A Proscriptive Relationship (12 page)

Raising an eyebrow at him, I stepped into the apartment. It was too dark to see anything so I stood idly by the door, feeling Mr. Heywood brush past me. Seconds later light flooded the room. I surveyed the room while slipping off my shoes. It seemed like Mr. Heywood liked to color-code. A love seat, a recliner, and a couch that surrounded a large plasma television were all made out of the same crimson leather that matched the color of the paint on the walls. White pillows were set up on the furniture, matching the trim of the room. There was a dark brown coffee table with a small bowl of  M&Ms. A large shelf of DVDs was set up next to the television. There were a few magazines and newspapers scattered around on the ground, a few dishes on the coffee table, and a few jackets tossed over the backs of furniture, but other than that, it looked rather clean to me. Especially for a single man living alone.

“It’s actually a nice place,” I finally commented, going over to the leather sofa and pushing my hand into it. “And clean enough.”

Mr. Heywood chuckled, picking up some of the dishes from the coffee table. “Thanks. Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. I looked down in embarrassment while Mr. Heywood sniggered. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll order some pizza. Take a seat and make yourself at home. Is pepperoni alright?”

“Yep.”

Mr. Heywood disappeared into the kitchen and I walked up to the TV, picking up a photo off its stand. A younger Mr. Heywood was standing with two people I assumed were his parents. He had a carefree grin, his messy hair falling in his face. His jaw had the same low, square structure as it did in the present. Smiling, I set the frame down and wandered out of the living room into the hallway.

The first door was open, revealing a very clean and white bathroom. For a moment I was tempted to see what kind of shampoo Mr. Heywood used but I forced myself away. What was I, a stalker? The next door was the laundry and stock room—which showed Mr. Heywood’s true nature. Piles of laundry that nearly reached the ceiling resided there. I pulled the door shut and moved on. The last room was Mr. Heywood’s bedroom.

Pausing by the door I stuck my head in and looked around. It was a pretty average room. The walls were brown, and the floor was made out of oak wood. Another large flat-screen TV was on the wall, and there was a big, brown leather couch across from it. A king-sized bed was placed against the far wall. To my surprise, it was made. The comforter was the same color as the walls, and the pillows and sheets were lighter shades of brown and white. Mr. Heywood was
very
coordinated.

Just as I returned to the living room and sat down on the leather couch, he came out of the kitchen, holding the phone. He put it back on the receiver by the door and took a seat on the couch next to me, turning on the TV. “Do you want to watch anything in particular?” he inquired.

I shook my head, keeping my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Mr. Heywood flipped the channel to a soccer game, turning up the volume. My palms grew sweaty and I quickly wiped them on my pants. What was there to be so nervous about? Oh yeah. I was alone with my teacher, in
his
apartment, on
his
couch, with these feelings I was trying to force away before they became something. This situation wasn’t helping at all—but it wasn’t like I had any other choice. No one liked sleeping outside in the cold. And no one in his or her right mind would choose that over spending the night at the house of someone like Mr. Heywood.

“And that’s why you don’t give the ball to Batista,” Mr. Heywood said suddenly as the crowd on TV booed.

A small laugh escaped my lips and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand. Mr. Heywood turned and raised an eyebrow. “What?

“Nothing. I just never would have guessed you were so . . . normal, you know?” I told him with a shrug. “It’s weird.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Boy did he look cute when he was confused—I shook my head, dispelling the thought. I couldn’t be having those thoughts!

Mr. Heywood tilted his head to the side. “Well?”

I cleared my throat and shrugged. Um, I don’t even know. I just thought you’d like, come home and read about science or something. Or start beating up a punching bag. Or your house would be a mess. Stuff like that.”

Mr. Heywood laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I am a normal person as well.”

“I’m not disappointed,” I responded without thinking.

Mr. Heywood stared at me for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the television. After about twenty minutes, the doorbell rang. Mr. Heywood opened the door to the pizza guy. “Do you need a plate?” he asked, coming back over to the couch, pizza in hand.

I shook my head. “Nope, I’m good.”

“Good, now I won’t have to wash as many dishes,” he responded, setting the pizza box down between us.

