Broken Boundaries

Chapter 6: After Class Lessons

Celeste

The school's background noise buzzes in my ears as the final bell rings. It’s closing time, and I can see some students running around the field, while others linger in clusters, chatting or slowly making their way home. I sit near the open door, reading aloud from the audiobook I actually find kind of interesting.

“Education is essential because it empowers individuals with knowledge and skills to improve their lives…” My voice falters a bit, but I keep going. “It also fosters critical thinking and enables people to contribute positively to society.”

Suddenly, I hear footsteps—heavy and deliberate—coming closer. My stomach tightens. I don’t even have to look up to know it’s him.

“Wow, I see you’re getting better at it.” Mr. Dominic’s voice carries that usual hint of amusement as he steps into the room, one hand casually tucked in his pocket.

I force a tight-lipped smile, focusing on the book in my hands. “I’m just doing the task you gave me, sir,” I say, to sound steady. “Trying my best to actually, you know, take the lesson seriously.”

His gaze feels heavy on me, like it’s burning through the side of my head. I glance away, fingers fiddling nervously with the neckline of my uniform. I don’t know why I feel so on edge whenever he’s around.

“Do I embarrass you?” he asks, his tone almost teasing.

I shoot him a glare, though it feels weak. “No, I’m not embarrassed.”

His lips curl up in a smirk. “I like it when you’re embarrassed,” he says, stepping closer. “You express yourself more.”

I instinctively drop my hand from my neck. He’s too close, his blue eyes searching mine like he’s reading a book. I try hard to keep eye contact, but the intensity of his stare makes me falter.

“Should I make you feel warmer, Celeste?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

I swallow hard and turn my gaze back to the page. The words blur together as I read aloud again, this time with a little more edge in my tone. But I can still feel him watching me, like he’s waiting for something—waiting for me to slip up.

“You’re so easy to understand,” he chuckles, stepping back. “People often reveal their true emotions through subconscious actions. You know, like fidgeting, avoiding eye contact...”

His lecture drones on as he paces around the room, and I realize the light has dimmed outside, casting a strange shadow across the classroom. My pulse quickens, and I don’t know if it’s from what he’s saying or the way his voice wraps around the silence between us.

He stops pacing and turns towards me, his gaze sharp. “This is why I understand you so well,” he says, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

I keep my eyes on the book. “Even if you think you know me, it doesn’t mean you do.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. My hands clench into fists, trembling slightly.

He tilts his head, as if studying me. “Are you doing that to suppress your anger?” His voice is gentle, but his eyes don’t soften.

I slowly meet his gaze, unable to come up with a response. There’s a long moment where neither of us speaks, the room thick with tension. Then, he looks away and stands up, as if I’ve done something wrong by saying nothing at all.

“That’s enough chitchat, Celeste,” he says, his voice suddenly brisk. “I’m only doing this because I want the best for you as your English teacher, so don’t think otherwise.”

I snap my head up, irritation flaring inside me. “I’m not thinking otherwise,” I bite back. “I just hate how you’re always studying me like some kind of project… and your cologne—it disgusts me.” The words rush out before I can second-guess them, my voice trembling with an edge I didn’t know I had.

Mr. Dominic’s smile doesn’t waver. “You shouldn’t have brought that up, but thank you,” he says, as if I just paid him a compliment. “Now,” he continues, unfazed, “read this section five times when you get home and then answer the questions.” He marks page 19 and 20 of the audiobook and hands me a list of vocabulary words. “Look up the meanings and submit your work first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks, sir,” I mumble, stuffing the book into my bag. I can still feel his gaze on my back as I walk out of the classroom, my cheeks burning.

As I step into the cooling evening air, I realize I can still smell his cologne, lingering faintly on the edge of my thoughts like a challenge. And the worst part? I don’t know if I’m disgusted by it… or something else entirely.

But why does it matter to him so much how I feel? And why does my heart keep pounding whenever I think about it?

I’m not sure...