Artgirl

2// scarecrow

CHAPTER 2: SCARECROW

"in a city of fools, I was careful and cool. but they tore me apart like a hurricane." all time low

Nicolas Bear Forrest, 22.

            IF THERE WAS one thing I'd learned from the past five years of my life was that if there was a spare moment in my day where I had time to think, I couldn't let myself thing. Distraction was my best friend; along with music, school work and actual work.

(Adrian Collini was an alright mate as well; but one of the many problems I encountered with him was the fact that he never sprayed Glade after shitting in the loo.)

When I thought too much, my mind drifted to places it left years ago. I couldn't allow myself to think about what I left behind, because I ended up making rash and idiotic decisions, like smoking or drinking too much; until the point where my thoughts were running around like sugar high kids and my being wanted to get a divorce from my body and run away to an undetermined location.

If I over thought, I went mad.

Because every single time, I wanted to get on a plane and fly back to where she was; kiss her, apologize and tell her the truth. Every single time, I reminded myself that it was too late. She hated me; she was happy without me; I couldn't take that away from her.

Letting my attention glide back to the professor, I continued taking notes of what he said. He was fastidious and arrogant, yet every student in this class admired him. Being a successful architect, Isaac Leavitt was an inspiration to anyone who wanted to get anywhere in this domain. When he spoke, others listened. (And when he got mad, we murmured to each other: leave it alone, because of his surname.)

"That's all for today," his voice boomed in the hall, "your essay grades have been emailed to you. If you have any questions, you have exactly five minutes before I leave."

As every time, Professor Leavitt wore a smug smile that either meant you all fucked up and I'm better than all of you or—well, there was no other option. History and Theory of Architecture was a course that I personally held a great love for. Maintaining an 75% average in it, especially on the last year, was my goal.

I took out my phone and opened the e-mail, heart rattling in anxiety. This was the first essay of the year and to me, it determined whether I was on a good track to begin or not.

Mr. Forrest,

            Your grade for this essay is: 85%.

P.S.  Good job. Your essay was flawed, but less flawed than everyone else's.

                                                                                                                        Isaac Leavitt

 Yes.

A smile spread on my face, but I looked up to share my results with my classmates and see how they were, but the frowns on their faces and the desperate teary eyes from some were enough to make me shut up and leave.

But before I walked out, Leavitt nodded at me. From someone who was such a big arse to everyone else, this was a sign that he didn't hate me as much as he hated everyone else. 

I pulled my coat closer to my body and covered my head with a hood. Holding my the laptop bag in one hand, I stuffed my hand in my pocket and prepared myself to walk out in the rain once again. Heading out of the Bartlett campus, I began to think of what I had to do:  Get back to the flat. Get to work. Advance on project research. Get drinks with Adrian.