The Teacher and the Mom. Part 1

The sun, brazen and curious, seeped through the loosely drawn curtains, slicing a ray across Dima’s face. He squinted, muttered something unintelligible, and stretched, feeling how his joints traitorously cracked after a crumpled, anxious sleep. The stuffiness in the room pressed down, and the blanket, bunched into a lump at his feet, seemed an unbearable burden.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking, and rubbed his face with his palms, trying to drive away the remnants of sleep. His head buzzed like a hive—yesterday’s cramming of textbooks, the attempt to cram in the uncrammable just to somehow keep up with the program. School, these endless tests, the teachers’ nitpicking… sometimes Dima felt like a squirrel in a wheel, frantically pedaling to nowhere.

Yawning widely, he groped for the phone on the nightstand and glanced at the time—7:23. Mother was surely already putting on her face before work.

With difficulty he got up, stretched again, feeling the dissatisfied protest of his stiff back muscles, and shuffled into the corridor. The bathroom door was slightly ajar; from there came the muffled splash of water. Dima wanted to walk past, but suddenly caught his mother’s quiet, soulful voice humming something to herself.

He involuntarily slowed his step.

The crack in the door was just enough to see her reflection in the mirror. Alina stood with her back to him, deftly pinning her hair into a high, strict updo. She wore only lace lingerie—black, daring, emphasizing her toned figure.

Dima froze, as if struck by lightning.

He hadn’t intended to peek; the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But his gaze seemed glued, unable to tear itself away from the smooth curves of her body, from the light play of shadows on her back, from the seductive line of her waist…

Alina abruptly turned around.

Their eyes met in the mirror reflection.

A second of deafening silence.

And suddenly Alina’s face twisted into a grimace of anger.

— Dima?! — her voice, usually so soft and affectionate, now lashed like a whip.

He recoiled, feeling the treacherous heat flooding his face.

— Mom, I… I just…

— Out! — the door slammed shut right in front of his nose.

Dima stood in the corridor, feeling the frantic pounding of his heart somewhere in his throat. He swallowed with difficulty, driving away the lump that had suddenly blocked his breath.

A moment later the door swung open.

Alina was already dressed—a strict gray suit, a snow-white blouse, her hair pulled into an impeccable bun. But her face… an impenetrable mask. Cold. Only in her eyes something heavy, unkind lurked.

— This is disgusting, — she said quietly, but every word sounded clear, as if carved in stone. — You’re already grown up. You should understand that you can’t do that.

— Mom, I didn’t mean to…

— Don’t make excuses, — she cut him off, not letting him finish. — I don’t want to discuss this. Go have breakfast.

Walking past without even deigning him a glance, she headed to the kitchen.

Dima remained standing, as if paralyzed, feeling everything inside him contract from an inexplicable pain.

Cold.

A wall had grown between them.

Breakfast passed in oppressive silence. Alina ate quickly, not raising her eyes from the plate, only occasionally throwing short, abrupt phrases:

— Don’t forget to take out the trash. — Clean your room. — Did you do your homework?

Dima answered monosyllabically, feeling the tension grow with every minute, thickening around them like a sinister fog.

He wanted to apologize. Wanted to explain that it had been an accident, that he hadn’t wanted… But the words stuck in his throat, never finding a way out.

Alina abruptly stood up from the table, grabbed her bag, and left without saying goodbye.

The door slammed shut, leaving Dima alone with unspoken words and a crushing sense of guilt.

**

He locked himself in his room, trying to distract himself from gloomy thoughts—turned the music up full blast, indifferently scrolled through the news feed on social media, but his consciousness kept returning to the morning incident. To her gaze. To that humiliating word: “Disgusting.”

Anger at himself corroded him from within.

Around three in the afternoon a persistent ring at the door sounded.

Dima frowned. Mother usually returned later.

Approaching the door, he looked through the peephole—and froze in complete bewilderment.

On the threshold stood an unfamiliar guy. Tall, short-cropped brunette with barely noticeable stubble. He wore a black leather jacket, ripped jeans, and sneakers that were clearly not cheap. In one hand an impressive suitcase, in the other a phone into which he was intently typing something.

Dima opened the door.

The guy looked up from the phone, gave him a quick once-over, and smiled.

— Hey, — his voice was casual, with a light mockery. — You’re probably Dima?

