Lessons Learned

The next few weeks were hardly what one would call uneventful. Every weekday, without pause, Russell and his teacher would stay late after school. Reluctances would be feigned, words would be disregarded, and their exchange would be passionate and much, much too brief for Russell’s liking. Every day, the boy would attempt a question or comment in hopes of sparking something more, something to make what they’d just done feel less assumed. Less wonderfully but shamefully scandalous. He wanted something else, something he couldn’t really describe, and most certainly something he couldn’t ask for; the fear of losing whatever they already had, as insignificant and shallow as it was, was more unnerving than the thought of never bringing it up. It was a fine line, one that Russell was determined to straddle for as long as possible, no matter how much curiosity and desire poked at him. It was relentless but ignorable.



Another weekend was fast approaching, Russell’s Friday moving much too quickly for his liking. He’d come to loath weekends. They were far more boring than he could stand, with notm uch else to do aside from watch TV, eat with his family, and jerk off before going to bed. A pathetic routine at best. All he had going for him was his guitar, which even now had begun to feel less fulfilling, the strings going flat from lack of use, and the songs he wrote sounding mediocre at best. He’d never considered himself Emo before, but this rut was beyond ridiculous. It was as though his life was on standby without that jackass bending him over a desk or forcing him into a storage closet.



“Damnit.” Russell cursed under his breath, realizing he’d just missed another important note for the test. He’d always hated math, but he didn’t enjoy failing. Especially when he understood the subject. Just because he didn’t do homework often or pay attention much didn’t mean it was beyond him. He was just lazy. Or otherwise preoccupied.



Doing his best to stay on task, Russell jotted down as many notes as he could catch and filed out of the classroom the moment the bell rang. It was fourth hour. At last. He tried his best to be indifferent, walking slowly so as not to be the first to arrive, composing his face as he entered the room, only to find that someone else was sitting at Hal’s desk. A feeling much like disappointment, only more sour and cold, wracked the boy’s chest. “Excuse me…” he heard himself ask. The sub, an attractive woman in her mid thirties with long blond hair looked up at him and smiled.



“Can I help you?” She asked sweetly. The kindness in her voice, the direct opposition of Hal’s usually mocking tone, made Russell angry, the indifference on his face becoming more legitimate as the reality of today’s fallback set in.



“Mr. Falkner’s… sick?” Russell tried, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained or pissed off as he felt. She smiled on, apparently unaffected by his annoyance.



“He didn’t say.” She replied. “But he should be back by Monday. Please take your seat.”



The class passed by in a blur of unanswered questions and a lack of attention. Where the hell did he go? Was he sick or just skipping out for a three day weekend? Was he off banging some girlfriend of his Russell didn’t know about?



Why didn’t he tell me…?



Russell bit his tongue, looking not so much at the chalkboard but through it, eager for the tedium to be over, when a boy to his left began whispering to his friend, oblivious to the sub’s attempted lecture. Russell’s attention zeroed in of its own accord, choosing random gossip automatically over grammar.



“Chicks like her should teach this class more often.”

“I know! English is boring enough without a crazy ass pervert making us all feel stupid.”

“He’s intimidating as fuck… I mean, sure. I learn shit, but that’s just ‘cause I’m afraid he’ll shank me if I don’t. Not to mention he hands out detentions like fucking candy half the time.”

“Shit, man. I don’t want to know what Falkner would do to us if we pulled any ACTUAL shit in his class. He looks like someone who’d have no problem roughing someone up for no reason…”

“I don’t give a flying fuck. Mr. Falkner can go suck a dick for all I care.”

“Heh, yeah. He’d probably enjoy it. Fucking faggot.”



“Shut the fuck up.” Russell heard himself growl, though he hadn’t exactly given his mouth permission to do so. The two boys looked over, surprised.



“Did you say something, Fines?” One boy asked, replacing confusion with agitation.



“I said, shut the fuck up.” Russell repeated, their comments coursing through his veins like fire, giving his mouth a mind of its own.



“Or what? You’ll tell that faggot Falkner that we were picking on him?” The other boy smirked. “Go ahead. He seems to have it out for you, Fines. I’m sure he’d love another opportunity to give your ass detention.”



