Chapter 6

Waking up, I shake the sleep from my head, my dream memories still vivid in my mind. Pushing the ones of my time undercover from my mind, I focus on the drowning one. I’ve had it before, and I still wonder about whatever ended up happening to the guy.

I really hope he didn’t just try and kill himself again. He seemed sweet and kind, and I would’ve liked to get to know him. Still wish I’d gotten his name.

Getting up, I go through my boring morning routine, before heading to work. It’s nice to be able to say that - heading to work. It’s been like five years since I’ve said that, what with working undercover for three, and then being released, getting therapy and a teaching qualification, and now finally getting another job again.

I always felt bad for my sister - I was living with her for the past two years, and I always felt guilty, like I was mooching off her. Because, well, I was. Now though, I finally have a job again. Shame that I’m stuck at trying to get out of my car, because my hands won’t stop shaking, and I can’t stop tracing the lines of my tattoo.

I’m always like this, right after having the memories resurface. It’s like a gateway for many more memories, and now I can’t focus on anything. Closing my eyes, I force some deep breaths, before giving up and deciding to call Ailsa.

She always manages to calm me down, she dealt with me when I was at my worst. She knows how to help me.

Before I manage to dial her number, however, a knock on my window surprises me enough that my shaky hands drop my phone on my car floor. Glancing up, Mr Hastidal looks down at me with an amused expression, before his eyes land on my shaky hands with a look of surprise, and I shove them in my pockets.

Grabbing my phone, I get out of the car quickly, giving the other teacher my best fake smile. He gives me a look which says he doesn’t fall for it, but he doesn’t push me to explain either. “You know, it’s always scary starting a new job, but trust me, the kids here are nice, they won’t bully you or anything,” he says kindly as we walk to the teachers’ office.

I smile, and it’s anything but genuine, but oh well. “Thank you, that’s good to know,” I say, as if the bloody kids at this school are what’s causing me to be this scared. Yeah right, I may think they want to kill me, but I know deep down that that’s not true.

It’s just my paranoia, after almost dying several times, and being stabbed, quite literally, in the back, by people I knew for a long time.

Mr Hastidal drops his books onto his desk, rootling around inside his bag for a moment before pulling out a pad of sticky notes. “So, Principal Smith emailed and asked me to tell you that we’re all going for drinks after work today. You’re not on the email list just yet, so here’s a physical reminder,” he says, scribbling down an address and time.

“Sometimes, when it gets to the end of the week like this, we do it - it’s quite nice really, and the bar we go to is a good price.” Mr Hastidal hands me the sticky note, smiling gently as he does so. “You don’t have to come, but it would be nice to see you there.”

I nod, before managing to get out the words “I don’t drink though.” Mr Hastidal looks surprised, but shakes his head shortly after. “Don’t worry, there’s soft drinks. A few of the others don’t always drink either.”

Nodding again, I fold the note, placing it in my pocket. Mr Hastidal grabs his books again, before motioning for me to follow him. “I’ll take you back to the classroom you’ll be teaching in today, just to make sure you don’t get lost,” he says with a small smile.

I mean to thank him, but no sound comes out, and instead I just stare at the floor. “Why do you keep doing that?” His voice brings me out of my thoughts, my efforts to try and keep the memories at bay instantly dashed against the shores of reality when he engages me in conversation.

I try and block out the knife from my memory, but Mikey screaming and stabbing me blasts its way into my mind, and I close my eyes, my hands shaking so much that I can literally feel them do so.

When I open my eyes again, I attempt to answer him. “Do what?” I ask, my voice, luckily, coming out calm and unshaken. Mr Hastidal points to my hands, and I glance down. “You keep touching your tattoo, does it hurt or something?”

Normally, if someone points out my tic, I just play it off, but instead, for some reason, I tell him the truth. “It’s a nervous tic. I do it when I’m thinking or talking about certain things,” I say quietly, shoving my hands in my pockets.

He looks surprised again, like he was when he saw my hands shaking. I guess I don’t look like the kind of guy to get nervous much.

“Oh…will you be ok to teach? There’s still time, if you need a moment to calm down,’ he says kindly, placing a hand on my arm. It’s supposed to be reassuring, I know, but all I see is the knife slicing into my back.

I flinch backwards, gasping for air as I squeeze my eyes shut again. “Just…just go, please,” I say quietly, not even daring to look at him. I thought I was finally starting to make some sort of positive relationship with someone (I daren’t say making a friend, that’s too optimistic for me), and once again, my fucked brain won’t let me do that.

“I’m sorry. Of course, I’ll leave you alone now,” Mr Hastidal says, and a few deep breaths later, I’m able to open my eyes. He’s long gone, and a quick check of the time alerts me to the imminent start of my first lesson as a teacher.

I can’t fuck this up too.