— Yes… — Dima involuntarily frowned. — And who are you, exactly?

— Denis, — the guy extended his hand for a greeting. — Your… how should I put it… cousin? Well, like, your mom’s nephew.

Dima shook his hand without the slightest enthusiasm.

— Your mother didn’t warn you? — Denis raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

— No…

— Well, all the better, — he grinned and, without waiting for an invitation, unceremoniously entered the apartment, looking around. — It’s pretty cool here.

Dima closed the door, feeling irritation rising.

— Are you… staying long?

— No idea, — Denis set the suitcase on the floor and stretched sweetly. — My parent went off on a business trip, and I’m on bad terms with my grandma. So your mommy kindly agreed to shelter me for an indefinite period.

Dima was silent, digesting what he’d heard.

Meeting his bewildered gaze, Denis smirked.

— Why so sour? Not happy about guests or what?

— It’s just… unexpected, — Dima muttered, trying to hide his dislike.

— Ah, yeah, — Denis waved it off and headed to the living room. — Well, okay, where can I crash here?

Dima reluctantly escorted him to the living room, feeling antipathy toward this insolent type growing in geometric progression.

In the evening, as always suddenly, Alina returned.

She froze on the threshold upon seeing Denis, but a moment later her face lit up with a joyful smile.

— Denis! You’re already here!

— Hello, Auntie! — Denis jumped up from the sofa and broke into a wide smile.

Alina walked over and hugged him.

— How was the trip? Tired from the road?

— Nonsense, — he waved it off. — The main thing is I reached the destination.

Dima stood aside, watching this scene, feeling his heart traitorously tighten. Mother was stroking Denis’s shoulder; in her eyes there was so much warmth and tenderness.

The very warmth he had been deprived of today.

— Dima, — Alina finally paid attention to him, but her gaze became distant and cold again. — Will you help Denis settle in? He’ll stay in your room for now.

Everything inside Dima went cold.

— In mine?

— Yes, — Alina nodded without looking him in the eyes. — There are two beds there.

Denis self-satisfiedly smirked.

— Well, roommate, — he clapped Dima on the shoulder. — We’ll get to know each other better.

Dima said nothing, suppressing a flash of anger.

Dinner passed… strangely.

Alina, previously sullen and taciturn, suddenly transformed. She laughed at Denis’s flat jokes, smiled when he told something, even fleetingly touched his hand while passing a plate of salad.

Denis, in turn, behaved… too casually, familiarly.

— Auntie, you don’t change at all, — without taking his eyes off her, he said, beaming. — You look better than some of my classmates.

Alina blushed with embarrassment.

— Oh, what are you saying…

— I’m serious, — Denis leaned closer, lowering his voice. — If I didn’t know you were my aunt, I could easily ask you out.

Alina sharply pulled away; a flush played on her cheeks.

— Denis, stop talking nonsense…

But there was not even a hint of anger in her voice.

Dima sat squeezing the fork in his hand until his knuckles whitened, feeling some dark, destructive force boiling inside.

Later, when Alina had retired to her room, Denis sprawled on the sofa, took out his phone, and immersed himself in it.

— Well, well, — after a while he chuckled without looking up from the screen. — Your mom… not bad.

Dima sharply turned to him.

— What are you talking about?

— Nothing really, — Denis shrugged, but something… ambiguous, appraising flashed in his eyes. — Just didn’t expect her to be so…

He didn’t finish, but Dima understood perfectly well.

It felt disgusting.

***

The room that had previously been only his personal space now seemed alien and uncomfortable.

Denis settled on the second bed, buried in his phone. Now he quietly chuckled, now quickly typed something in the messenger.

Dima lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, desperately trying not to think about today’s events.

But suddenly he heard Denis’s muffled whistle.

— Whoa…

Dima turned his head.

Denis was carefully studying some photo on social media. On the phone screen—Alina in a light summer sundress, dazzlingly smiling, her hair blowing in the wind.

Denis self-satisfiedly smirked.

— Not bad…

Dima abruptly sat up on the bed.

— What did you just say?

Denis raised his eyes; his face was lit by a mocking smile.

— Nothing special, — he stretched and turned off the phone screen. — Good night, roommate.

Dima’s fists trembled.

But he said nothing, holding back the rage ready to burst out.

