by R Holmes
I quickly shed the sweaty clothes from practice and sink into the frigid tub of water. An immediate shock to my system that makes me let out a pent up breath of air and ease my way into the tub of ice. After a few seconds my muscles begin to relax and I feel some of the tightness and tension begin to evaporate.
It's not just practice that has me anxious, and tight in all the wrong places. It’s all of the stress on my shoulders that seems to pile up. I close my eyes and let my mind wander, and as always it ends at the same place it shouldn’t.
* * *
The hot as fuck, completely off limits teacher with the tight ass and pert tits that taunt me the entire hour I'm subjected to sitting in her class.
The one if I knew what was good for me, I'd quit while I was ahead. I'd focus on getting my grades up and stop daydreaming about throat fucking her then reddening her ass with a ruler.
Presley Ambrose.
The kind of sin you get lost in and find your way right to hell all in one trip.
Also, the very person who has the power to completely fuck my world up with the snap of her fingers. I need to pass this class. Everything rides on my ability to pass the class. If I fail, then I can kiss hockey goodbye. Failing this class jeopardizes my admission to Yale which in turn pisses my father off to the point of heart failure, and then my mom will be the one to take the brunt.
I know she won't leave. I could talk to her until I'm blue in the face, and she's never going to leave him. I have to protect her, no matter what.
My father sure as hell isn’t going to do shit but tear our family further apart.
I just hope I can stop him before it's too late.
4
Presley
"Shit! Ouch!" I bring my throbbing finger to my mouth and suck the small bead of blood that's forming on the tip. I've been fighting with these instructions for what feels like hours and the IKEA kitchen table that was delivered today is no closer to being put together than when I started. I'm convinced they didn't put all of the hardware in this package because for the life of me I cannot figure out what I'm doing wrong. The pieces don't fit together perfectly and seem to wobble every time I think I've gotten it right.
I groan in frustration which causes Hope to stir from her brand new kitten bed on the couch. She meows, opening one eye to peer at me then snuggles back into the fluffy fabric of her blanket. Okay, so no help from the cat.
Even though I'm annoyed at my inability to put a simple piece of furniture together, I'm still completely overwhelmed with gratitude at the fact that I have this piece of quiet solitude that I can call my own. And I know it won't happen overnight but I'm excited to watch this tiny house become a home.
Starting with paint and this kitchen table... if I can ever actually get it put together.
After a couple days of deliberation, I finally settled on the light weathered gray that reminded me of the Cape for my walls. I went down to the hardware store and put in the order for an entire five gallon bucket of paint, just to make sure I had enough. As exhausting as I know it will be, I can't wait to spend the entire weekend painting and busying myself with the cabin.
First thing on my list is having the roof repaired.
Although the cabin technically belongs to St. Augustine, my contract is for five years and after my contract is up I'll either renew or move on. So, until then, it's mine.
I love everything about St. Augustine so far. The school has the most amazing architecture and history, I could lose myself in stories of its past. Not that I've gotten to do much research since school has started because I spent an entire month cleaning the cabin out and piecing together secondhand furniture until I saved up enough to buy more. It took an entire weekend on my hands and knees with a brush, some bleach, and mop scrubbing the floors and baseboards until they lost the layer of grime. I didn't need anything fancy or expensive, I just needed a place where I could feel safe and somewhere I could call mine.
It's the first time I've ever had anything that was just mine.
I was never going to take it for granted and plan to spend every free moment I have making it exactly like I always dreamed.
I set the directions down on the half put together table and flop down on the couch next to Hope. It's only been a few days that she's been here, but now, I don't know what it was like without her. She's made the nights more bearable and this house a lot less lonely. For the first time in my life, the unbearable silence isn't deafening. I revel in it. I enjoy the peace that comes with it. I finally feel the broken parts inside of me healing, even if it's only fractionally. I feel more whole than I have in as long as I can remember.
Which is why today I've decided I'm going for a run. The first run I've been on in over a year. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't an anxiety riddled mess, but one foot in front of the other. The only way to overcome is to face the fear that lives inside of me. Move forward and leave the past behind me.
Starting with a run.
My heart pounds in my chest when I think of being alone in the forest, unprepared for what may come, but I quickly take deep breaths, and try to focus on the strength inside of me. I try to rehearse the lines the therapist told me. Pull from the fire inside of you. Don't let your fear win; show the world what you are made of. When it's hard, look inside to find the strength to move forward.
It seems like a load of shit when you're buried so far down a hole of sadness you can't see your way out, but then somewhere along the way it begins to make sense. It feels like it might actually work, and then it becomes a mantra which helps you put one foot in front of the other.
I was capable of doing more than just surviving and I had to remind myself of that when the moments of pain and self-doubt tried to swallow me whole.
Pushing my reluctance aside, I quickly change into a pair of leggings, a sports bra and tank, then pull my long hair back into a ponytail, out of my face. Even though I'm nervous, I know if I don't start somewhere I'll never end up where I want to be. Hope sits next to me as I lace up my tennis shoes and gives me a small meow of encouragement.
