"Thud, thud, thud..."
"Michael, are you even in there? Say something..." Betty’s knocking and voice escalated, trembling with a mix of fear and urgency.
The door shook under her fists, a testament to her desperation and inner turmoil.
"I’m not going to school... stop bothering me, I’m trying to sleep..." At this point, Michael, probably annoyed by Betty’s persistent knocking, shouted back.
The bed seemed to vibrate with each thump at the door, adding to his irritation.
"Why aren’t you going to school? Are you trying to drive me insane? Get out here now, do you hear me?" Relief washed over Betty upon hearing Michael’s voice, but it was quickly replaced by rising anger.
She was nearly frantic; time was slipping away, and they were going to be late.
Betty, who had never been late to work, stood at Michael’s door, stomping her foot in frustration, helpless as the door remained closed.
Betty didn’t know, but if I were there, a simple flathead screwdriver could have popped the door open from the outside.
The doors were designed with either a keyhole or a screw cap on the outside for emergencies, allowing them to be opened without damaging the door or lock.
"This is the last time I’m asking, get out here now..." Betty, at her wit’s end, flipped her hair back and gritted her teeth as she yelled at Michael.
Michael, feeling a bit guilty and about to get up, lay back down defiantly when he heard Betty’s harsh words.
He covered his head with his blanket, playing a game of hide and seek with his responsibilities.
Betty talked herself hoarse, but Michael remained unmoved.
Eventually, Betty had to give up; they were already late.
Reluctantly, she called the school’s administration to excuse herself, claiming her child was ill and needed to go to the hospital.
She then called a colleague to cover her classes for the day.
After hanging up, Betty sat down at the dining table, her frustration palpable.
Finally, she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.
"Sobbing..." The days of frustration and anger overwhelmed Betty, and she broke down.
Michael, thinking the coast was clear, peeked out from under his blankets only to hear Betty crying.
He quickly got out of bed and pressed his ear against the door, hearing her sobs.
He touched his cheek where a clear handprint still showed, a painful reminder of the previous night’s argument.
The slap had been hard, and the mark was still tender and painful.
After a while, Betty calmed down and went to the bathroom to freshen up, her makeup ruined by tears.
She emerged with puffy eyes and sat silently on the couch, lost in her thoughts.
Meanwhile, Michael felt miserable in his room.
It had been hours since he had gone to the bathroom, and despite his stubbornness, nature’s call was urgent.
He paced the floor, debating his options.
Finally, unable to hold it any longer, Michael burst out of his room and dashed for the bathroom.
When Michael stepped out of his bedroom, Betty’s body shivered slightly, but she didn’t turn to look at him.
She just sat on the couch, hugging her arms to herself.
The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.
After relieving himself in the bathroom, Michael rubbed his slightly sore abdomen; he had nearly reached his limit holding it in.
As he was about to leave the bathroom, he hesitated, unsure of what emotion to wear on his face—should he appear indifferent or angry?
Eventually, he chose to keep his head down as he exited, glancing at Betty from the corner of his eye only to find she wasn’t looking at him at all.
He hurried back to his bedroom, and Betty acted as if he didn’t exist, not sparing him a glance.
Back in his room, Michael felt something was terribly wrong with Betty’s mood, and fear crept in.
He was just a kid and couldn’t fathom what was going through Betty’s mind; perhaps she was furious to the extreme.
After pondering for a while, Michael conceded defeat and walked out of his bedroom slowly, head bowed, approaching Betty.
She continued to stare straight ahead as if he wasn’t there.
"You finally decide to show up..." After a couple of minutes, Betty spoke as if coming out of a trance, her voice cold and chilling.
Michael didn’t know how to respond, finally understanding the true authority Betty held as a teacher.
"So, you plan on never going back to school?" Betty asked, her face expressionless as Michael remained silent.
"At least not until my face heals. I can’t explain this bruise to my classmates..." Michael finally spoke, touching the handprint on his cheek with a hint of resentment.
As a boy concerned about his image, the clear mark of being slapped would be humiliating at school, no matter who had done it.
His reason was indeed valid.
Hearing this, Betty finally looked up at Michael.
When she saw the handprint on his face, her usually impassive eyes flickered with surprise.
Reflecting on the previous night, she wondered if she had hit him too hard.
Now, seeing the bruise worse than she had anticipated, she sighed, got up, and went to their bedroom.
She rummaged through the bedside drawer, apparently looking for some medicine, while Michael stood awkwardly by the couch.
"Sit down..." After searching for a while, Betty found the antiseptic solution and approached Michael with it.
She opened the bottle, soaked a cotton swab, and began dabbing it on Michael’s bruise.
Her face showed pity and worry, conflicted about what to do next.
She didn’t want to continue like this with Michael, especially now that he was developing a strong and inappropriate affection towards her, his foster mother.
Betty felt helpless; she didn’t want to yield to Michael’s feelings but also didn’t want to hurt him.
She sighed heavily as she treated his wound.
"Once I apply this, the mark should fade by tomorrow. I’ll cover it up with some makeup, and you can go back to school. Let’s both rest at home today and resume tomorrow," Betty said after finishing with the antiseptic.
She screwed the cap back on and prepared to return to the bedroom.
"I don’t want to go back to school..." Michael’s voice came from behind her as she reached the door.
His tone was low but resolute.
Betty turned around, her chest heaving with rising anger.
She glared at Michael, but this time, Michael, fueled by a stubborn streak, met her gaze without flinching.