Chapter Eight: Slowly close the door...

I got a cold. Thanks a fucking lot, Mr Holmes. Excellent advice. And yes, it was originally my idea but I am putting all the blame on you because it's unlikely I would have actually gone through with it before you told me I should.

When I see him next, I'm going to murder him.

I'll see him at lunch. Due to my cold, my mother has forced me into going to this doctors appoint she made to see if it was just a cold. She's a tad paranoid. I guess madness just runs in the family. Anyway, because of this appointment, I'd be missing my first lesson of today, which is French.

Yep. It was already Monday. The day of the Oral Exam. The weekend passed in a blur of snotty noses and tea in bed while I read my French paragraphs to myself over and over.

Luckily, I'm in and out of the doctors by the time I'd be leaving French. Knowing my Oral Exam was the last thing I had in the day (Mr Holmes did that so I'd have a bit more time to prepare myself beforehand), my mother lets me stay out of school for another hour to practice the French more and drops me off towards the end of break time.

After signing in and handing over the note from my mother, I make my way to join Molly and her friends. She'd been texting me all weekend, worried about how I was ill. It made me feel guilty but no one ever said there was a rule that you had to be in a relationship for 'normal' reasons. Molly got something out of the arrangement and I did too.

"Hi!" She greets me the second I'm without ear shot. A few of her friends murmurs greetings too.

I nod at them and slide into the seat beside Molly. As usual, her friends glance between us. Everyday, it was like they expected me to greet Molly with kisses and cuddles. And even though our relationship isn't like most, I'm sure that real couples don't always greet each other with a kiss or hug. Kind of story book, isn't it?

"Hello" I say to Molly, ignoring the looks from her friends and giving her a small smile.

"Feeling better?" She asks, smiling sweetly.

I nod "Much, thanks"

At least I didn't actually lie to her when I said I had a cold. I was actually ill. Just not by accident.

Molly opens her mouth to speak but the bell goes, erupting groans from the entire room. Standing, I grab both my bags from under the table. Another groan of displeasure leaves my lips when I realise that I have PE next.

Molly giggles at my reaction and I smile at her a little as I pull my PE kit on to my back.

We all head towards the playground and we pass Ms Hudson's room as we walk. Molly was busy chatting to her friends, so I glance in to see Mr Holmes arranging things on his desk. I bite my lip when I catch sight of his shirt.

So I was going to have to speak calmly to him in another language while he wore that purple shirt... Great. That was bound to be heaps of fun.

I hitch my bag higher up my shoulder and continue walking, glad for the space provided once we exit the main school building to head towards the changing rooms for PE.

I say goodbye to Molly and her two friends (whose name I don't know or care about) as they head towards the back of the block where the girls changing room are. I stand in line with a glum expression, thinking how I should have got mum to write a note saying I was too ill to do PE and was only in school for the French exam.

As per usual, the lesson passes with me muttering curses and mentally pushing the teacher off a cliff into a dark abyss where some mysterious flesh eating monster lives. And I honestly believe that he does a portions of the lesson mentally doing the same to me but since he can't do that he settles for making do five laps each time I make an even slightly snappy comment.

Trailing sluggishly to English, I didn't feel the least bit ready for this exam at the end of the day. Well, I just hope that Mr Holmes can provide me with some motivation.

After lunch and tutor time, I had Maths and I'd be missing the last ten minutes of that lesson to do to the Oral exam in a small building beside the field that doubled as a place for student support and things like that. Ms Hudson tried to get me to speak to them once. No surprise, I flat out refused.

English passes quicker than usual. Which I was extremely thankful for because there's only a certain amount of Sally Donovan a person can take and my tolerance levels were almost at 0 by now.

Walking out of the classroom, I roll my shoulders and hitch my bag higher. Sally calls out my name but thankfully gets distracted by some random blonde girl whose name I've never bothered to learn.

Smile a little and allowing my mood to lighten, I continue to walk down the hall. My English room was upstairs and Ms Hudson's room was downstairs so once again I found myself zig zagging through the corridors to avoid being touch by these dreadful humans that I have to call my peers.

Because, according to Ms Hudson, it's rude to call them peasants and act like they're worth less than a piece of shit on my shoe.

Unfortunately, I don't manage to make it all the way to my French room without being touch. As I walk down the stairs, a boy going up them doesn't seem to understand that there's this thing called personal space and practically runs his hand up my all over my hand and arm.

Shivering, I rush down the last steps. I side step and close my eyes, doing my best not to think about where his hand may have been. People like that annoy me. For fucks sake, couldn't he keep his hands to himself? Did he have to explore everything with his sense of touch like a two year old?

"Fucking idiot" I mutter, attracting the attention of a girl walking past me.

Naturally, I ignore her and continue my way down the corridor towards the French rooms. 

When I finally get there, after what seems like a marathon, I sigh in relief. But then I pause and squint, looking in the window.

Mr Holmes was sat at his desk, as per usual. But, unlike he normally is, he wasn't sitting straight. He has his feet up on the desk and his chair is at an angle so his back was to the door.

It looked like he was writing with a book rested in his lap at first glance. But the closer I watched, the more I could see how he couldn't be doing that.

His head was tipped back ever so slightly, as if looking ahead or slightly above him and his arm moved too much for him to writing.

Is he... jerking off?

Frowning, I pull the handle down slowly and push the door with an little speed so I don't make too much noise and attract attention. I step forward so I'm half in the door, eyes fixed on my teacher as my heart pulses in my ears.

He's panting lightly and his arm begins to move faster. I still can't see exactly what he's doing.

"Ugh, James..." It was barely a whisper and if I hadn't been so focused on keeping quiet and listening, I would have missed it.

My eyes widen. Holy shit. He's wanking in his class and moaning my fucking name. Oh my God...

What the fuck do I do?!

I bite my lip and just slowly close the door...

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