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FOR THE LAST TWO TUTORING SESSION she never showed up. I wasn’t bothered about the money, because the school pays me either way. What bothers me is that I know I’m the reason she hasn’t shown up.
When I saw her with Jude at that Halloween party, my feet dragged me there before I could actually think about what I was doing. I was invading. I was sticking my nose is shit that was my business. But I couldn’t help it.
He’s a drug dealer, for fuck’s sake, and I know first hand what drugs can do to a person. It can kill them. Destroy their lives and anyone around them.
And her? There’s something about her. Something that I can’t seem to drop. For some reason I cared that she was talking to him and I was worried when the thought of her getting addicted to drugs crossed my mind.
The worst part is that Jude isn’t even a bad guy. He’s calm, unassuming, and if you didn’t know what he was selling, you’d think he’s just another guy trying to get through life. But what he does? That’s a different story. There’s nothing calm about the damage he causes.
I didn’t think about what I was doing when I went up to them or how it would look. I didn’t think about how it would seem like an intrusion or maybe even a challenge. I just wanted her away from him. And I handled it terribly to say the least.
Now, I’m sitting in the library, wondering if she’s ever going to show up to these sessions again. The clock ticks on the wall, loud enough to remind me how long I’ve been sitting here and waiting.
What’s bothering me even more than knowing I’m the reason she isn’t showing up is that I care that she isn’t showing up. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be sitting here with my jaw tense and my stomach twisted in knots because some girl—who clearly wants nothing to do with me—won’t walk through that door.
I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair as I force myself to focus. If she doesn’t show up, then fine. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.
I’m lying.
She shouldn’t. But she does.
I hear the doors being opened and closed but I keep my eyes glued on the maths book in front of me. For the past thirty minutes, any time that door opened my head shot up to see if it was her. By now, I know better. She didn’t show up for the last two sessions so why would she start now?
The thing is, her teacher doesn’t even know about that. Every time she asks for an update, I tell her that Carmen has been progressing well.
A loud thud from a book hitting my table quickly pulls me out of my thoughts. Looking up, my eyes widen as I see Carmen sliding into the chair opposite of me.
What the fuck?
She’s here. Like actually here.
Her school shirt is untucked and her tie is loosely wrapped around the collar. Her hair is the same, her makeup is the same, the way she dresses is the same but there’s something off about her.
“Hey, Blondie.”
“Aaron,” she replies, her eyes not even bothering to spare me a glance as she opens up her book.
Ouch but fairs. I clear my throat, trying to shake the surprise off. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
Carmen flips open her notebook, her pen tapping against the paper in an irregular rhythm. “Well, here I am,” she says, her tone flat, like this is a chore she’s forcing herself to do.
“Any particular reason, or did you miss my company?” I ask teasingly as I try to get a reaction out of her like usual.
I watch as her eyes widen slightly before it quickly goes back to its tired state. Almost. “I have a quiz later this week. I need to pass.”
There it is. No mention of the past two sessions that she’s missed or any acknowledgment of what happened at the Halloween party, and if she didn’t want to bring it up then neither do I.
“Right,” I say, pulling my chair closer to the table and flipping open the book in front of me. “Well, let’s start with—”
“I don’t want a lecture,” she cuts in, her voice sharp but tired. “Just help me figure out the stuff I don’t get.”
“I wasn’t going to give you any lecture,” I tell her honestly. Her eyes flicker to me for just a second before they dart back to her notebook. I could press her on why the hell she can’t look me in the eye for more than a second. But I don’t. “So, what don’t you get?” I ask instead, keeping my tone even.
Her gaze flickers to the book, and she starts flipping through pages. “Everything.”
I arch a brow. “Everything?”
She sighs, pushing her hair back from her face. “Fine, not everything. But most of it. The graphs, the formula, take your pick.”
“They aren’t as hard as they seem,” I say, and her head snaps up, eyes narrowing.
“Easy for you to say, Aaron. Some of us don’t have a calculator for a brain.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a shrug, ignoring her jab. I meant it in a reassuring way but I guess it didn’t come out like that. “Let’s start with the graphs then.”
She doesn’t respond, just leans forward, tapping her pen against the table as I walk her through a problem. It’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at the clock or how her fingers drum out a restless beat against her notebook.
“Are you even paying attention?” I ask after a few minutes, my voice tinged with irritation.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she shoots back, her tone defensive.
“Physically, sure. Mentally? Not so much.”
She glares at me but doesn’t say anything. She knows I’m right.
“You know,” I say after a moment, my voice softer, “you might actually learn something if you let yourself focus for more than five seconds.”
“I am focusing,” she mutters, though her eyes flick to the door again.
“On what? The exit?”
She stays silent, letting her shoulders shrug carelessly.
“Am I that bad to be around?” I ask, a hint of playfulness in my voice.
“No,” she blurts out and my lips tug up. She then adds,”I mean, you’re not the best either. Why do you even care if I’m paying attention or not?”
The question catches me off guard. “Because whether you believe me or not, I’m not trying to see you fail. I want you to do good, Carmen.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting a smile, but she doesn’t let it surface. “Good to know you’re so committed.”
“Someone has to be,” I quip, leaning back in my chair. “You’re not exactly giving me much to work with here.”
For a second, she looks like she’s about to snap back, but then she sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Sorry,” she mutters, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.
I blink, surprised. “What?”
“I said sorry,” she repeats, louder this time. “For being… difficult or whatever.”
“Well, that’s a first,” I say, grinning.
“Don’t get used to it,” she adds quickly, but her tone is lighter, less guarded.
We settle back into the session, and this time, she actually seems to be trying. I walk her through a few more problems, and while she’s still rough around the edges, there’s a spark of determination in her that wasn’t there before.
Something shifts. I ask her to solve a problem and when she does it right, a flicker of pride and happiness crosses her face. It’s not obvious but it’s there.
“See,” I chuckle, watching her with a small smile. “You’re not as hopeless as you think.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
“Maybe you’re right.”
We work through more problems, the tension between us easing just slightly. But I can’t help but notice how her hands shake when she rubs something out, or how her eyes flicker to the door every time it opens like she’s waiting for something.
When the session ends, she gathers her things quickly, like she’s eager to leave, but not as desperate as when she first arrived.
“Carmen,” I call out as she’s slinging her bag over her shoulder.
She pauses, turning to look at me with a raised brow.
“Good luck on your test,” I say, my tone softer than I intended.
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, before she nods. “Thanks.”
The door swings shut behind her, and I lean back in my chair, staring at the empty space where she sat. And just like that, she’s gone, leaving me sitting there, more confused-and more intrigued-than ever.
She didn’t mention the Halloween party. Not once. It’s almost worse that she didn’t bring it up.
She’s acting like it never happened, like I’m not the reason she skipped the last two sessions. And maybe I should be glad she didn’t. Maybe I should just let it go, let her keep her walls up and leave them alone.
But I can’t.
The way she’s acting-closed off, guarded, like she’s carrying something too heavy for one person to bear- it just makes me want to push harder. To figure out what’s really going on with her.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
That I can’t get her out of my mind.
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