I watch as I gather my things at the interaction between you two, and the beautifully genuine smile that appears on your face. The one that says you’re flattered with the attention and that you don’t mind him talking to you. You don’t mind talking to him. I can eventually get over the fact that he had the audacity to approach you, but seeing your reaction to his presence. Well, that is not something I can stand for.
“Hey,” he says, running his hand through his hair, and casting his eyes to the floor. I shut off the low growl that comes from the back of my throat at his obvious act of anxiousness.
I’ve seen this ploy acted out countless times between students. It’s the whole, I’ve wanted to say hi to you for so long but you’re so beautiful, routine. The one I had hoped you would see past. Why can’t you see through it? You’re a smart girl. No, instead, you say hi back. You give him more than he deserves. He doesn’t deserve to get your attention, no matter how much he’s been vying for it.
“I’m Trevor,” he says.
“Viola,” you respond in that sweet delicate voice that has every nerve in me awakening. The one that has the blood pumping straight to my dick. It’s the sweetest song you’ve ever heard. It’s a light whispering breeze on a beautiful spring day. It’s life and light and everything that is pure in a world so dark and full of monsters.
“I-I know,” he stammers. He fucking stammers. Like he’s some prepubescent boy talking to a girl for the very first time. I don’t know who he is, but I’m sure going to find out who. If she’s going to be friends with this pathetic loser, I have every right to know the kind of person they are. Don’t do it. I have to keep reminding myself that I can’t fall down the rabbit hole. That there’s an entire volume of my history that should never be re-read. “I’ve been wanting to say hi to you for some time, but I’ve… I’ve been too nervous to,” he admits shyly.
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes and return my focus on gathering my things, which is taking a rather long time to do because of you.
“Well, I’m glad you found the courage to finally come say hi,” you say sweetly. I look at you, even though I shouldn’t. I look at you and what I see has me seeing red. Your hand is on his arm. Stroking it. It’s comforting and playful. It’s inviting and soothing.
It makes me want to rip your hand off his arm and snap his neck so you never do it again. Anger whorls inside of me and I grip my briefcase tightly, attempting to push down the rage that has overcome me. The rage that leads to dangerous thoughts and dangerous actions. The ones that had me uprooting my life to begin with. I finally do the smart thing. I quickly pack up and leave the lecture hall. But unfortunately not quick enough to not hear the words that have me slamming the door shut behind me.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Sure, I’d love that.”
With my body shaking, and my skin becoming clammy, I angrily gather my things and charge through the throng of students to leave the humanities building and walk toward my office.
You have no idea what you’ve just done, little one. And when I get my hands on you, I’m going to have to punish you for doing this to me.
I shouldn’t be here. How many times have I said that to myself? I’ve lost count. Words of wisdom I’m failing to do because of the way you make me feel. The way you’ve crawled under my skin. I’ve lost myself to my darker side. Really, I’m not entirely sure why I fought it for so long. The moment I locked my eyes on you, it was inevitable. I could berate myself over and over again. I could attempt to divert my attention and thoughts in another direction. To my lessons. Not to a student who could and will only get me into trouble.
It’s why I find myself slipping into the shadows and traveling up the soft grassy front lawn of your house. Why I waited for the lights to switch off and cover the house in darkness. Your housemate is working at the restaurant tonight and she won’t be back until late. From what I could gather from her social media accounts, she owns a restaurant in a neighboring city. It seems to be hugely popular and is a place I could see myself eating at.
Creeping around toward the side, I make my way to the back where I know there’s a rear door. If I’m correct in my assumption, it won’t be locked and I’ll be able to go straight in without having to pick the lock. Most people around here will, ninety percent of the time, lock the front door of their home, but rarely give any thought to the rear. It’s spectacular, ignorant stupidity at its finest. The assumption they’re safe and secure if the front
