Since I failed 3 exams back to back I realized I will be sentenced to summer school and be the biggest idiot in my family unless I retake them and pass.
My abusive family were of no help. Our father was an alcoholic and would often take out his anger on our mom, and when she managed to flee the house leaving me behind he would take it out on me. Father was a terrible human being and I always had a bruise or two on my face to show for it.
I was an 18 year-old female brunette, 5'2, blue eyes, 36 C, medium hair. For the purposes of this story my name is Jayne.
History was my weakest subject. I just wasn't interested in dates, names, countries and wars. Architecture of the past, medieval craftsmanship and early crop rotation methods aren't my cup of tea either. They go over my head like the odd paper airplane in our lessons with some of the less experienced teachers barely out of training.
I had this creepy teacher called Marth who came over from Hungary or some other country in that part of Europe. He spoke 7 languages fluently and was a very intelligent man. He taught English as well as history.
Mr. Marth was a young, 26 year-old man with short black hair and a nerdy face. He wore glasses and overall was pretty ugly. He was 5'10 and sometimes bared his hairy forearms to the classes he taught.
Something about his vibes screamed at me, "creep alert". I couldn't put my finger on it, but the way he smiled at girls makes me shiver even today. He was especially creepy toward younger girls aged 14, but honestly? I had too much going on at home to really care at the time. I just put it down to him being a nice teacher.
He had a very commanding, deep voice. He spoke with an accent, but that didn't matter. I made extra effort to be polite to him and his culture. I occasionally forced a smile when he talked to me and looked him in the eye which he liked - maybe even too much because his usual response was a broad grin and uncomfortably long eye contact and dead silence that followed.
After a beating earlier that morning, I walked to school with tears in my eyes and a black eye. I sat at the back of the classroom and turned my head away from the class and my teacher, Marth. He was trying to make eye contact all lesson but I avoided it at all cost. I just wanted the lesson to end.
The bell sounded. Everyone packed up and started pouring out of the confines of the classroom when Marth called out, "Jayne, a word." I started shivering. I had to face the reality; I am going to fail and go to summer school. If I fail that, my future looks bleak.
Marth motioned for me to sit at the front and quietly locked the door. He then sat next to me and asked if I have problems at home. I was surprised how he'd guessed that. I made no reply, to which he said that he really likes me and sees a lot of potential in me, and that he would do everything in his power to help me if I only tell him what's the matter.
I had a gut feeling that this is a weird situation, but I really needed someone's shoulder to cry on. It was my weak moment. I told him that my father is an alcoholic that beats me and mom and that I am not doing well at school. My eyes began to water and I sobbed. I couldn't carry on the conversation anymore.
Marth put his hand on mine and squeezed gently. I felt repulsed but didn't resist. "Jayne, you know I like you. You're a woman now, and a very pretty one. I would like to have a daughter like you one day." I looked up but avoided eye contact. My instinct begged me to free my hand from his grasp and make my excuses, but I needed someone's attention that day. I remained seated.
"Jayne, I can arrange for you to do 1 exam and the grade you get on this one will count for 90% of your overall grade. I can arrange for us to have 1 on 1s to help you catch up. You're a bright young lady, I believe in you."
