her so angry. I mean, she shouts at me a lot, but I'm used to that. This was just… she was out of control. Like an animal. And yet, I wanted to say my piece. I was scared, but I wanted to have my say. I wanted to tell her that it was ok she'd drunk socially, but that she shouldn't cross the line. She should go to bed, and get up the next day and be sober all over again. But whatever she did, she really shouldn't drink the Scotch.

I'd barely got out the first 3 words when her fist made contact with the side of my face; her knuckles meeting my cheek bone with a sickening crack.

I stumbled backwards, fell into the grandfather clock. She saw her chance and took the bottle from her arms.

But she didn't mean to do it. It wasn't her fault. I mean, I took her drink away when she really needed it. So it was my fault. Not hers.

I was the one who needed to be punished.

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

Not for the first time, I break all the rules and move to hold her. She leans into my arms, shaking violently as sobs wrack her body. I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her, and pray like hell that no one's about to walk in the room.

Eventually her tears slow and she looks up at me, through red and blotchy eyes, "You can't tell anyone."

"I have to." I reply. I'd covered for her mother in the past, kept secrets that I ought to have divulged to the powers that be, but there was no sitting on this, on physical abuse. I know she won't like it, but I have a responsibility as her teacher to protect her.

She pulls away from me then, an angry look on her face, "Well thanks a lot. I thought we were friends."

God she makes it sound so simple, but I suppose I only have myself to blame for affording her so much confidentiality in the past. That said, she isn't finished with me.

"If you go to Children's Services, nothing will happen. She's got money, the accusations will go away. But she'll use it as an excuse to drink more, and my relationship with her will be even more lousy than it is now. So please… don't do this to me, because it won't make things better, it'll make them worse. And anyway, she won't hit me again…"

Her loyalty to her mother, not mention her childlike insistence that it wouldn't happen again nearly breaks my heart. "How do you know she won't?" I ask, hesitantly, not sure I'll like the answer.

Olivia reaches for the detention slip I read to her earlier and hands it to me, "You know why I had a run in with the Principal yesterday?"

A trick question? "Erm, you had too much make up on?"

She nods, "Yeah. I had too much make up on. But the Principal wouldn't have seen me, except for the fact I was late for school and needed to sign in and she was in reception."

I'm lost, but suspect she has a point that either I'm missing or else she's just not yet got to, "Why were you late?"

"My mom stopped me leaving the house. She thought my make up was trashy too."

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

I watch and wait as the pieces fall into place for him. Luckily he's a smart cookie and gets to the point quickly enough.

"She made you wash it off? Saw the bruise underneath?"

I nod, "Yup. She forgot she did it. So that was humiliating for her." I laugh a little at that point, not because its particularly funny but out of awkwardness at the memory. There she was, going completely postal on me because of my slutty make up and all the time it was only on like that because of her.

"What did she say?" Mr Stevens asks gently, being just so perfectly adorable that I'd melt back into his arms again if I don't think he might get fired as a result.

I bite my bottom lip and swallow a huge lump that's suddenly in my throat. For some reason I'm finding this a whole lot harder than I thought I would.

"She cried, Mr Stevens. She cried. And she said she was sorry. Then she helped me put my make up back on again."

He reaches out and cuddles me again, but he's got a serious look on his face, "Liv, I have to report this. it's the rules."

I look down at his arm around me, his hand gently caressing my shoulder and then look back up at him pointedly, "But Sir, aren't some rules just made to be broken?"

*** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU *** L&OSVU ***

From any other kid, it might have been a threat. But not from Liv, I know she doesn't mean it that way. All she's saying, all she's implying, is that she's not like the other kids. She means more to me, and I will go the extra mile for her, even if that means bending the rules.

And so, I promise her I'll drop it. I promise her there will be no repercussions.

But then, because I care for her, and - more importantly - because I have a professional responsibility for her, I dismiss her, I get in my car and I drive to the university.

I find her in her office, at her desk, and as I enter the room she looks up, startled. After our earlier meetings I expect my arrival to be met with some hostility, but in actual fact, she shows me none. Instead, she just looks at me with fear in her eyes,

"She told you."

I nod, "Yes."

Her eyes fill with tears then, and I can't help noticing that when she's crying she bears a resemblance to her daughter that I'd not noticed in the past. "You're going to report me?"

I take a deep breath, still unsure that I'm doing the right thing, but then I picture Liv, picture her desperation to make things right. And then I know.

"No." I move closer to the desk, registering her surprise, and then finally I unleash what I really came to say, "But Ms Benson, if you hurt her again. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I'll not only report you, but I'll guarantee you NEVER see her again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course." She answers so promptly, so passionately, that it surprises me. She's not just agreeing to save her own bacon, as I predicted. She's agreeing because she loves her daughter.

Crazy as that sounds considering everything she's done.

Its only as I reach the door that she speaks again, "Thank you Mr Stevens."

I shrug, "Don't thank me. Thank Olivia."