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Today, school dragged even more. People were talking about how the new teacher is staying at my place. They were giggling and placing bets on how long it would take for him to realize what a crazy bitch I was. Some were betting on me making a fool of myself by trying to seduce him because that's what expected from the school's slut, right?
And the worst thing is, they may be right this time. Because all week I couldn’t stop thinking about our dinner and his touch. I want to see him look at me with that same hunger. I want him to touch me, kiss me… and damn, I want to feel him inside me while his body is flush against my naked form. I crave the connection I feel when I’m around him.
My life is a circle. Like that riddle about the chicken and the egg. I don't know what's the starting point when my life takes the wrong turns that lead me in this belly deep tar. With every passing day, I'm swallowed more and more into the mess that's my life.
I’ve been given a name I didn’t ask for, just hoping maybe my parents would see me, remember they have a daughter. But as I look for attention, I become more and more the girl I don’t want to be. The girl everyone wants me to be. And the girl who isn’t worthy of her parents’ time. So we rewind and replay the same scenario.
I want this curse to be broken, but all I’m doing is panicking in the pool of tar, sinking even deeper, faster.
Elijah was the tree branch I saw above that tar, hoping the intense attraction I feel toward him means something since it’s the first time I felt such thing. But turns out, the branch was much further away than I thought. Too far for me to reach.
I’m tired.
I’m lost.
I don’t want to be the pathetic girl who needs someone to be happy, but I just can’t help it.
God… I just want to be happy, even if it’s for a little while.
With a sigh, I put my journal back in my bag and stand up to head for class. This little notebook is full of melancholic thoughts and self-pity. I always try to write something good, uplifting and even if I can manage that for a little while, the next page turns back to my good friend melancholy. It's what is in me, what I'm surrounded with. When I have the freedom only a pen, and a piece of paper can give me, my thoughts are set free and bleed onto the paper before I can stop it.
That’s why I get scared when Elijah, I mean Mr. Richards starts the class with those words. “Writing is self-discovery. We search what’s inside of us and reflect them into our writing. So today, I want you to write me a bedtime story. The kind our parents tell us before bed. A story about something that affected you. Something you feel deeply.”
I bite my lip, looking at the paper he puts in front of all of us like it’s a weapon.
Grabbing my pen, I take a deep breath and force myself to remember the good moments.
I hope this time the pen won’t pull out the truth from me.
12
Elijah
It's been a week since I started to work here, and I noticed the students in my class enjoy my type of teaching. I even caught one of the guys in the basketball team secretly reading a book.
I thought this teaching work will be a pain in the ass, but I’ve started to enjoy it.
And then… there is Eva.
No matter how much I try to put distance between us, mostly for her sake, because I don't trust my willpower around her, Evangeline Faye is suddenly the only constant thing in my life. She's the first thing I think about when I wake up. The fantasies I have about her are like sweet torture before I close my eyes every night, knowing she's just a few feet away from me in that big house, probably feeling lonely.
Oh, how I wish to share her loneliness.
How many different ways I can think of to comfort her and make her forget about every problem she has.
How I want to make, her writhe underneath me. How I want to taste her skin just like I was about to do on my first day here.
I shake my head to clear my mind from the thoughts of her like I do dozens of times every fucking day.
Resting my hip on my table, I look at my students who are writing the story I want them to. I do everything in my power not to stare at Evangeline’s focused face. I don’t know about the other students in this classroom, but I know she’s putting her heart out in that paper. I can see her passion, feel how her thought pour into the paper every time my eyes find her.
She’s quiet in the classes, even though I know she listens carefully. When she lifts her hand, I can’t hide my surprise.
“Yes, Evan- I mean Miss Faye?” I stutter.
“Do I have to hand the stories to you, Mr. Richards?” she asks in that soft voice of her.
I study her face and drag my answer even though I feel other students’ gazes on us.