“Stop calling him that.” Russell fumed. The bell rang and the class got to their feet, heading obliviously out the door, but Russell didn’t notice. Nor did he notice the sub following behind them, leaving him and the two boys alone.



“Calling him what? A faggot?” The boys spoke normally now, their voices rising as the tension settled, a fight brewing underneath their words. “What the fuck do you care?”



“Just quit it.” Russell spat. “He’s not a fucking faggot so stop making your inferiority complex his problem.”



“What the fuck does THAT mean?” The boy growled, fists clenched at his sides, anger in his eyes.



This time, Russell smirked, settling back into himself: the self he’d forgotten for a while. The one that had managed to fight his way out of school after school. The one Hal had somehow made him forget. “Just because you WISH he was doesn’t mean he’s-”



Russell didn’t get to finish the sentence before the boy’s fist made contact with his jaw. Russell stumbled backwards, hand to his face for a not-all-that-stunned moment, before attacking the boy head on, cracking his fist against the boy’s cheek and swinging an elbow at his friend’s temple before he had the chance to join in. It was the perfect stress reliever, a distraction from everything and everyone. All he knew was the muted pains of their attacks and sound of his fists making contact with flesh, sounds that were very different from the ones this room was used to hearing. He fought with no regard for himself or them, striking hard and fast and paying no mind to the wounds he collected. But even with all of his stress and frustration for fuel, eventually two against one became unbeatable odds. As though by the roll of a die, the fight seemed to shift in their favor, one boy grabbing at his ponytail, pulling him back and off balance, while the other knocked out his knees, sending him to the floor. Everything was lost in the haze of kicking, punching, and grappling after that, the boys eventually scoffing at their win, scrambling out of the room once the hall was clear of teachers, and leaving Russell in shambles to fend for himself.



They hadn’t been particularly good fighters, but halfway through the quarrel he’d simply lost the motivation. Let them beat the shit out of him. Maybe it would do him some good. Maybe, for once, he’d take the pain as a hint instead of a badge and stop acting before he thought of the consequences. But what they’d said… Even if they hadn’t meant it… It pissed him off, and he couldn’t let it go. It felt too much like they’d found him out. Found the both of them out. It felt like they were making fun of Hal, and no matter how childish it seemed, the thought made him furious.



After forcing himself to his feet, recognizing with a sick sort of humor the difference between bruises caused by sex and ones caused by getting your ass kicked, Russell slung his bag over his shoulder, wincing at the contact, and walked quite slowly to the bathroom halfway down the hall. He was a wreck. Salvageable, but certainly the epitome of bloody and bruised. Most of his bruises could be hidden by his hoodie, and the cut above his right eye was far enough into his eyebrow to be covered. In fact, after he’d wiped the blood from his mouth and face, he looked almost as though he hadn’t been in a fight at all. Taking care to tighten the strings of his hood to conceal a particularly awful patch of darkening skin along his collarbone, Russell trudged back into the hall and outside, making his way home. He was used to hiding his fights from his parents, and was confident that no one would notice. It was his first fight of a new school; he was surprised he lasted as long as he did. And even more so that it was because of that damn teacher.



Cars passed him as he walked along, but he was oblivious to them, lost in thought and the gradually increasing discomfort from newly inflicted aches and pains. So when a black hatchback swerved in front of him and pulled to a stop on the side of the road, he barely noticed. That is until a twenty something man with brown hair littered by blond streaks got out of the car and waited for him to approach. Russell choked back his surprise, having already succumbed to the idea of not seeing Mr. Falkner until Monday, and walked up to his teacher, confusion plain on his face.



“What are you-” Russell started, but Hal cut him off.



“You need a ride, Russ?”



Russell blanched, reminded at once of his scrimmage with the boys from his class. Suddenly, and for reasons Russell couldn’t explain, he felt the innate desire to not be a burden to the guy. “Thanks, but I only live a few blocks away. I’ll just-” he tried to walk around him, avoid this confrontation all together, but Hal grabbed his arm, holding him back. On any normal occasion, Russell would have allowed Hal the control silently and without expression, but today, Hal managed to wrap his grip tightly and borderline excruciatingly around a newly forming and particularly enthusiastic bruise. Russell whimpered out of reflex, gritting his teeth against the shock of how tender that spot was. Hal noticed.