DAY 2:

The sun, seeping through the barrier of the curtains, gilded the room as if touched by a magic brush. Dima lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and tormented himself with memories of yesterday evening. Mother, Alina Sergeevna, remained unapproachable after the morning embarrassment. It hadn’t even occurred to him to peek; he was just going for a textbook, and she… She was just taking off her nightgown, preparing to put on underwear. The scorching gaze, the engraved: “This is unacceptable, Dmitry!”—haunted him like a shadow.

Steps in the corridor brought him out of his stupor. The door creaked, and Denis appeared on the threshold—his cousin, yesterday’s unexpected guest.

— Sleeping beauty! — Denis spread into a grin, putting his hands behind his head. Clad only in black sports shorts and a loose T-shirt, he exuded casual self-confidence.

— What do you want? — Dima grumbled, frowning.

— Oh, just deadly boredom. Auntie’s at work, and I’m thinking what to entertain myself with. — Denis, perching on the edge of the bed, surveyed the room. — Listen, do you have her number?

Dima tensed like a dog sensing something wrong.

— Why do you need it?

— Well, just in case. Maybe buy something for dinner, help with something… — Denis casually shrugged, feigning universal care. — Come on, don’t be stingy. I’m not going to steal her, ha-ha.

Dima, torn by internal contradiction, dictated the number. Denis immediately entered it into his phone with the look of a cat that had gotten to the cream.

— Thanks, bro. Promise to keep you posted.

Dima didn’t understand what he meant, but the premonition grew darker by the second.

***

Alina Sergeevna stood at the board, immersing the tenth-graders in the wilds of literature. Her voice sounded even, but her thoughts wandered somewhere far away. Yesterday evening… Denis, this nephew, had turned out to be a remarkably pleasant conversationalist. His jokes, stories from student life made her laugh more often than she usually allowed herself.

A sudden vibration of the phone pulled her out of semi-forgetfulness. She furtively glanced at the screen. A message from Denis:

“Auntie, I got the number of the most charming woman in the world! Maybe buy something for dinner?”

The corners of her lips twitched in a slight smile. She quickly typed a reply:

“Thank you, Denis. Buy bread and milk, please.”

A moment, and a new message arrived:

“Just that? Maybe wine? Let’s celebrate my triumphant arrival.”

Alina thought. Wine? She almost never drank, but… why not?

“Just one. And not strong.”

“Will do! By the way, I hope these rascals aren’t distracting you? Surely they’re all head over heels in love.”

She blushed. This was… too bold.

“Denis, I’m their teacher. Everything else is unprofessional.”

“Oh come on, Auntie, you know it’s the pure truth. By the way, can I take a peek at you? Make sure work hasn’t sucked the life out of you.”

Alina rolled her eyes.

“I’m at work. Absolutely no time.”

But Denis wouldn’t let up.

“Pleeease! One tiny selfie. I’m your favorite nephew after all.”

She sighed. After all, what’s wrong with one photo? During the break she ducked into the teachers’ lounge, slightly adjusted her hair, and took a selfie: a strict white blouse, hair gathered in a neat bun, a light blush on her cheeks.

“Here. Satisfied?”

“Absolutely delighted! You’re irresistible.”

She put the phone away, feeling a strange warmth inside.

***

Dima, snacking on a sandwich in the kitchen, heard how Denis burst into the apartment like a whirlwind with bags in his hands.

— Well, little brother, look what your mom sent! — He tossed the phone onto the table.

Dima, frowning, picked up the phone. On the screen—his mother. A photo. Taken at work.

— You… you asked her for this?

— Yeah. She’s a beauty, right? — Denis took out a bottle of wine and set it on the table.

Dima’s fists clenched.

— This is not normal.

— What exactly? — Denis arched an eyebrow in feigned surprise.

— You’re… you’re flirting with my mother.

Denis burst out laughing.

— Oh, come on! I’m just joking around. You’re too serious.

Dima wanted to object, but at that moment the key turned in the lock.

Alina returned home tired, but… strangely, animated.

— Hi, Mom, — Dima got up from the table.

— Hello, — she replied, sliding past without even looking at him, and headed to her room.

Denis immediately perked up.

— Auntie, I bought everything as you asked!

— Thank you, Denis, — she gave him a radiant smile and disappeared behind the door.

Dima gritted his teeth.

