Slammed

Our lips separate for a brief moment as his shirt passes between us. I place my hands on his chest and run them over the contours of his muscles as we continue to kiss. His hands grip my arms and he pushes me down onto the couch. I'm waiting for him to find his way back to my mouth, but instead he pushes away from me and stands up.
     
    "Layken, get up!" He demands as he grabs my hand and pulls me up from the couch.
     
    I stand up, still caught up in the moment and unable to catch my breath.
     
    "This—this can't happen!" He’s attempting to catch his breath too. "I'm your teacher now. Everything has changed, we can't do this.”
     
    His timing sucks. My knees are weak so I sit back down on the couch for support. "Will, I won’t say anything. I swear." I don't want him to regret what just happened between us. For a moment, it felt like we were back where we belonged. Now, seconds later I'm confused again.
     
    "I'm sorry, Layken but it's not right,” he says as he paces the floor. “This isn't good for either of us. This isn't good for you ."
     
    "You don't know what's good for me," I snap. I'm getting defensive again.
     
    He stops pacing and turns toward me. "You won't wait for me. I won't let you give up what should be the best year of your life. I had to grow up way too fast, I'm not taking that away from you, too. It's not fair. I don’t want you to wait for me, Layken."
     
    The shift in his demeanor and the way my entire first name is flowing from his mouth is causing the oxygen to deplete from the room. I’m dizzy.
     
    "I won't be giving anything up," I reply weakly. I would have screamed it if I could muster enough energy.
     
    He grabs his shirt and pulls it on over his head as he moves further away from me. He walks to the opposite side of the living room and grips the back of the couch, his head falling between his shoulders.
     
    "My life is nothing but responsibilities. I'm raising a child for Christ’s sake. I wouldn't be able to put your needs first. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to put them second . You deserve better than third."
     
    I stand up and walk over to him, kneeling on the couch in front of him. I place my hands on top of his. "Your responsibilities should come before me, which is why I want to wait for you, Will. You're a good person. This thing about you that you think is your flaw-it's the reason I'm falling in love with you."
     
    My last few words trickle out as though I've lost what little control over myself I had left. I don't regret saying it, though.
     
    He pulls his hands out from under mine and places them firmly on either side of my face. He looks me directly in the eyes. "You are not falling in love with me." He says this as if it's a command. “You cannot fall in love with me.” His face is hard as he clenches his jaw again. I feel the tears begin to well in my eyes as he releases me and walks toward the front door.
     
    "What happened tonight-" He's pointing to the couch as he speaks. "That can't happen again. That won't happen again." He says this as though he's trying to convince more than just me.
     
    After he walks outside, he slams the door behind him and I'm left alone in his living room. My hands clutch at my stomach as the nausea intensifies. I'm afraid if I don't regain my composure soon, I won't be able to stand long enough to make it out of the house. I inhale through my nose and exhale from my mouth as I count backwards from ten.
     
    It's a coping technique I learned when I was younger from my father. I used to have what my parent’s referred to as "emotional overloads." My dad would wrap his arms around me and squeeze me as tight as he could as we counted down. Sometimes I would fake the tantrums just so he would have to squeeze me. What I wouldn't give for my dad's embrace right now.
     
    The front door opens and Will re-enters carrying a sleeping Caulder in his arms. "Kel woke up, he's walking home now. You should go too," he says quietly.
     
    I feel completely embarrassed. Embarrassed of what just happened between us and the fact that he is making me feel desperate; weaker than him. I snatch my keys off the coffee table and turn toward the door, stopping in front of him.
     
    “ You're an asshole ,” I say. I turn and leave, slamming the door behind me.
     
    As soon as I get to my bedroom, I collapse on the bed and cry. Although it's negative, I finally have inspiration for my poem. I grab a pen and simultaneously start writing as I