He opened it and took a piece out. I copied him, picking up the warm piece of pizza and bringing it to my lips. The cheese slid off, burning my fingers and mouth, so I quickly let go. It landed on my pants, now burning my leg through my pants. “Ow, ow, ow,” I muttered, picking the pizza up and tossing it back into the box.

“Good job,” Mr. Heywood commented, smirking.

I pursed my lips at him before turning to the mess on my pants. “Napkin?”

“Here,” he said, reaching to his side and tossing me a few napkins.

I wiped off the pizza sauce and cheese the best I could, but there was still a large stain left on my pants. Sighing, I put the dirty napkins on the top part of the pizza box, letting the next piece I took cool off before eating it.

By the time the game was over, the pizza was gone and I was half asleep on the couch. Mr. Heywood stood up, picking up the pizza box as he did so. I stood up as well, and followed him to the kitchen drowsily. The clock on the kitchen wall read one in the morning. A yawn escaped my lips, and I rubbed my eyes.

“Follow me,” Mr. Heywood ordered.

I did as he asked and followed him back to his bedroom. He dug around in his dresser for a few moments before tossing me a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. I looked at them and looked back up at Mr. Heywood, confused.

“Wear those to sleep in. I don’t want you wearing your dirty pants in my bed.”

I stared at him, my eyes widening. What did he mean in his bed? Was he expecting me to sleep with him? He must have seen my bewildered expression because he chuckled, a smirk gracing his lips again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“No,” he responded sternly. “You’re the guest, so that means you get the bed. And you’re a girl. Now go to the bathroom and change. However, if you want to change in front of me, I’m not stopping you.”

I blushed and shook my head, heading towards the bathroom. After shutting the door and locking it, I stripped and pulled on the pajama bottoms and T-shirt. Both articles of clothing were way too big for me, so I had to tie the pajama bottoms’ string tightly. The bottom of the T-shirt reached mid-thigh. I used the toilet and washed my face before going back to the bedroom. Mr. Heywood was in the middle of taking off his shirt. He looked over at me with an amused expression.

“Sorry!” I apologized, looking away immediately.

“It’s fine,” Mr. Heywood responded.

I looked back over at him; he was now completely shirtless. He went searching in his dresser again and I took the opportunity to check out his naked chest. Muscular, but not to the point of a body builder’s shape. His abs were there, but not too prominent. Not a surprising build for an ex-gangster.

Mr. Heywood caught me staring and grinned. “Are you checking me out?”

“No!”

He chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

A yawn left my mouth when I opened it to defend myself.  Mr. Heywood nodded toward the bed. “Get in,” he ordered.

Immediately I hurried over to the bed, pausing next to it awkwardly for a second before climbing in. The sheets were cold as I quickly pulled them over my body. Mr. Heywood went over to the light switch and turned it off, darkness flooding the room. His silhouette was illuminated by the moonlight as he returned to the couch. He let out a quiet sigh, flopping onto his back. “Night, Holly.”

“Night,” I responded quietly. My heart was beating excitedly at the thought of being in Mr. Heywood’s bed. I took a deep breath and a pleasant scent filled my nose—Mr. Heywood’s scent. A quiet sigh escaped my lips. This was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself from feeling happy. My stormy thoughts kept me awake for a while. The sound of Mr. Heywood’s even breathing also kept me distracted. Sleep crept up on me like a ninja, and before I knew it, I was off in dreamland.

Something hot was covering my back when I woke up. My eyes opened groggily, seeing only the blackness of the room. I attempted to roll over, but whatever was covering my back wasn’t going anywhere. That’s when I noticed the arm under me. My eyes widened in surprise as I next took in the arm over me. Then I noticed who the arms were attached too. My head turned slowly to see Mr. Heywood’s sleeping face right next to mine. I swallowed nervously, trying to move myself out of his grasp without waking him. His naked chest was moving in and out slowly as he breathed.

When did he climb into the bed? Why did he? I struggled to slide out of his arms, but they suddenly tightened up. This wasn’t good. His arms were revealing my true thoughts. I really didn’t want to move away from his arms. What I wanted to do was snuggle closer to him and go back to sleep. But there was no way I could do that.

