Chapter 9

The annoying ticking of a clock somewhere inside my brain beats out a steady rhythm, making me flinch every second, every moment. I'm hopelessly late for the second class, and honestly, I'm probably not even going to show up at school today. So what? Behind the transparent, gleaming window, everything alive and inanimate, moving and still, flashes by at an incredible speed. I sigh heavily, wrapping myself in my leather jacket, involuntarily inhaling its fresh scent. I nervously bite my lip, casting a look at the teacher, a gaze as focused as a lightning strike, almost painfully intense.

"It's a bit chilly here," he says, skillfully maneuvering the car's steering wheel while trying to figure out the heater.

"Mhm," I quietly exhale the heated air. The cold wraps around my whole body, piercing each cell of my skin down to the tiniest tremor at the tips of my fingers. Meanwhile, everything inside me burns with bright fire, and in every capillary, an explosion occurs, which only heats up my already boiling blood, making it so hot, almost like boiling water. His eyebrows, furrowed toward the bridge of his nose, make his gaze even more tense and focused. He stares at the window, paying close attention to the road. And I, meanwhile, study the features of his face in the rearview mirror, without even realizing it.

"Am I really that handsome, Martin?" Mr. Gilbert's plump, blood-filled lips stretch into a barely noticeable, barely perceptible smile. I involuntarily flinch at the tone, the question, his voice, flowing like mesmerizing syrup.

"I have a name, by the way," I reply, not that I dislike it—I hate being called by my last name, and he does it so excessively and ironically.

"You're dodging the answer, Eva."

"Not at all," I protest, immediately becoming more animated, confidently folding my arms over my chest. "I was just... thinking. And what I was looking at is really not important."

"So what were you thinking about?"

"Biology," Mr. Gilbert lets out a light laugh, glancing at my poor little soul with his deep blue eyes, hopelessly trying to warm up in such a cold environment. His gaze, it seems, sends even more tremors through me than the cold itself.

"See you, Martin," I notice the car has stopped right by the entrance only after his words. Nervously clutching my bag, I throw it over my shoulder and reach for the car door handle. But it stubbornly resists, as if it doesn't want me to leave the cozy Range Rover. Rolling his eyes for a moment, only the whites visible, Mr. Gilbert sighs heavily, probably from my clumsiness and some helplessness. I freeze as he reaches for the door on my side, leaning slightly and effortlessly opening it. For a moment, Mr. Gilbert is too close, so close that my heart starts to betray me, thumping fast, trying to escape through my chest. Nervously licking my lips, tightening my grip on my bag, almost digging my claws into its fabric, I stare at Mr. Gilbert, and he stares at me.

"Goodbye," the barely audible response that slips from my lips is already irrevocably lost in the air as I, like a leper, get out of the car, slamming the door loudly.

Goodbye, Mr. Gilbert. 

I can easily portray the Virgin Martyr to my mom over the phone. Of course, I don't do this often, but the situation calls for it now. I really don't feel like going to school, and especially not seeing Sarah. Because, damn it, she left me back then, figuratively speaking, alone with that Brad. Gross! My stomach still feels unpleasantly tingly, the alcohol I drank the day before yesterday is still making itself known even today. It's an unpleasant feeling.

But I do decide to head somewhere. To that very club, "Bloody Dawn." And no, of course, not to get drunk again. I need the second floor, yes, the one that serves as a mini tattoo salon. The place doesn't work during the day, not even security guards are at the entrance, so getting in is no trouble for me at all. The lighting is still dim, unfamiliar voices drift from the second floor, and quiet, soothing music fills the hall. I slowly walk up the stairs, until I find myself in the same spot I was at last time in the club.

"Oh, another one," a guy sitting on a matte beige couch exclaims, seeing me, and quickly jumps up, walking toward me with a businesslike stride. "Came to get a tattoo too? Wow! Bonnie, you've got a lot of work today!"

"Actually, no," I interrupt his brief monologue, unsure of myself.

The girl named "Bonnie" pauses for a moment in applying an unusual design to the skin of her client and squints at me questioningly. Honestly, my attention is immediately drawn to her strange hairstyle—long dreadlocks tucked into a high ponytail. I've only seen something like that on screen before.

"So why then?" the guy who was talking earlier gives me an interested look.

"I want to work for you," I exhale.

"Just a second," Bonnie apologizes to her client for the brief interruption. "Rodney!"

And this girl's voice is piercing! So much so that my ears actually rang, I swear!

I nervously fidget with my bag, when a man, around forty, bursts into the room. He's dressed quite solidly: a smooth, pressed black suit that clearly cost more than three hundred rubles, polished shoes with sharp toes, and a cute blue tie with red polka dots—the only thing that seems tastefully mismatched. The man looks at Bonnie in surprise, making a clinking sound.

"Yeah, yeah, nothing! This girl wants to work for us," she nods at me, and inside, my whole soul shrinks and retreats into a corner from the sudden wave of fear and anxiety. But my face shows nothing but calm, nothing more.