I grab my air pods and keys, then lock the door behind me and tuck the keys into my bra. Not the most graceful... but necessary. My pepper spray is attached and I'm not leaving home without it.
Unbelievably so, I can walk outside of my house and be in the middle of the woods, completely tucked away from civilization and it’s comforting. Standing between the mammoth trees of the forest, I feel small. It’s funny how the universe has a way of making you feel minimal when you're surrounded by things like nature. It doesn't intimidate me, instead it makes me feel thankful that I can stand in the middle of a forest and inhale a deep breath of fresh, crisp air into my lungs. Anyone who would happen to walk past me right now would probably look at me like I've grown two heads, standing here, my arms outstretched towards the sky, inhaling the unblemished air.
And that's okay, because this dose of freedom is exactly what I need after the forty five minutes of anxious pacing across the cabin before I had the courage to walk out of the front door. Trauma does that to you. Cripples you in ways you'll never understand. Suddenly, you're in a ball on the floor trying to gather the strength to stand again.
I put my AirPods into my ears and put on a throwback playlist that pulls some of the nerves from me and I spend the next few minutes stretching. I know after this run I'm going to be sore since I haven't used a lot of these muscles athletically in months. I wanted to feel that burn, craved it in ways I had forgotten until I stood here, ready to take it on.
And then I run.
I start out slowly, jogging along the wooded trail, on the path I was told by Sister Mary Margaret that circles all the way around the school. She's probably the only person who's shown me any kind of warmth at St. Augustine since I started and I was thankful for her kindness. Instead of hiding in the faculty lunchroom for my break, I decided yesterday to sit on my jacket in the plush, manicured grass of the courtyard, directly in the sun to get some fresh air and
a chance to not be cooped up. She was bustling by and noticed me outside, nibbling on my sandwich and was nice enough to let me know of the hiking trail. It passed right by my cabin, and she said occasionally the football, baseball and hockey players used it in their workouts, and I was welcome at any point if I ever wanted to use it.
And so I'm here, one deep breath after another, one foot after the other, running through the dense woods outside of St. Augustine.
Facing my fear like it didn't cripple me.
Taking back my life, one step at a time.
I run until the calf muscles in my legs burn with exertion from a year of being stagnant. It feels like coming alive again after being dead for so long.
With my AirPods in, and my comfort music in my ears I'm completely lost in my head. A jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions overwhelming me at once. I don't even see the obnoxiously large root coming up from the mounds of dirt until I'm flying forward, until I hit the ground in front of me face first.
Oh god, ouch. Holy shit.
The pain makes me dizzy. My ankle screams at me as sharp, fiery pain shoots its way up my leg. I clutch on to it instinctively and in doing so it only causes it to hurt more. Painfully, I pull myself off the damp forest floor into an upright position, so I can assess the damage.
Jesus, it's already beginning to bruise and swell up. It throbs in tandem with my racing heart. This would of course happen. If I had to guess, it's probably broken or at best, a bad sprain. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my yoga pants to try and call someone to help. There's no possible way I can walk on this, and it hurts so badly I don't even want to try and hobble all the way home. I'm sure that would result in more injury and the way that my ankle is radiating pain all the way up my leg, I probably wouldn't even make it there.
Glancing down at my phone I realize that I have zero signal. Not even a single bar.
Shit, this is bad. I'm stuck, likely with a broken ankle, in the middle of the forest with no way to call for help. I bring my uninjured knee up to my chest and let my forehead fall onto it as the tears begin to pour. Now, I'm starting to feel panicked. Tears begin to sting my eyes as they fill, and pour over onto my cheeks.
God, this was stupid. I should have stayed at the cabin with Hope and decided to take on my fears head on another day. Then I would be crying on the wet ground like an idiot.
Mid sob I hear the snap of sticks, and when I whip my head up, I see none other than Sebastian Pierce. I’m shocked to say the least. He’s the very last person I expected to be out running here. I was hoping, until now of course, that I would go unnoticed.
He's jogging up to me, in what feels like slow motion, but I know can't really be. It's the adrenaline. I must be going into shock. Even in my distress from my stupid ankle, I notice him. He's shirtless, although it's scarcely sixty degrees outside. Beads of sweat drip down his torso to his stomach that is a washboard of perfectly defined abs. The black gym shorts adorning his hips sit low revealing his "V" of sharp cut muscles that disappear under the waistband.
Any woman in their right mind would swoon at the sight of him, but as it is, I'm not. In my right mind that is.
My brain feels fuzzy and I can't tell if it's from the distress and shock or if it's the fact that my student, albeit it feels wrong and unethical to call him that, is standing in front of me glistening in sweat, with a look of worry on his face.
"Uh, you okay?" he asks, walking closer and closer until he's so close I can smell the musky smell of sweat on him.