— So you say you quarreled with her because you peeked while she was changing? — Denis suddenly asked.

— Yes…

— Hmm, — Denis thought for a moment, then resolutely moved toward her room.

— Where are you going?!

— To check something.

And before Dima could stop him, Denis knocked and immediately entered the room.

Dima’s heart froze in anxious anticipation. He expected screams, arguing… but instead he heard laughter.

After five agonizing minutes he couldn’t stand it and approached the door. It was ajar.

Alina, half-reclining on the bed in a light silk robe, legs crossed, attentively listened to Denis who was animatedly telling something. Her face shone, her eyes sparkled with laughter.

Dima recoiled as if burned.

***

Late at night, when Denis had already fallen asleep, Dima noticed light from Denis’s bed.

He tensed. Denis was restlessly tossing, the screen of his phone glowing faintly in the darkness.

Dima, stealthily, raised himself. On the phone screen a message flashed:

“Auntie, are you still awake?”

He didn’t see the reply, but from Denis’s smirk and the muffled sound of the messenger he understood the dialogue was in full swing.

Dima fell back onto the bed, feeling searing rage spreading in his chest.

Something was beginning.

And he had no idea how to stop it.

DAY 3.

Absorbed in silence, Dima lay in the semi-darkness, pretending to sleep. The only source of light was the flickering screen of Denis’s phone, casting dancing shadows on the walls. He heard the feverish tapping of fingers on the glass, interrupted by short, nervous sighs—Denis was weighing every word as if playing with matches near a box of dynamite.

Dima squeezed his eyes shut, but sleep wouldn’t come. He waited, holding his breath, like a beast in ambush.

Finally, Denis’s even, sleepy breathing filled the room. Dima carefully raised himself. His heart pounded in his chest like a trapped bird, ready to break free. He reached for the nightstand, for the forbidden fruit—Denis’s phone.

“Password…”—the thought scorched his mind.

But Denis, intoxicated by his impunity, had neglected precautions—the screen unlocked with a simple swipe.

The correspondence with Mom.

Dima feverishly scrolled through the messages as if searching for a poisonous snake in the grass. Yesterday evening:

Denis: “Auntie, you were simply stunning today. Dima’s jaw dropped when you came out in the robe.”

Alina: “Stop talking nonsense. And anyway, aren’t you ashamed to say that?”

Denis: “Why? I’m just admiring you.”

Alina: “Okay, enough. Good night.”

Nothing reprehensible. Yet. But further…

Denis: “Tomorrow I’ll show you something special.”

Alina: “What else?”

Denis: “A surprise. Sleep.”

A chill ran down Dima’s spine as if icy fingers had touched his backbone. “Special”? What devilry was he planning?

He slowly put the phone back, turned to the wall, and clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.

***

Morning burst into the room unexpectedly, like a thunderclap in a clear sky.

Alina came down to the kitchen dressed in a light house dress that indecently clung to her figure, putting every curve on display. Her hair was styled with deliberate care as if she were going to a ball, and her lips burned with a provocative flame of scarlet lipstick.

— Mom, you’ve… changed somehow? — the words escaped Dima’s lips involuntarily.

Alina slightly pinkened but immediately brushed off the embarrassment as if from an annoying fly:

— Just decided to freshen up a bit. Is that not allowed?

Denis, sitting opposite, studied her figure with a lustful gaze without looking away, and a smirk spread across his lips like a crack in the ice:

— Auntie, you’re just fire today. A bomb!

Alina rolled her eyes, but the treacherous corners of her lips twitched in a weak smile.

— Denis, stop it.

— Come on, — he poured her coffee, deliberately lingering his fingers on her hand as if accidentally touching. — Just a compliment.

Dima watched this scene as if hypnotized, feeling something dark and dangerous being born, pulsing, and growing inside him.

Barely had Alina crossed the threshold of her workplace when Denis whipped out his phone like a pistol from a holster.

— Well, bro, — he clicked his tongue as if calling a snake, — today it’s going to be hot.

Dima frowned, sensing trouble.

— What are you planning?

— Nothing special, — Denis smirked like a cat that had overeaten cream. — Just continuing the conversation started yesterday.

He opened the chat with Alina and began quickly typing as if weaving a web:

Denis: “Auntie, do you like young guys?”

Dima jumped on his chair as if stung.

— Have you completely lost your mind?!

