Bedded by the Beast

~ Kian Jones ~

"Now, does everybody understand?" our fifth-grade teacher, Miss Halloway, asked, searching among the class.

"Yes, miss," we all answered in unison, mumbling in an unenthusiastic drawl.

She cupped her hand around her ear, displeased by our response. "I'm sorry, what was that? Repeat it so I know you've learned something."

There was huffing and groaning from the class, but I remained silent. My teacher's eyes were on me the whole time, and I was embarrassed about that.

"Tell an appropriate adult if someone approaches you with drugs," we all muttered out of sync.

Her green eyes held my gaze a moment longer, and I noticed an element of concern lingering within them. The home bell startled her, giving me the chance to scamper away.

I snatched up the tatty satchel that my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Banks, gave to me last year. It used to belong to her son, Charlie, when he went to school fifty-seven years ago. She was like a grandmother to me and always made sure I had at least one decent meal every day.

I barely made it past my desk when I heard Miss Halloway's voice calling me back. "Kian Jones, could you stay behind for a minute, please?"

My heart plummeted into my stomach, playing havoc with my anxiety. "Yes, miss," I replied timidly as I clutched the worn satchel strap.

She waited until all the other kids had left before perching on the edge of her desk. All the homework papers had been placed on top of one another in a messy pile. All except for mine. This was the second week in a row that I had failed to complete the assignment.

"Where's your homework?" she asked, even though I could tell that she had already second-guessed my answer.

My excuse lodged in my throat, strangling my voice. "I left it at home, miss," I lied, hating how sour it tasted in my mouth.

What else could I do? I couldn't tell her that I spent most nights cleaning up after my mom. How I struggled to drag her to her room after she passed out cold on the bathroom floor, high as a cloud on heroin. How was I supposed to explain I had to clean her up after she threw up all over herself and almost choked on her own vomit, or how she had pissed herself at the same time?

Miss Halloway sighed, moved her long, brown hair over one shoulder, then folded her arms across her chest.

"Is everything all right at home, Kian?" Her voice was drenched with concern, and I hated it.

I hated it because she was right. I hated it because when she asked me that question, the truth scraped against the bone, and I was scared. Fear clenched my lungs, crushing them tight. She can't know. No one could know.

"Yes, miss," I replied, my own voice trembling at this point.

Tears threatened to swell in my eyes. I could already feel them starting to burn, then distort . . . damn, too late, it was happening.

"Hey, it's all right." She edged forward and brushed her hand against my shoulder, attempting to comfort me.

My breath skipped in my throat as I snatched in a gasp of air.

"You can talk to me; I'm worried about you," she said, bunching her brows.