"Yeah, I tripped over a root, and I think my ankle might be broken," I whisper, suddenly remembering how badly the pain in my ankle is, no longer focusing on him and his ridiculously muscled body. My chest feels heavy from anxiety and the pain, and being overwhelmed by the entire situation. I can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable for the undeniable attraction I feel towards Sebastian, and how despite the line that I would never cross with a student, the temptation is still there. The snake and the forbidden apple.
He bends down and squats in front of me leaning down to where his sweat slicked hair falls into his eyes, "Let me see."
A command, not a question. "No, really, it's fine," I start, but he interrupts.
"Presley, just let me see. I play hockey, we beat each other up for fun." His tone is annoyed.
"It's Ms. Ambrose, Sebastian."
He clenches his jaw, and his eyes roll in annoyance as he reaches for my ankle. His strong, deft fingers wrap around the bruised, sensitive skin probing gently.
"It definitely looks broken. You should have it checked out, not sure ice would cut it on this one… Teach," he says, gingerly setting my foot back down. My skin burns from where his fingers just were and I'm not sure if it's the injury, or his touch. Probably a mixture of both.
I place my hands on the damp soil of the ground and try to stand but trying to stand puts too much pressure on my hurt ankle and I fall backwards onto my back.
"Shit," I whisper.
"Hey, chill, you can't walk on that or it'll just make it worse," he says, reaching for me. With one swift motion he has me up, and in his arms bride style. Like I weigh next to nothing and it’s the easiest thing in the world to him... I guess compared to him, I am tiny. He’s well over six feet, with muscles I couldn’t even name if I tried. His grip on me is unwavering, his sweaty, slick skin against mine makes me think of all the things I shouldn't. Momentarily I forget who he is and that I’m his teacher, which is like a splash of cold water to my face. I shouldn’t be noticing how big, hard, and strong he is. I shouldn’t notice him at all.
It happens so quickly, my head spins and suddenly I feel lightheaded. Black spots cloud my vision and the control I was clinging to begins to fade away.
"Woah, breathe," he instructs, his warm breath tickling my ear as we begin to move. "Breathe in, breathe out. I think you're having a panic attack."
He's right.
The world around me spins, and threatens to go black but I do as I always do when they hit, take long, deep breaths. Willing my lungs to fill with air, to pull me back to earth. My head sways as I squeeze my eyes shut and practice my mantra, over and over. I barely feel Sebastian's arms around me as he carries me. I don't know where we're going, or how far he's carrying me, but right now I breathe.
I just breathe.
I never open my eyes. With each breath, I feel the tightness in my chest loosen ever so slightly, allowing me to breathe more freely. My head falls to the pad of his shoulder, and I relax as much as I possibly can with an injury.
Breathe in, breathe out.
"You're okay, keep breathing." Sebastian’s gruff voice sends a shiver down my spine. It brings me back to the present moment with his hands wrapped tightly around my thighs and ribs.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, still squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Not ready to face the moment where I see the look of pity on his face. I just had a panic attack in front him. Him, of all people.
Sebastian is a student. My conscious is on overdrive, and I feel myself spiraling back down the hole I pulled myself out of.
"Nothing to apologize for," he says, simply.
Only then do I open my eyes and peer up at the man holding me. He didn't have to stop his run and carry me what I believe to be over a mile back to my cabin.
Wait, how did he know I lived here?
"How did you know I lived here?" I ask.
He shrugs. "My dad is on the board. That place is a shit hole, I can't believe they're letting you use it."
My chest tightens with hurt. I know it's not the greatest place in the world, but it's mine and I'm proud of it.
"That's rude. It's nice … it just needs a little work, that's all."
He scoffs loudly, "Right. I think the place was on its way to being condemned before you came along."
"Good thing you don't have to live here then, huh."
Before long, the rickety shack in question comes into view. In the daylight, it looks a little… unfortunate. But, like many things
in my life I see its potential. From the outside looking in, sure it might need a lot of love, but what he didn't see were the bones. What made it more than just a shack of wood and rusted nails.
He carries me up to the door of the cabin and I pull the key from my sports bra, embarrassingly enough. I wasn't expecting to have to be Viking rescued in the middle of the wilderness. His eyebrows raise as he unlocks the door and carries me inside and sets me on the closest flat surface which happens to be the bed.
After his comments, I feel even more self-conscious about my living arrangements. His eyes drag over the threadbare rug, the secondhand couch I got for a whole fifty dollars at the thrift store, the walls that haven't had the first coat of paint yet, still adorned with the paint samples I had to choose from.
"How… quaint," he says, giving me a teasing grin.
"I didn't ask you for your opinion, Sebastian," I spit back, offended. How dare he come into my home, regardless of how small or threadbare it may be and make me feel less than.
"Listen, as much as I'd like to stay here and argue with you over the condition of your trap shack, you need to go to the ER and have that looked at." He nods at my ankle that's getting bigger by the minute. It's now twice the size of my other ankle and the blue, purplish bruises that are darkening, look horrible.
As much as I don't want to admit it, he's right.
"I'll drive you."
"No, it's fine I can call Sister Mary Margaret and ask her to bring me," I tell him, pulling my phone out from the pocket of my yoga pants.
