Teach Me To Live (Teach Me - Book One) (5 page)

I’ve had a fight with my parent’s.

I know that fighting with the parent’s is a normal occurrence in the world of teenage girls. But fighting with my parent’s; that’s not normal.

As a matter of fact, I don’t remember the last time I fought with my parent’s. I don’t remember the last time I screamed into anything apart from my pillow, much less Dad’s face.

I finally admitted to myself that I didn’t want to attend University. I tore up my application and tossed it into the trash before marching, (probably the wrong thing to do) into Dad’s office.

I hadn’t been trying to display an indignant attitude, as he accused; but rather, I’d been trying to clutch at the fleeting courage I’d had with numbing fingertips.

I’d announced blatantly that I had no desire to attend University. And then I must have been on one hell of a roll with that admission because my mouth just kept on running. I voiced my lack of passion for law and admitted my love of writing. Yeah, writing, (I know—the career for the starved). I said, and probably shouldn’t have, that I was through allowing my parent’s to mold me into someone I didn’t want to be. Someone I hated.

I hate myself.

I knew with every word that pushed from between my lips that I was killing him. But the volcano had erupted and once the lava spilled, what was burned simply couldn’t be healed. I knew without doubt that the words I’d said would stain the relationship I had with my parent’s for a long while to come, but words once said have no recall. This is something I will have to live with.

And I could live with it.

I could because I had to.

“If the idea of living a life of law is so torturous a thought, then you can find yourself somewhere else to live, Madison. But you will not remain in this house, under my roof, and loathe the person your Mother and I raised you to be. You will not threaten the health of your future with this rubbish of abolishing the importance of University!”

Dad’s words echoed in my mind as I half walked half jogged, through the house to my newfound residence of the pool house. That was if I wasn’t being evicted.

I could hear Mom screaming at Dad for his words of unrelenting opinion. I knew I’d really stirred the pot. I didn’t fight with my parent’s, but my parent’s also didn’t fight with each other.

However, the guilt I felt brewing deep in my heart was only a whisper to the raging hurt and anger I felt soaring through my bloodstream.

I had to get out of this house. I had to do something with myself. And the only thing I could think of doing, that I actually wanted to do, was see the intense creature with the deep blue eyes and inked skin.

Diving onto my bed, I tugged my journal from beneath my pillow. Dialing his phone number, I placed my iPhone to my ear and waited. At the beautiful sound of his deep and challenging voice, my breath caught. I swear, for a moment, reality slipped away to this world of fanatical bliss, as I lost myself in the memory of his eyes, and his voice, and just—
him.
There was something about him. Something that challenged me to breathe.

Now, as I drove to the coffee shop I’d frequented almost daily for two and a half years, I couldn’t help but wonder if I could be running to a more predictable place for my parent’s to find me. I absolutely loved the caramel macchiato’s the café served and I had one almost every day.

I was a creature of routine; appreciating of habit. The coffee house simply fit into my routine. But since meeting the blue-eyed creature, I’d been avoiding my place of great coffee. I had been avoiding the very man I was now running to. How ironic that the one who sparked upheaval in my perfect existence be the one I run to for some sense of security. I mean, he promised me he could teach me to live. Hell, I didn’t even know what that meant, but I knew I wanted it.

I wanted to live.

Wanted
was probably the wrong word.
Ached
was more appropriate. I ached in the deepest crevice of my heart, the marrow of my bone, the core of my soul, to begin living. I was tired of breathing day in and day out. I was tired of conforming to what my parent’s and society believed was appropriate. What about the things my heart desired? What about the dreams that called to my soul? What about the cravings I had yet to taste?

I was a creature of predictable routine. I was a creature of right and wrong, black and white, good and bad. There was no middle ground in my world. There was no gray.

I ached for middle ground and I had a sense that the man with the intense blue eyes, that taunted danger of the unknown, could be that ground for me.

Before I knew it, I’d parked my SUV outside the coffee house. Staring into the glass of the windows at the reflection of my white car, I suddenly wondered what I was doing. I mean, what in the
freaking world
was I doing? I didn’t know this man from freaking Adam. And yet here I was.

A moan fell from my lips as I dipped my forehead to the steering wheel. Closing my eyes, I breathed in and out. And then I breathed in again, before releasing slow and steady. The Internet said to take deep calming breaths when faced with the looming threat of an anxiety attack. So that was what I was doing.

Deep breath in.

Slow breath out.

Deep breath in . . .

Knock.
Knock, knock, knock.

I flinched into an upright position in my seat. I was startled by the intensity of the blue orbs staring down at me. The man I’d run to had found me. He was standing outside the driver’s door of my car, looking down at me with a grim expression painted to his, well, handsome features.

Actually, I’m not sure if I would describe him as handsome per say. The onyx of his hair had a tinge of brown now that he was standing beneath the warm sun and his skin was deeply tanned. He wore a black leather jacket with a black t-shirt and jeans. Before I knew what I was looking for I found myself searching for the
size matters
belt buckle. It wasn’t there. Instead, it had been replaced by another buckle. This one looked like some Celtic design.