Whatever happened to my commitment to stop my feelings before they became too much? It didn’t seem like I was doing a very good job. My stomach was tingling from my awareness of his body so close to mine. What was wrong with me? How could I have feelings for this devil of a teacher? I glanced back at his peaceful face and caught my breath. He was really handsome . . .

Suddenly something entered my field of vision. I froze. But not because of Mr. Heywood. A large, brown spider was crawling on the pillow. In my direction. Immediately I screamed, shoving back violently, knocking Mr. Heywood right out of bed and I went with him. On the floor, I struggled frantically, trying to escape the tangle of sheets we were caught in.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Heywood demanded, sitting up, his hands made into fists.

“Spider!” I gasped, pushing myself over him and finally leaving the tangled mess of the sheets.

He stared at me, as if surprised I was there. Then he shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Where?”

“Pillow!”

I watched as reached over to the pillow, scooping up the creepy crawler. He came over to me, smirking, and held it out toward my face. “Stop!” I cried, scrambling back away from him.

“It’s harmless,” he told me, letting it crawl around his hand. “See?”

“Bring it outside,” I begged, giving him the puppy-dog look.

He looked at me with an amused expression. “Don’t you want me to kill it?”

“Why? It didn’t do anything.”

Mr. Heywood stared at me for a moment, his face twisted into an unrecognizable expression. “That’s different,” he finally commented quietly. “Alright, I’ll bring it outside.”

He disappeared out the door and I took the time to collect myself. I picked up the blanket and sheets I had knocked to the floor and tossed them back on the bed. Then I went to the bathroom and quickly washed my face. When I was done I wandered out to the living room just as Mr. Heywood was coming back in. He let out a yawn, the muscles in his arm rippling as he stretched. My eyes ran over his toned stomach involuntarily.

“Boy it was hot last night,” he commented, rubbing his stomach.

“I wonder why,” I responded sharply, glaring at him accusingly.

He held up his hands in defense. “Sorry—I woke up to go to the bathroom. I must have forgot you were here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you expect me to believe you?”

He shrugged.

“Mr. Heywood—”

“Chris,” he corrected me.

“
You can’t sleep in the same bed as me! You’re a teacher and I’m a student. It’s wrong.”

“We aren’t at school,” he responded with a frown. “And I know it’s wrong. That’s why I didn’t try anything with you.”

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open.

“Joking,” he added quickly. “But you look extremely cute while you sleep.”

My face burned and I quickly averted my gaze. He was unbelievable! He wasn’t helping my situation at all. I knew he didn’t know what my situation was, but I was falling deeper and deeper into a hole that would be very difficult to climb out of. Calling me cute was just digging it deeper. But I couldn’t deny it anymore. They were my feelings, and I had to deal with them.

Never before would I have believed it was so easy to fall for someone. Now I realized just how easy it actually was. Because I was falling for my biology teacher.

LESSON NINE

An abundant arrangement of food was set out before me when I walked into the kitchen after my shower about an hour later. I gaped in astonishment at the tempting buffet. Mr. Heywood’s smug face greeted me when I finally looked up from the food.

“Why did you make so much?” I inquired, gesturing toward the table.

“I don’t know what you like, so I just made a bit of everything,” Mr. Heywood responded with a casual shrug.

“A bit?” I choked, looking at the enormous stacks of French toast and pancakes.

“Does it not look appetizing?”

“No, that’s not it!” I uttered quickly. “It’s just . . . I didn’t know you could cook.”

Mr. Heywood chuckled, putting a hand on my shoulder and steering me to the table. He pushed me down on one of the wooden chairs and proceeded to take the seat across from me. “Surprise.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but he cut me off. “Well let’s not waste it, shall we?” he asked, reaching for a large bowl of scrambled eggs.

I nodded meekly, biting back my retort, still in shock by the enormous amount of food he had made in just under an hour. The French toast was calling my name, so I took two pieces and set them on my plate. I drizzled some maple syrup on it and used a knife to cut off a small piece. Cautiously, I put it up to my mouth, hesitating for a moment. Mr. Heywood was staring at me so I abruptly shut my mouth. He frowned.