Chapter 22

**TW: SA, DA, **

**Mr Peters**

She practically ran out of the classroom once I said yes to her going to the toilet. I should have never kissed her back or pushed her away. She is my student, after all, and I'm her teacher. It was completely inappropriate of me.

I look at my watch to see she has been gone for about ten minutes. I sigh and start to tap my pen on the table. I'm so frustrated. I have thought about her and those kisses and how her body felt in my hands all weekend. It is all I can think about. I may have started this lesson in a bad mood, but once I saw her, I couldn't stay in my bad mood.

She has on a mini skirt today, which I'm surprised to see her wearing. All I have seen her wear is sweat bottoms and baggy jeans. I figured she was one of those girls who didn't own a skirt; if she did, she wore it once a year. She seemed upset when she left the classroom; have I upset her? I nearly kissed her when I dropped her off at Melanie's.

Is that why she is upset? The look on her face when I did that is still fresh in my mind. She looked like she wanted me to kiss her, but she also looked like she was about to break down and cry.

I sigh again and stand up. I need air, so I turn to the class. They seem ok and relaxed. "I'm off to go get something from my classroom, so I'll be back in about five minutes, ok," I state to the class. They nod and go back to work.

I open the door to the classroom and walk out. I nearly walk into Megan. She gives me a small smile and quickly focuses on her boots. She steps back quite a distance away from me. "I err...I'm on my way back," she states. I close the door and look around the corridor to see it’s empty and that every door is shut.

"What were you doing?" I ask.

"I went to the toilet," she says, looking down at the floor.

"And it takes you fifteen minutes?" I ask, folding my arms.

"No...I just didn't feel too good," she says, "I thought I was going to be sick," she explains and looks at me directly. Those emerald green eyes of hers stare back at me. God, they are beautiful.

"And were you sick?" I ask. She shakes her head quickly. "Good," I say and move closer a little. She doesn't move back, which is a relief.

"Look," she says, looking at me again. "I err," she cuts off when I interrupt her.

"Come with me," I say, and I march down the corridor to the other corridors and then up the stairs and down another corridor to my room.

Once there, we stand silent for a few seconds. She walks over to a desk and sits on it, crossing one leg over the other. The skirt does show a good bit of thigh when she sits like that. I clear my throat and turn my gaze to her face.

"I'm sorry about Saturday," I say. "I don't know what came over me," I add, looking away from her.

"It's ok," she says, and I hear her boots hit the floor. I look to see her walking towards me. "I'm the one that kissed you, and I shouldn't have - she stands in front of me - I won't be telling anyone about the kiss we shared," she runs a hand through her hair, "because that is what you are worried about isn't it?" she asks. I feel my head shake at its own will. I'm worried about that, but not as worried as I should be.

"I'm worried about you," I mutter.

"Why?" she asks, stepping closer to me. I lean more against my desk and cross my arms. "I just have a feeling that I should be," I pause, "and that I should help you,"

"You shouldn't..." she says quietly. "Not now anyway," she adds.

I look at her and move some hair out of her eyes. "What do you mean not now?" I ask. All I need is for her to tell me her dad is abusing her while she is sober so I can do something about it.

"Nothing, never mind," she quickly explains and moves away, "I should get back to class, and so should you," I sigh at what she says and nod for her to leave. All she had to do was say those five words, 'Yes, my dad's abusing me.'

I walk around my desk to take out a book and walk back to the math classroom to see her sat back in her seat and Tyler has turned to talk to her.

**Megan**

My body won't move; I'm numb to the core. I can’t feel the carpet underneath me.

My father has just finished beating me and breaking me. I can’t call it rape. I don't like that word.

A cough escapes my mouth, and a metallic taste fills it. I slowly try to get up, but my arms won't hold me. I feel like a dead body on the ground. I cough again and hold onto my stomach.

"What are you doing?" My father says in a nasty tone. I look across my room at him and try to blink back tears. "My, you look beautiful," he says evilly. He sounds a little like a perverted Dumbledore from Harry Potter.

I try to cover my naked body with my hands, yet it doesn't help. He walks over to me, grabs me by my hair and rubs his nose against my naked neck. I gulp as I hear him sniff me, and then he bites my neck. He doesn't bite hard but not soft, either. The feeling of his hands going down over my body in rough caresses burns me like a flame. I hate him.

He has been beating me since I came home from school and has already broken me twice. There is nothing more for him to do. Other than killing me, but with the fun he is having, that outcome seems impossible.

**Hours Later**

It's amazing how he has left me in the bathroom, unable to move. Another one of his tortures is putting me so close to where I want to be, yet so far away. I just want a shower or a bath, but my body will not move no matter how much I want it to or tell it to; it is like I'm paralysed.

The sound of stomping angry feet comes from downstairs. I close my eyes, hoping to God I will pass out. I know my body is on the brink of passing out. I’ve lost quite a bit of blood; surely, my body is going to give up.

My bedroom door slamming open echoes through my room to me. I try to look as lifeless as I can; certainly, he won't do anything to a lifeless body. He doesn't seem to be coming into the bathroom. I can hear him rummaging through my drawers and closet.

After so many minutes, he drops something by my head. I open my eyes to see clothes. "Put them on," he demands.

"I can't," I say, but my voice comes out cracked. He reaches down, picks me up in his arms and picks up the clothes with him.

"Dear old Megs, you are such a fragile, weak girl, aren't you?" he taunts. I don't say anything and look away from him and close my eyes. Now my body decides to pass out.

Maybe everything is against me nowadays. My mother, who made my father like this and my father, who lied to me by not getting help. My friends think I'm lying about all this but maybe if they saw what he is doing now. Would they still call me a liar?

Stinging slaps on my face wake me from my almost peaceful blackout. My eyes flutter open, and the searing pain comes back to me. "Drink this" is all I hear; something cold touches my lips. Burning liquid goes down my throat. I knew the liquid all too well. Vodka. My second escape from this war I'm facing. "Drink it," he hisses as I spit the liquid out, "if you want to go to the fucking hospital, drink it," he spits. I open my mouth wider for him, and the liquid goes down my throat faster and easier.

After about ten minutes, he picks me up, and I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand to see it is just after 10 pm. I’m not sure.

He walks down the stairs and then drops me at the bottom. I let out a cry of pain. "I'm off to phone the ambulance," he states, walking into the living room. I can hear him playing the worried father over the phone but not fully hearing what he says. Then he walks into the hall and stands over me. He grabs my top and drags it down, making it tear. He then shoves what feels like a pill down my throat.

Then his hands wrap around my neck. "You went to a party, do you understand me? You got attacked and came home crying, do you understand?" he snaps when I don't answer. He shakes me roughly, and I nod. "Good," he growls. Then he lays me back on the step, and everything goes black.