Chapter IV: call me if you need me
How did you get that way, I don't know You're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man - Million Dollar Man, Lana del Rey.
♡pairing: pedro pascal&femreader
♡ content: you have a new literature teacher.
tw: age gap, teacher/student interaction.
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MASTERLIST
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You didn't know if you wanted to go to school today. You knew what would be waiting for you if you went: a call to the director's office, Marcus looking at you confused as you left andprobably Mr Pascal standing behind the director, unable to meet your gaze.
You wouldn't blame him, really. You weren't sure if you could stand next to him after what he saw your reality.
Tears filled your eyes, overwhelmed by frustation.
Who you could balme for this was your dad, the truth was: you never fully blamed him before because it didn't affect you ouside of home and he had, somehow, still managed to provide for both of you. But now, it would follow you out of that house.
You were definitely not going to school today.
Your house was silent, besides for the ocasional sound of your dad moving in bed from. You didn't leave your room at all that morning, always with your headphones on and being careful not to make too much noise. The morning passed quickly, when you checked the time again, it was the time school finished.
You heard your dad rumbling around, then leaving with the car, to -what you supposed was- work.
You finally went to the kitchen to find something to eat.
A half eaten burger from McDonald's, delicious. You put it on microwave while you throw empty beer bottles to in the bin. Just as you were heading to the dinning room you heard a knock on the door. You closed your eyes, it had to be today he left something at home. Knocking at his own house, you would laugh if it wasn't something he did more than a few times.
"Mr. Pascal." You whispered, surprised when you opened the door, blushing slightly. His car was parked in front of your house and his ears were little red. "I'm sorry, please come in."
The state of your house became more present with him next to you. "Sorry for the mess." You said in a low voice, as if acknowledging it to him -to someone, really- only made it more real.
He shook his head. "Shouldn't be something you have apologise for." He sat down on the couch. "Your dad?"
"At work." You sat down besides him.
"You know, I shouldn't be here," he sighed. "But I left worried yesterday and I..." Here it came: the converstion, the ´I know how that must feel like´ . "I wanted to talk to your dad that's why I came. I shouldn't do this but here's my number. Text me, if something happens or if you don't feel safe here.
He looked at you, concerned. You gave him your phone; both of you knew this was crossing a line. He would get into trouble if anyone found out. But it felt like he cared and that was all it mattered to you. He looked at you like he understood.
Before you could notice, a little tear rolled down your cheek. He brushed of you tear as if it were instinctive. He pulled his hand away almost immediately.
You hated to cry, even more if it was in front of people.
You moved closer to his side. Reaching for comfort for the first time since you were little. But something about him made you want to be closer; it didn't make you overthink whether you would be rejected.
He froze for a moment, as if deciding whether to proceed, then allowed his arm to rest gently over your shoulders. Not drawing you in, not squeezing too hard, but enough so that you knew he was there.
You left yourself sit there, with his harm around you, for the first time in years.
"Thank you," you whispered, so low that you weren't sure if he even heard it. If he did, he didn't show it or respond to it.
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"I gotta go, kid." He whispered, making his voice soft for you. You pulled off him. You kept your eyes were on the pillows of the sofa or in the hands on your lap. Anywhere but on him. When the realization of what happened hit you, you weren't sure if you would ever look to him in the eye again --or look at him at all.
You wanted him to stay but there was no way you were going to say that to him, he already did so much for you. You stood up and led him to the front door.
"Tell your dad I want to talk to him," that was the last thing you needed. You've become invisible to your dad in the years since your mum died and you were sure you didn't want, or need, his attention anymore -not for those reasons at least.
Mr Pascal, probably saw it on your face; his eyes softened.
"It's fine, really." You knew how that sounded, but it didn't stop you. "I've been like this for a few years I can manage. There's no need to talk with him or with anyone at all." He looked doubtful, not knowing what to believe. Finally, he sighed. "If you say so, but use that number. I meant what I said earlier: if anything goes wrong or you don't wanna be here and nowhere else to. Do it, I'll answer."
He made it sound like a promise, you chose to believe him. In the end, he went out of his way for you. Because he was worried for you.
That thought made you nervoussly smile. You looked up to him.
"I will, I promise." He nodded.
"See you on Monday." He turned and closed the door behind him. The, already familiar, sound of his car starting sounded a few seconds later. And he left you, feeling like a roller coaster of emotions.
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It was Saturday's night when you called Marcus. You hated weekends; you had nothing to do apart from hearing your dad open and closing the fridge. Over. And over. And over.
He answered it at the third ring and loud music blasted from your phone.
"Marcus," you raised your voice. "Where are you?"
"With some of Jordan's friends." He shouted through the line trying to be heard over the music. "I'll call you later, babe. I gotta go." He hung up on you.
You sat on your bed, silence for a while. You couldn't blame him or restric him from having other friends, but it hurt knowing he was having fun, without you. You knew how selfish that thought was, but that didn't make it go away.
'Use that number. I mean it, if anything goes wrong or you don't wanna be here and don't have other place to stay. Do it, I'll answer.'
Pascal's voice came to mind. You were sure this wasn't the type of case he had in mind when he gave you his number. But fuck it.
You grabbed your phone ang ringed him before you could think better about it. He answered immediately, as he said he'd do.
"Kid..." His voice was deeper than usual.
"Can you pick me up?." You whsipered, containing tears. If he said no, it would destroy you. The silence in the other line didn't calm you but only made you fears worse. When he didn't answer you continued. You regretted this so much. "Forget it, fuck. " You whispered to yourself. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess tonigth and I shouldn't have called you..."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He interrupted you before hanging up.
He was coming. You repeated in your mind several times.
You called him and he was coming.
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word count: 1.2k
I finished this while listening to Hollywoods dead, it has nothing to do with scene, but I loveeeeed that that was the last song.
a/n: please tell me if you find typos or something that doesn't make too much sense, english is not my native language.
Hope you enjoyeddddd, tell me if you wanna get tagged or send me request of specific scenes and I'll do as I can!!!
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tags: @reidswifeyyyyyy