— Relax, — Denis waved him off as if from an annoying mosquito. — She’s not an idiot, she understands everything.

A minute of agonizing waiting stretched into eternity. And finally the reply came:

Alina: “Denis, this is an inappropriate question.”

Denis burst out laughing and sent a photo—his torso after a shower, drops of water like diamonds streaming down the sculpted muscles of his abs.

Denis: “Just curious about your opinion.”

Dima clenched his teeth so hard his jaws ached.

— You… you sent her that?!

— Yeah, — Denis spread into a satisfied smirk. — Watch.

A notification appeared on the phone screen: Alina liked your photo.

The ground slipped from under Dima’s feet as if he had fallen into a bottomless abyss.

— She… liked it…

— See? — Denis leaned back in his chair, triumphant. — She’s not against it. The game is just beginning.

Then he continued his dirty game:

Denis: “Can I have another photo? You at school.”

Alina: “No. Enough.”

Denis: “Please. One.”

Alina: “Denis, this is already crossing all boundaries.”

Denis: “You know I like looking at you.”

An agonizing pause, followed by an explosion.

And suddenly—a new message.

Alina in the teachers’ lounge, slightly embarrassed but smiling. The blouse unbuttoned one button more than usual, revealing a tempting view of her collarbones.

Dima couldn’t believe his eyes.

— She… she herself…

Denis burst into triumphant laughter.

— Well, brother, now you understand how to communicate with her?

***

In the evening Alina went to the shower, and tension hung in the air of the house.

Dima sat in his room, trying to drown out anxious thoughts, to wall himself off from what was happening. But then Denis unexpectedly got up and stretched sweetly like a predator preparing to pounce.

— I’ll go get something to drink.

— Where are you going? — Dima tensed like a beast sensing danger.

— To the kitchen. Why?

But a minute later the silence was cut by the treacherous creak of the bathroom door.

Dima’s heart froze, his breath caught.

He jumped up and crept to the door like a shadow.

From behind it came Alina’s voice:

— Denis! Get out immediately!

But there was no scream in her voice, no hysteria, only a strict but… strangely calm tone, as if she were talking to a naughty child rather than an insolent boundary-crosser.

— Auntie, I just forgot the towel, — came Denis’s lying reply.

— Liar! Out!

Silence so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Then steps, quiet and stealthy.

The door opened and Denis came out, smirking like a winner who had hit the jackpot.

— Well, — he whispered to Dima, his throat dry from indignation, — I told you. She’s not as angry as she pretends. She likes this game.

Dima looked at him in a daze, not understanding what he felt—hatred for Denis, or… envy, black, corrosive envy.

Explosion of emotions

Later, when Alina had locked herself in her room, Dima couldn’t stand it; his patience came to an end.

— You’ve completely lost it! — he grabbed Denis by the chest, squeezing the fabric until it crunched.

The latter didn’t even try to resist, only mockingly raised an eyebrow.

— Oh, jealousy speaking?

— You… you…

— What do you lack?! — Denis suddenly yelled, breaking free from the grip. — Are you blind? She’s allowing all this herself! She’s playing!

Dima stepped back, stunned by his words.

— But this is… somehow immoral.

— What? Immoral? Wrong? — Denis laughed like a madman. — Drop it, you stare at her yourself. She’s a beautiful woman, and you know it.

Denis’s expression suddenly became serious, frighteningly serious.

— Listen, I’ll tell you honestly. My aunt is beautiful but lonely. Attention is pleasant for her; she blooms from it. And if something more happens… well, I won’t refuse. Who would?

Dima clenched his fists until it hurt.

— And what, you think she…

— Don’t know. But I’ll try, simply. — Denis clapped him on the shoulder as if a friend, initiating him into his cunning plan. — And I’ll help you.

— How?

— Well, I’ll reconcile you, make her look at you with different eyes. Give you a chance you never even dared to dream of. Just don’t interfere with me, got it?

Dima froze, torn between disgust and temptation.

He hated himself at that moment, despised himself for weakness.

But inside, in the very depths of his soul, something trembled, yielded.

***

Before sleep Denis was writing something on his phone again, as if concluding a deal with the devil.

Dima lay looking at the ceiling, into the darkness that seemed bottomless.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, what new traps fate would set. But one thing was clear as day—the game was only beginning…