With no more than a pause of suspicion and a raised eyebrow, Hal yanked Russell towards him and pushed his sleeve up past his elbow, the bruise only light purple and pinkish in color, but defined enough to determine its rather prominent size. Hal looked at the bruise with distaste, throwing Russell a glare before his eyes settled below his neck, the boy’s hoodie falling just enough to show the other already darkening spot at the base of his neck. Hal shoved the boy against the car and pulled down the hoodie to get a better look, a surprising amount of anger in his eyes. “What the fuck happened, Russell?” Hal barked, making the boy squirm.



“I-It’s nothing.” Russell stammered, taken aback. “I just got into a fight. That’s all.”



“A fight?” Hal scoffed, pinning him to the car when Russell tried to pull away. “What the fuck were you fighting about?”



“I said it’s nothing.” Russell replied, voice much too loud. Hal paused, unamused, and then stepped up close to the boy, raising his hand. At first, Russell flinched; he’d never spoken back to his teacher before. What if Hal was the sort of guy who’d hit first and ask questions later? But Hal only brought his hand to the boy’s face, running a thumb along his eyebrow. A trail of blood darkened the man’s skin, making Russell’s stomach clench.



“Sure. Nothing.” Hal frowned, licking the blood from his thumb and opening the door to his car. “Get in.”



“What?” Russell froze, confused.



“I said get in.” Hal rolled his eyes, no further explanation. Russell did as told, deciding himself in no position to argue.



Once they were on the road, Russell cleared his throat, glancing at his teacher from the corner of his eye. The man looked different outside of the classroom, his glasses tucked into the visor above his head, leaving no shield to distract from his tantalizingly green eyes. He seemed so much more comfortable, his clothes less constricting and his arms bare; Russell found himself drawn to this man, not different but merely relaxed. Casual. No longer restricted by classroom etiquette and a teacher’s demeanor. Russell made himself look away.



“Where are we going?” He asked, desperate for something, anything to talk about. Hal didn’t take his eyes off the road.



“You did a shit job of cleaning up after yourself, so I’m taking you to my place to get you fixed up properly.” He replied simply, as though the idea of taking Russell to his home WASN’T completely unorthodox.



“I’m fine.” Russell paled, turning away. “Let me out.”



“You’re head’s still bleeding.” Hal shook his head, smirking through what could have easily been translated as disappointment. Russell ran a palm over his eyebrow, finding with a sickening lurch that the man was right. He looked down at his blood spotted hand and sighed, focusing for the rest of the car ride on the music tricking down softly from the speakers. It was some sort of classic rock, like the stuff his dad played on long, family car rides. Styx maybe. Or Queen. He couldn’t tell, but somehow the genre suited Mr. Falkner. It made him seem almost normal, disconnecting him from all of the mockery and jack-ass-ness that defined who Russell had gotten to know over the last few weeks. It was as though Russell could suddenly see him outside of their routine, beyond the sex and the teasing, into a life that was simple and ordinary. Like he existed beyond Russell’s world entirely, their place with each other stretching only briefly beyond the classroom. The thought made his stomach hurt.



“Can you turn the music off?” Russell mumbled before he could stop himself. Hal obliged, no questions asked.



Hal Falkner lived much like the standard bachelor would: a small apartment decorated sparsely but with distinct masculinity, a fridge stocked with more beer than food, and an entertainment system that showed the man’s priorities in life. In fact, as Russell looked around the smallish living room, he noticed that most of the bigger things within the space were outlandish and expensive, as though more than once he’d found reason to choose the materialistic and flashy over the important and necessary. Behind his couch was an incredibly sleek, fully decked out mountain bike. Next to his 46 in. plasma, a foose-ball table. On a desk in the back of the room, an Alienware laptop. How a man could own so much on a teacher’s salary, Russell couldn’t fathom. He sat himself down on the couch carefully, as though moving about the room would somehow diminish the quality of the items within it.



