You have three smiles. All fake, of course. I can tell because of your eyes. They always give things away. You smile because it is expected of you, but there is something hidden behind it. I want to know what is behind the facade. I doubt three quarters of the people who have liked and commented on your posts really care who you are on the inside. They just care that you are beautiful. I groan at the comments attached to your photos. All written drivel of vanity. It makes me sick seeing all the boys—boys, because no self-respecting man would ever be so obvious in their desire to fuck you—comment on how sexy you look, and all the girls who convey their desire to look like you.
I need to remind myself to bring this to your attention if it ever comes up. Your lack of privacy in a highly technical and digital world is paramount, and based on the variety of people you keep in your friends list, I have the impression your privacy settings are looked upon as more of a loose suggestion rather than a vital necessity.
You don’t appear to have many friends, with only a handful of people contributing some real comments. That excites me. It excites me to know that you limit your friendship circle. It excites me that none of those friends are male, because there are enough of the male gender throwing their attention onto you. The way they flirt with you has my blood boiling and makes me want to hurt them. Because you don’t belong to them, they belong to you. You entertain their advances by flirting back and it draws out the monster inside of me because how dare you reciprocate. How dare you satisfy their wanton need and give them hope that they can have you. Because you’re mine. Even if I can’t have you the way I want you, you are mine.
You will always be mine. It was decided the moment you stepped foot inside my lecture hall.
From the consistency in their comments, I pick out the handful of people that appear to be your friends and absentmindedly click on the profile of one of them. Because they may appear a certain way, but I need to make certain that these people are worth your friendship. This one is sweet and she wears a lot of colorful clothing.
Annoying.
I can already tell she’s one of those girls who squeals, grinding at your eardrums with her high-pitched voice. The offensive mashing of various colors, like a bag of Skittles vomited on her. Stopping at a video of the two of you, I see that my presumptions about her were correct. She is the boorish girl I had pegged her to be. Despite my distaste for your friend, I continue to watch the video because you’re in it. The way you smile and throw a peace sign to the camera has my dick twitching with want again.
Stop it.
I should listen to my brain. Listen to the side of me that clearly is in a more logical frame of mind than the one that is being entertained because of a lack of good sex. They’ve all been mediocre at best, and I’ve done it to take the itch off. I’ve done it to assuage the part of me that shouldn’t exist, but does. When it’s hungry to be unleashed, but I refuse to do so, I feed it a little something. It’s been some time since I last had sex with a random woman. It’s come to that time now where I should. For the sake of you and myself, I should go out and find myself someone to fuck. To take the edge off and stop me from doing what I’m doing. Fighting the battle with myself, I slam the lid of the laptop shut and pick up my mobile phone and open up the dating app I have. Swiping through a bunch of women that are available, I grow frustrated when I can’t find a single one that piques my interest. All I keep seeing is you in your summer dress, smiling at the camera. Your lips lifted into a sweet and sexy smile as your light brown hair sways softly in the light breeze behind you. The sunlight is a halo, giving you this ethereal look, and I realize that I’ve just about given up on my search when I find her. She’s not you and never will be, because there will only ever be one of you. But she has enough of what I need in order to satisfy me and get the job done; with her light brown hair, heart-shaped face and supple lips. She reminds me slightly of you, and I’m hoping it’s enough. Because if you can’t have the real thing, the next best is good enough, right?
Chapter Two
Viola
I look down at the papers in front of me. The first written assessment that was given to the Introduction to Psychology class. I’m only on my third assessment and already I’m mentally exhausted. Part of me appreciates that these students are new to the university life, however, the other more judgmental side tells me to shut up and that I shouldn’t make excuses for the abhorrent work some of the students are handing in. I’m not entirely sure how professors did this before, without the use of TAs, it’s mind-numbing and somewhat painful work. Probably why they started using them.
“Are you okay?” I look up into the eyes of Professor Matthews.
I’ve been his TA for a few weeks now. Ever since his previous one, Jeanine, was involved in a pretty serious car accident, I’ve been acting as his temporary TA. A stand in for when he finds someone else. I’m not holding out on the hope that he will find someone, because he’s an incredibly fastidious man. He has his ways and his ways must be abided by, otherwise
