Page 51 of Bad Kind of Love

Hearing Wes’s voice was like dumping a bucket of ice over my body. My heart dropped because I knew there was no turning back on what he just saw.

Mr. Fitz, my teacher, his father, was ready and willing to kiss me...or worse.

“Wes.” I cry out, but no one is there. Mr. Fitz is gone and I’m alone in an empty room. “Wes!” I scream with tears rushing down my face, but no one seems to hear me.

******

I woke up from the dream sweating, my shirt was soaked and my heart was racing like a stallion. Reaching for my neck, I swear I could still feel Mr. Fitz’s hold. But it was just a dream… or in this case, a nightmare.

After getting ready this morning, I received about a hundred missed texts from Wes apologizing and asking if I was okay. I drove straight home last night, shut off my phone and swore that whatever was going on with Mr. Fitz and I was ending now. This strange obsession of mine with him was messing with my head, and after his painful words, I knew all he’d ever be was my asshole teacher.

Rushing down the stairs and into the kitchen, I quickly grab a water from the fridge and turn to find Aunt Claire sitting at the kitchen table. “Going to visit your dad?” She peers up from her coffee mug.

“Yah, I was planning on it before work.” I twist the cap off the water and take a drink.

She nods her head. “So, how was your night with Wes?” She changes the subject and by her curious smile, I can tell she’s hopeful that it went well.

“It was good.” I lie, as the events from last night replay in my head like a broken record.

“Just good?” She raises a brow.

“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Nothing exciting.”

Her mouth drops into a modest frown, but quickly lifts her lips. “Well, hopefully one day you two will realize you’re perfect for one another.”

Were we perfect for each other though?

I wanted to believe it, but there were too many uncertainties that I couldn’t deny.

“Maybe.” I answer simply, not agreeing with or denying her statement.

******

Maybe it was me, but the stench seemed to be getting worse and worse the more I came to visit my dad. The putrid smell made my stomach churn and the only thing to block the smell was to plug my nose. With one hand resting in my lap and the other holding my nostrils, I peered through the glass at my father.

“Come on Becs, it doesn’t smell that bad in here.” He jokes, clearly finding amusement in my distress.

“Yah, maybe for you since you smell it every day.” My voice squeaks through the phone. “It smells like death in here.”

His bald head drops in laughter. “This is prison sweetheart, death is everywhere.” He admits as his words send a shiver down my spine. “We ain't got no candles, flowers or that smell good shit you spray from a can….Prison ain’t supposed to smell like bath and body works.”

It was kind of sad hearing that, because for almost eleven years, he’s been living, breathing and smelling that horrendous scent.

“Don’t feel bad for me.” His tone turns serious. “No tears, only smiles.” He grins.

“Never tears.” I smile back, noticing the new tattoo that's wrapped around his finger. A roaring lion, that still looks fresh on his skin.

“Atta girl.” He winks but then suddenly his face drops like he remembered something. “So, what's this I hear about you and a boy?”

My eyes widened, shocked, almost disoriented by his question.

Who told him about Wes? Was it Aunt Claire?

“Is he your boyfriend?” He arched a curious brow.

“No.” I shake my head a little too quickly. “We’re just friends.” I tell him the truth, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“Is he good to you?” He eyes me hard, making me uneasy. The subject of boys has never been brought up between the both of us. It felt taboo, and the embarrassment I felt crept up into my cheeks and caused my eyes to avert from his.

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