Hey all, sorry for the wait, finals and such, you know. Anyway, here's the chapter, and it's a little longer this time, yay! Huge thanks to Foy and endiahna for reviewing. Enjoy and don't forget to review!


The rest of the day passed in a haze for Warren. For the next eighteen weeks, he would get to spend a whole hour with Mr. Logan five days a week. He was in heaven, or at least for that hour every morning he was.

But he was brought sharply back down to earth, when he was too slow to pack up his bag after the last bell and Professor Scott cornered him alone in the classroom.

"Its so nice having you back," Scott purred. The constant reek of alcohol on his breath had become stronger since before break, Warren noticed. "I missed you so much. Why don't we have a special dinner tonight, just the two of us? It'll be fun." Warren seriously doubted that, at least on his end.

"W-Well," he stammered, "I-I do have homewo-" He was cut off by Scott's lips roughly capturing his.

"I insist, seven o'clock, I'll be waiting," and with that he strolled out, humming softly to himself.

Warren sighed, and headed down to the Dinning Hall anyway, as he seriously doubted he would have much of an appetite later, assuming of course that Professor Scott actually intended to have dinner.

xXxXx

Warren's instincts proved right as he entered Scott's rooms at seven o'clock that evening and found only a half empty bottle of scotch sitting on his bedside table.

Warren sat uncomfortably on the bed, seeing no sign of Scott in the bedroom. He glanced idly around the room while he waited. It looked much the same as before Christmas Break, with clothes strewn across the floor and papers thrown haphazardly on the desk, the waste paper basket over flowing and a neatly made bed. The only things that were new were the many empty bottles of scotch and vodka mixed in with the papers and clothes, and the heavy stench of alcohol. It was so heavy, in fact, that Warren was surprised nobody could smell it from outside of the room.

"You're late," Scott growled. Warren jumped, not having noticed the older mutant come out of the bathroom. He held yet another bottle of vodka in his hand, this one with barely a mouthful left in the bottom, and he was leaning heavily on the doorframe, his speech heavily slurred.

"Sorry," Warren murmured, wisely choosing not to correct the older mutant. He had actually been right on time.

"Don't be smart with me!" Scott roared, stumbling across the room far fast than Warren thought he should be able to, and punching the younger mutant so hard that he flew back and fell of off the opposite side of the bed.

"First," Scott ranted, baring down on Warren, how cowered on the floor, "You disappear for three weeks without so much of a word goodbye, then you take his class!"

After a brief moment it registered to Warren exactly whose class Scott was talking about. "I didn't sign up for it," Warren tried desperately to explain, even though he knew Scott was too drunk to listen, "It's a required course, Head Mistress Stor-"

"Shut up!" Scott hissed, hitting him again, "You. Stupid. Worthless. Brat." He accentuated every word by punching Warren squarely in the chest. Scott kept talking, but the rest of his words were lost on Warren as he found it increasingly difficult to breath through the constant waves of pain rushing through him.

His head was spinning, his lungs ached for oxygen, he felt certain that any second his ribs would snap into pieces. He was crying, he dimly realized as the salty tears flooded into his mouth. Distantly he heard a pleading voice begging for Professor Scott to stop, and realized it was his own. But the beating only continued, the blows raining down harder and harder until all Warren could see was black and he knew he was about to lose consciousness.

Then, at last, at long last, it did stop. But Warren didn't open his eyes, he was afraid to. He heard labored breathing, whether his own or Professor Scott's, he couldn't tell. He panted, taking the brief reprieve. Then he felt rough, shaking hands beginning to undo his belt. A tiny whimper escaped his throat, but he had no strength to resist.

"Please," he begged breathlessly, "Please no, not tonig-" but his pleading was cut off as a muffled scream tore through his lips as Scott thrust into him.

Tears continued to flow, choking him. His chest ached, he hurt, he couldn't breath, the darkness was growing heavier and heavier even as the pain in his body began to feel detached. Until at last, at long blessed last, with a soundless whimper, his head fell limply to the side. Scott didn't even notice.