I watched transfixed as he raised his hand again to tap his knuckle against my window. As a blush rose into my cheeks I rolled down my window. “Hi.”

I seriously didn’t know what it was about the man that made me blush. Really, I wasn’t that much of a girl to fall into the blushing beauty category for teens.

“You planning on hiding out in your car all day?” He leaned down to rest his colorful forearms on the now open ledge of my window. “It’s cool if you are, but I have this thing I was planning on doing today.”

Oh, my goodness, he was busy and I’d called him bawling my eyes out for rescue.

“Oh, you’re busy,” I felt that stupid red in my cheeks burn even hotter. Seriously, I was in danger of melting. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“You’re not,” he cocked a grin.

“But I thought you just said you have things to do?”

“I do.”

I shook my head. “I’m lost.”

He shrugged. “I was planning on bringing you along with me if you don’t mind?”

“Oh.”

“Well?” He raised his brows.

“Well, what?” I scrunched my nose, irritated that I was having difficulty following what was obviously a clear conversation for him.

“You down with joining me today?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing illegal,” he winked and I felt my eyes bug.

“Are you joking?” I ran my hand nervously through my long hair. “Tell me you’re being funny.”

“I said nothing illegal,” he reiterated, laughing. My goodness, he had a beautiful sounding laugh. It was positively delicious and happy. “You coming?”

I shook myself clear of his laugh before stating. “The fact that you even had to clarify that you weren’t doing anything illegal is ground to make me wonder.”

“Ground?” He chuckled. “What, do you come from a family of lawyers?”

“A Judge,” I said humorlessly.

He laughed. Hard. And then his eyes widened as he realized I wasn’t joking. Unlike him, I was very serious when I spoke to strangers.

“A Judge?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be damned,” he nodded, appraising me. “No wonder you’re so stiff.”

“Excuse me?” I tried to keep my mouth from dropping into my lap. I hadn’t been blatantly called uptight before. I knew people thought I was a stuck-up goody-two-shoes, but hearing it out loud was a lot different than just knowing it was being thought.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

I felt as though I’d been given whiplash as I tried to work my brain up to his speed. “Um, Madison.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Madison,” he winked. “My name’s Austin. Now that we officially know each other and have determined there will be no breaking of the law, what do you say we ditch?”

“I don’t know . . .”

He cocked his head. “Didn’t you ask me to show you how to live?”

“I suppose,” I had asked him to do this. But what exactly did living entail?

“You did. I hope you didn’t expect me to do that in the coffee house.” He reached into my car to press the unlock button before opening the door. He nodded in approval. “You wore jeans.”

“You told me to.”

“You’re a good girl, Madison.”

I wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, but I decided to ignore it as I rolled up my window. “Are we taking your vehicle?”

He nodded. “Sure are.”

“Okay,” I locked mine before moving to stand beside him. “Where’s your car?”

He pointed to the lot, which was currently overflowing with vehicles. “This way.”

I walked beside Austin into the sea of vehicles. My heart was thudding as he paused beside a black bike. Then my mind registered what I was looking at. A bike. With a motor. Like a street bike. A thing with two wheels and no protective case to keep my flesh from being scraped from my body if it tipped, was currently sitting before me and Austin expected me to what? Get on it?
He had to be joking.

“You’re joking,” I laughed. “This isn’t yours. You wouldn’t expect me to get on that thing, right?”

I watched with wide eyes as he moved to the death-mobile, tossing his leg over. Looking back at me, he grinned. “Actually, it is mine. And, I would expect you to get on.”

I stood stunned in place. This man was completely off his rocker.

“No.”

“You can’t take the first step in living, sweetheart, then I’m really just wasting my time.” He revved the bike, reversing it.

Feeling panicked that he was about to leave me, I screeched. “I’ll get on!”

The bike stopped rolling and he nodded, holding his helmet out to me. “Here.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“I live close. We won’t get pulled over.”

“I thought you said nothing illegal . . .”

He shrugged. “Life’s about taking the chances that are offered to you. I’m taking the chance to have you behind me on my bike. I’m holding tight by the fucking horns, sweetheart. Devil be damned.”

I didn’t reply mainly because I feared if I opened my mouth he would hear the echo of the butterfly wings that were currently fluttering in my belly.

Knowing this was oh-so-wrong; I pulled his helmet onto my head. I tightened my satchel around my shoulder and climbed on the back of Austin’s bike. I tried not to let the thought that I knew I was approaching what could only be explained as a very premature mid-life crisis, fester. Instead, I tried to focus on the excitement I felt. It was only just overtaking the fear. And then I decided I didn’t care.

I just didn’t care.

If my parent’s got wind of what I was doing, I’d be grounded for life.

But hey, I wasn’t caring about anything apart from
feeling.