He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, sweetheart.” Rage suddenly sloshes through my veins like rocket fuel. “I don’t understand,” I repeat slowly. “Sorry. Am I on drugs, or was I the one who was getting bullied? Me, not you. No one understands this better than me. But of course, you make this all about you, and your stupid teacher duty. In your head, I’m just a silly little sixteen-year-old student, who you’ll always know more than.” He frowns. “Listen—” “No,” I snap. “You listen to me. I am your coworker. Not your student. Not your pupil. There is no power structure between us
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