"The ads aren't even ready, and we already have candidates," the man rubs his hands together slyly, which makes Bonnie and the guy who spoke to me first smirk. "And are you 21, young lady?"

"Of course," I lie without a shred of hesitation, but this tough guy seems harder to fool than I thought. Sigh...

"Ah, you're lying! I can see it in your brown eyes," he waves his finger at me reproachfully, clicking his tongue. "Alright. Bonnie, see what she can do, and then we'll decide."

"Aye aye, captain!" the girl salutes him with her hand to her temple, nodding, then turns to me. "What's your name?"

"Eva."

"Well then, Eva, let's get down to it!"

Despite my poor health, today is simply wonderful. I returned in a good mood, realizing that I got what I had "crawled" out of my cozy cocoon, that is, my apartment, for. Seeing my drawing talents and unconventional thinking, Bonnie, as it turns out, was the name of the girl, praised me in front of Mr. Hale—the very same forty-year-old guy who turned out to be the owner of the entire place. By the way, he's actually only thirty-nine.

My stomach betrayed me by growling loudly, and after hastily changing, I hurried to the kitchen. I was absolutely starving, but luckily, I managed to stop by the supermarket on the way home and bought a few things: my favorite ham, hard cheese, and a large pack of yogurt made up of four individual packs of my favorite treat. I made an omelette and, with great pleasure, devoured it. Then I started on the yogurt when the doorbell suddenly rang.

I nearly choked in surprise. Squinting so much that a small wrinkle appeared between my brows, I wondered who it could be. I wasn't expecting anyone. Maybe Sarah came to check on me since we had "enjoyed ourselves" together on Wednesday and I hadn't been to school since. By the way, my phone had been bombarded with endless text messages from her, to which I really didn't feel like responding. She even called once, and after that, my smartphone finally stopped making those awful sounds that really gave me a headache.

Reluctantly putting down my spoon and yogurt on the table, I trudged to the front door, hearing another ring. And why didn't I think to check the peephole first and only then do something? I could have pretended I wasn't home. But when I opened the door, I was faced with someone—one of the last people I wanted to see right now.

"Excuse me, but what are you doing here?" I looked Mr. Gilbert up and down with a confused glance, but I couldn't embarrass him in the slightest.

"Well, first of all, hello," Mr. Gilbert froze in the stairwell, staring at me point-blank, and for some reason, smiling slightly. "And second of all, didn't you forget you have extra biology lessons?"

I still looked at him confused, unable to say anything. Yes, damn it, of course, I remember that I have extra classes on Tuesdays and Fridays, but I wasn't at school today. So what the hell...

"Your mother called me today, said you were feeling unwell, and asked me to come to your place and hold the lesson here," the teacher finally explained when he saw my confused expression. "She gave me the address, which, by the way, I already knew."

And why does he have to remind me of yesterday—and, by extension, the day before? Yes, of course, he can't do it any other way.

Stepping aside, I let Mr. Gilbert into the apartment. Reluctantly, of course, but I really didn't have much of a choice. I directed the man to the living room, briefly explaining where to go, and I quickly went back to finish my delicious yogurt. How did my mom manage this? She really worries about my studies.

Quickly running to my bedroom, I grabbed everything I needed: a textbook, a notebook, a pencil case—and swiftly headed to the living room, where Mr. Gilbert should have been. But as soon as I opened the door, I bumped right into the man. As usually happens in romance novels, "I crashed face-first into his chest," but no, my height was about the same as his, so I almost ended up face-to-face with Mr. Gilbert. And if I had, it would've been rather uncomfortable. But thankfully, the things I had grabbed from my room kept us at least a small distance apart.

"I was just about to look for you," the teacher smirked briefly. "And here you are, rushing to biology."

Another jab. But by now, I'm pretty used to it. Just like everyone else in class. Just like everyone at school.

"Would you like some tea or coffee?" I asked, putting my school supplies on the table and turning to face Mr. Gilbert. An orange strand of hair fell across my face, and I quickly tucked it behind my ear. "Or something stronger?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Martin?" he shook his head disapprovingly, and I gave a brief laugh. Of course, that would be the last thing I needed.

"Well, you never know," I decided to justify myself, looking innocently away. "Who knows what your preferences are…"

"I'll take some tea," the teacher replied, after thinking for a minute, with a friendly smile. I nodded obediently and headed to the kitchen to boil the kettle. As I passed a large mirror, I involuntarily glanced at it and only then realized what I was wearing: shamelessly short pajama shorts and a warm sweater, which really shouldn't go together, but somehow looked quite harmonious. Especially on my slim frame. Realizing that there was no point in changing, since Mr. Gilbert had already seen me like this... I went on. And it would have felt strange to change. As if I were embarrassed in front of my teacher, especially in my own house. Well, no. At home, in my own cozy corner, there's no one to be embarrassed about. Especially not Mr. Gilbert.

Go to hell, teacher! I'm at home!