“Want something to drink, kid?” Hal’s voice echoed from the kitchen, the sounds of clinking and movement following his words.



“I’m good thanks…” Russell mumbled, feeling intensely awkward all of a sudden. What was he doing here? This was insane! His parents were hardly perceptive. As long as he wasn’t bleeding on their new carpet, he’d get past them unnoticed. He didn’t need Hal to “fix him up properly.” He needed to go home. Still, he took a deep breath, settling back into the couch cushions. The house smelt like him, his cologne and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Russell frowned.



“Here.” Hal appeared at his side, making him jump. He chucked a can of soda in the boy’s lap and took a seat on the table in front of him, placing a first aid kit on his lap. Russell popped open the drink almost unconsciously, watching as Hal began removing bandages and antiseptic. “Take off your hoodie.” Russell obeyed, though he could hardly manage without wincing. He really was a wreck, every bruise, small and large, already making themselves present. Hal shook his head and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “So, are you going to tell me or am I going to have to force it out of you?” Hal said sternly as he started dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton swab at the cut above his eyebrow. Russell bit his lip.



“It was stupid. Really.” Russell mumbled. “Some jackasses were being obnoxious and I told them off. It got out of hand. No big deal.”



“Uh huh.” Hal undid a band-aid and placed it over the cut. “Go on.”



“Really! That’s- Ow!” Russell jumped as Hal smacked him across the back of the head. “What the fuck was that for?”



“You were being obnoxious and got out of hand. No big deal.” The man shrugged. Russell fumed as Hal smirked, spraying some liquid band-aid on a particularly raw area of skin below his elbow. “Now tell me what happened.”



Russell looked down at the still full and waiting soda. “Some dudes at school called you a faggot.” He practically whispered. Hal’s hands stopped moving, simply holding Russell’s arm in place. When he didn’t say anything in response, Russell blushed. “Like I said… It was stupid. I got carried away. I just… I didn’t want him to call you that. I don’t want anyone to-” Suddenly, Hal’s face was inches from his own, his eyes drilling into the boy’s filled with an expression Russell was too flustered to determine.



“You dumbass.” Hal sighed, his breath tickled against Russell’s face, his breath that same sort of cigarette tinged spearmint. “You don't need to go sticking your neck out for me. Especially when it's just gonna result in yoru gettign yoru ass kicked.” Russell would have responded if Hal hadn’t pulled the boy’s lips to his own at that moment, smothering any of his student’s questions with his tongue. Hal leaned into the boy, forcing him back into the cushions, searching the inside of Russell’s mouth almost desperately, kneeling between his open legs and breaking the kiss just long enough to attack neck and shoulder greedily with teeth, tongue, and lips.



All of a sudden, Russell’s breathing hitched, a whimper that was more pain than pleasure escaping his lips, making Hal pause. The man looked at the boy just in time to see him gritting his teeth against a particularly tender part of his body Hal had rubbed against. Hal allowed his eyes to scan the bruises that covered his student, bruises caused in his defense. He sighed, getting to his feet. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.” Russell’s mouth parted, stunned, but he said nothing, following Hal to his feet.



The drive was silent aside from the occasional direction through the city. Russell gazed out of the window, wondering what to make of this little field trip. Sometimes it was hard to get a read on his teacher, the man going from teasing, to frustrating, to impossibly kind all in one breath. Eventually, they’d pulled into his driveway and Russell reluctantly got out, grabbing his backpack from the floor in front of his seat. “Thanks…” He mumbled, to which Hal merely nodded in reply. He took a step back to close the door and paused. “Why weren’t you in class today?” He asked all of sudden, allowing his mouth to simply go of its own accord, something it had recently started doing much, much too frequently. “Is everything okay?”



Hal smirked. “Worry a little less about my life and little more about your own, 'kay, Russ?” And with that hanging in the air between them, Hal pulled out of the driveway and drove off.



Russell watched the black hatchback until it disappeared around the corner. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning against the fence with an exasperated sigh. “Jackass…”