Father Vaughn
I watched as my little moth enjoys the freedom she gets. Everything is currently going as planned, as it should be. She curls on her bed in only her underwear; her body is perfect canvas for my creation. I watch as she pouts in her sleep and hear her weird noises she makes every two minutes. I drew my hood over my head and head back home wishing the night might last longer. I looked over at the opposite building, maybe it was time to finally use the wealth I have acquired over the years into some good use.
The classroom emptied one body at a time thankfully my students understood how much I react to noise and disorderliness. Laughter echoed down the hallway until silence filled the room. But she lingered, stacking her books slower than anyone else probably nervous for her private lessons, alone with the teacher she so subtly watched.
Her eyes lifted, cautious and obedient. She nodded in silent agreement and I fought to keep the corners of my mouth from betraying me. She thought this was about scripture, or perhaps her performance in class. It wasn't. It was never just that.
I drew the blinds halfway, enough for light to slip in but not enough for wandering eyes to see everything. She sat, and I positioned myself closer than necessary, leaning over her notes. The faint scent of her shampoo reached me, and I memorized it instantly, the smell of morning dew and peach.
"You have potential," I told her softly, letting my gaze linger on her pink, pouty lips, drawing a shiver from her before snapping back to the text. "But you don't give yourself enough credit. I see you, more than the others."
Her cheeks warmed, and she shifted uncomfortably. I smoothed my tone, disguised my hunger as gentle encouragement. "That's why I asked you to stay. You deserve...special attention."
"Then why did you grade me poorly?" She asked, bottled anger evident in her eyes. I wanted to see how I can make her then break her and what becomes of her afterwards."Because I wanted to...and reasons you are not ready for." I say with a smirk on my face.
"But this grade can affect my annual report. Why would you even do that?" She said, her chest heaving and her eyes teary. I watched her heave and slowly panic attacks struck. She held her throat gasping for air, her hand stretching out to me for help. It was just what I wanted, for her to lean on me for this. I placed my hand on her chest and my other on her jaw forcing her to look into my eyes. "Watch me," I say. "Breathe in, breathe out." Slowly, she began to obey, to lean in and when she calmed her breaths, she burst into tears.
When she finished crying, she moved closer to me. I hated the sound of her tears and that surprised me because watching girls cry turned me on, their pain excites me but hers just drew out unsolicited torture from me. "No one has ever helped me through my panic attacks before. How...how did you learn to do that?" She said, after a long moment of silence. I glanced at her; her puffy eyes looked somewhat angelic and innocent looking, wanting me to take that light for myself. "I used to have them before," I say. "We will continue tomorrow. You should go."
She picked up her bag and went for the door but not after holding my hand for a second. She turned expecting someone solemn but I had an expression that wanted more of what happened. For her to keep opening to me like this. "Goodbye for now and don't forget to close your windows."
The look on her face ignited curiosity in me. What was she thinking? I just had to know somehow. I heard her retreating footsteps in the hallway, she was running from me. Like that would even stop me, she was disoriented and that's progress.
The rest of the day I checked her attendance logs and her check outs. What she ate for lunch and where she went to after the lessons for the day as usual and so far, my little moth has been trying out some new things unlike what she did few weeks ago but she wasn't feeding healthy so that's where I step in.
I turned the corner just as she did, almost colliding. She stumbled back, startled, and I steadied her with a hand at her elbow. "Careful," I said. My thumb brushed the fabric of her sleeve, memorizing the curve of her arm beneath it. Her thanks was soft, fleeting. But I carried the sound with me for the rest of the day.
Later on that night, I watched her watch the old television series she likes. Her laughter slipped out in a quiet flutter, as if she hadn't meant for that to escape. She covered her mouth, her giggle shy and feather-light. I stayed all night watching her through the windows she didn't close. Her defiance was really something and it just excites me to see how far she can contain it till it explodes.