It takes Two to Tutor

Vincenzo felt otherwise.

After four whole days marked with severe pain and illness, forcing himself to eat despite his stomach disliking almost every kind of food presented and vomiting not once but thrice this morning, Vincenzo loathed to check his school e-mail. He finally did that noon. Two months of work after a month missed, how bloody appropriate. He couldn't cancel this session anymore because he missed the last one. He didn't want to fail a class either. Failing a class was letting the sickness win.

He knew how the dance went. One day to get sick. Five to get better. This was the fifth and he knew tomorrow he would at least be some semblance of "better", but he was too damn stubborn to stay put. At two, he scrambled up from his bed, took a hot shower to drain his body of the vomit and medicine smell and put on his usual get-up: black shirt, black pants, purple coat. He took a taxi to the school and did some of his make-up in the car, not to look pretty, but to at least look like someone that didn't look like they were dying.

These sessions took three hours.

He could scare her off in less than one.

He closed his compact, the gold of his obsidian eye glinting dangerously against the reflection. By every definition of the word, Vincenzo was a monster. Any good self-respecting human being should rightfully acknowledge that.

He entered the room in strides, confident and unapologetic for being fifteen minutes late. He took one good look at her and laughed. "Ahhh. Is this supposed to be a joke? They used to send the toughest teachers after me, but I guess they gave up!" He seated himself on one of the front chairs and placed his backpack on the seat next to it, crossing his arms. "So, before we start, I'm going to guess you're going to do a song number first where birds fly in to sing with you? Because, if so, please, go ahead. I need a good laugh today."

Samantha took that surprisingly well. He was unsure if this woman was patient or just hilariously dumb. His money was on the latter, really.

"Yeah, no, I got the memo on the school e-mail, Turri. History 1: World History, an elaborate course about how white people singlehandedly massacred and subjugated the rest of the world and called it Manifest Destiny. We can talk about that."

He leaned forward, condescending grin in place. "Or we can talk about you. Samantha, I'm curious. I heard you're a Kindergarten teacher! Wow, if there's ever a sign you don't know where you're going with your life, it is literally that. So, what happened? What went wrong, Samantha? Who hurt you?"

Vincenzo laughed as well, but it was a particular sort of laugh where he was laughing at you, not with you. She was unreal, really. He was guessing she was the sort of person that was a model citizen, a pillar of righteousness in society, the sort of person that got off on being more good and selfless than other people. Vanity through humility.

He hated her already.

"Teaching children is a joy?" He scoffed. He reached out to touch her hands with his claw, the cold, sharp tip of his carapace poking at her soft skin. "Samantha, real talk, when was the last time you had some real fun? Not any of this 'teaching' bullcrap, by the way. I mean the kind of mind blowing passion you'd regret in the morning." He leaned forward with a grin. His eyes were half-lidded. His expression was... suggestive. "When was the last time you had a man take that green shirt... off?"

Vincenzo could feel himself groan inwardly. He could tell it was affecting her, but she was too proud to love herself and leave. As luck would have it, Vincenzo was a terrible enough person to pull the stuff he was going to do next.

Nobody could notice them in this dark, isolated classroom. All the curtains were closed. There was hardly anyone at school at this hour. He rose from his seat and walked over to her, placing his hands on her hips, gently but abruptly. He leaned down for a well-placed kiss on her nape. "I won't tell. This can be our little secret."

Vincenzo laughed, and it was a dark, cruel laugh. He went behind her desk and watched her with nothing but pure, malicious intent in his eyes.

"That's it? That's really it? Not even fazed?" He waved his hand, the claw crackling with dark energy. "This isn't patience. You have no sense of self-preservation! You must really hate yourself." He licked his teeth, tongue grazing over the sharp edges of his tooth, looking like a predator. "Let's play a game, Turri. Teach me until the clock stops and you'll get a big prize."

Vincenzo circled his finger on the wooden desk, tip burning onto the surface, marking it "5 o'clock."