Hot For Teacher(133)

“I was only thinking of myself. And please believe me when I tell you that the person I was isn’t the person I am today.”

“I don’t care, Simon. This isn’t about you and your conscience. Whatever epiphany you’ve had in the last few days isn’t going to change the way you’ve treated me or the others.”

I stay silent, because I know that she has more she wants to get off her chest, and anything I say or do right now could be detrimental. I want her walking away knowing that I’m sincerely regretful.

And I’d like to walk away with all appendages in good working order.

“Look, it’s been over a month, and I can say that I’m better now. But you have no idea what you did to me. I’m a good person, Simon. I’m a good student and good friend. Those are things you never cared about because you never got to know me. You didn’t give a shit. But I gave you the most sacred part of me! I gave you my virginity! Do you know how big of a deal that is? I’m Catholic, Simon!”

Well hell, I hadn’t been expecting that.

I take a deep breath and try to find words that won’t hurt her. “Andrea. You’re right. And I’d be lying to you if I said it meant the same to me as it did to you. I’m not going to insult you even more by telling you that I completely understand. Because I don’t. All I can do is apologize for what I’ve done and try to get you to believe me.”

I rake my hand through my hair and continue. “I was in a bad place. I’ve always been in a bad place. And what I did to you is inexcusable and cruel. What I did makes me a horrible person. But please understand that I’m trying to change that. I want you to know that you deserve to be treated better than I treated you. You deserve someone who’s going to love you for all that you are. If I was even half a man, I would’ve recognized that sooner. What I did was wrong. Period. And if you have to spend another six months hating me, you have that right. I’m certainly not going to tell you your reasons aren’t justified. Do what you have to do, and I’ll just hope that someday you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

What I’ve said seems to make her soften a little. But I wasn’t pulling a line. And I wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear. I meant it. All of it.

But holy shit, I’m wiped out.

This is going to be a long fucking day.





Chapter Twenty


The longest two days of my life have passed. I was lucky: I only received two slaps to my face and one outright refusal to talk to me.

But I did it.

I said my apologies. I made my amends. And my junk was still attached to my body. All in all I consider that a success.

Oddly enough, I still don’t feel great.

I suspect it’s going to take some time to forgive myself for what I’ve done. And that’s okay. It’s probably going to take them some time too. But there’s only a week left before we leave for Saint Louis, and I need to speak with Arleen.

I doubt she’ll be able to get over the fact that I’ve been with so many girls on the debate team, and I’m preparing myself for the cold shoulder. But whether or not she’s willing to take that more-than-friends leap, I’ve been paired with her for this debate. And I still have no idea what the topic is.

I dig out the piece of paper with her phone number on it and send her a text.

Hey. Can I see you tonight? We need to go over the debate.

I wait, and several minutes later I receive her response.

When/Where?

I’m hopeful. It’s more of a response than I thought I’d get.

My house. Nine o’clock.

After typing in my address, I hit send. Her response is immediate.

I’ll be there.

***

The problem with trying to fix the Arleen situation is that it’s completely out of my hands. At some point I changed from wanting to protect her to simply needing her beside me.

Sex is a big issue with us: The girls I’ve been with before. The fact that she thought that’s all I would want from her. I’m not sure how I’ll get her to see that I think of her as more than a walking, talking piece of ass.

She’ll be here in a half an hour, and all I can do is stare at my stupid spreadsheets. The screen is bright, and I have highlights and notes all over it. I look at each name, scrolling down and making sure that I’ve spoken to every one of them—well, with the exception of Tricia, but we won’t talk about that. If anything I feel like I deserve an apology from her.

Each cell contains the name of a girl. The corresponding cells highlight the date, the location, and what I did with them. My stomach lurches at the thought of how pathetic this all looks.