Deviance

Chapter 1

"Essay proposal?"

"Yes, Charisma, the essay proposal please," Gavin says, his hand wavering over my desk, as he looks down at me, disappointment seared on his face.

"The due date said the 6th!" I exclaim, pushing myself out of my desk with flamboyancy and dramatisism. He could care less. He is definitely desensitized to me.

"It is the 6th." His voice is dry and monotone and his eyes lull back. "You know, you're single handedly dragging the class average down twenty percent."

I flash my phone screen up at my face. Fuck. How did I mess that up? And more importantly, how can I weasel myself out of this predicament? Oh yeah, I remember why I got the date wrong. I face palm. I deserve to fail this class if I can't even keep track of the day I was born. Mom wanted to celebrate my birthday a day later because she'd noted she'd be traveling through it. Damn, this is my fault for using birthday breakfast instead of a phone for my reminder. Atleast I have a card to play.

A very childish card, like a reverse in uno.

"Well it's my birthday and I got a bit distracted.... and it is almost done... I didn't not start it, it's definently just missing page numbers...."

"Swell. After class then you can stay back and print it, slash write it from start to finish. I have lots of marking to do."

My jaw unhinges as he interrogates the next victim behind me. This man is phased by nothing, I swear. Hell, the roof could fall in and he'd just sigh and grab a broom or something. Somehow he also manages to be simultaneously boring and impossible to persuade. I turn to watch him smile as the first person hands over a paper, succeeding at what they're paying good money to do.

After the essay proposals are all collected, everyone slips out the door as the block ends, leaving a giant canyon of silence I'm eager to fill. Like a third grader I cross my arms and slump back into my chair.

Gavin huffs, grabs his laptop off his desk, and saunters to the back of the room to sit in the desk neighboring mine. There is no tension in this. I'm used to it. It is only because my parents are friends with Gavin, due to my dad being a renound philosopher, and Gavin being somehing of the like. (philosophers these days are not renound enough however for me to name drop and have it mean much to anyone) Gavin adjusts his tie and gives me a once over. He has always looked at me platonically, but there is something else lingering there this time. Nothing worth digging into I'm sure.

"Can't I just make sure I email it to you before midnight?"

His green eyes sear into mine. "No. You do realize when you talk you might as well be an animal calling out for a mate in the Amazon, right?"

I choke on my spit and sputter. Not what I expected, and I had expected a lot of things. "What the hell do you mean? I'm talking at a fine volume right now. You needn't be a dick!"

Shocking me, he slams close my laptop. I deside his furious green eyes are quite hot.  I should make him mad more often. All of the stuff about him being uninteresting and unphased I suppose flew out the window today.

"Language! And you were pratically bragging in class about how many drinks you were going to try and down tonight. So the essay shall be done here and now."

My eyes narrow in on the man. There is something fueling this emotion he's exhausting in my face. "Why must you get flustered? Just because you don't enjoy drinking, doesn't mean I have to cancel fun in my life."

He bites his lip, and I watch his jaw clench. He usually shaves, but he hasn't this week. Stress dots his eyes. "Oh Charisma, you have no idea how this impedes on my drinking time."

Feeling a wee bit manipulative, and okay with the prospect of being burned with the fire I was about to play with, I reach into my bag and pull out the paper bag.

His eyes flood into pools when the realization hits him.

I pretend not to notice and flip open my laptop. "Please, don't let me impair you from your goals."

His face scrunches into a wrinkled mess, as he, amazed, grabs the bag from the desk and fishes out my bottle of smirnoff. A drink that's only socially acceptable to drink straight under the age of 25.

"Charisma. Why would you bring this to school?"

I scoff. "The school practically gave it to me. Don't act like it's a big deal. What does the dean expect if they wish to have a campus liquor store."

I pretend to type words and look busy. All I'm really doing is staring at three paragraphs of shx7sgxiqjzoqnfhqi.7sbziq.

He sighs. Maybe he's actually interesting and I trigger all this sighing business. "Charisma, I'm not drinking your alcohol.  As long as I have my wine before 8, all will remain well in the world."

There is no way I was going to write a full paper in three hours. And there was no way I'd be stuck hear doing so. Sounds like a terrible, degrading way to spend a birthday, let alone any Friday night. Before he has time to react, with a clear, disgusting amount of knowledge over how to get into booze, I flick the cap, it swivels off, darting across the room and I gulp back atleast three shots. Maybe I got lucky and managed four. Than it all ends too quickly as a hand of steel diverts the bottle towards him, dribbling vodka onto his tan pants.

He makes a rumble sound, just a little too weak and boring to be classified as a growl. "I can't believe you just did that."

I scrunch my face, trying not to die. "Me too. But desperate times call for desperate measures."

"I could get you expelled for that."

"You could but you won't."

He moans, clearly defeated. He's not an idiot. In a few minutes, when the vodka settles in, he'll understand the responsibility of not being around his student intoxicated and my life will be a tad better. There is a warm feeling branching down my spine.

I close my laptop, getting ready to go.

"What are you doing?"

"L-leaving..."

He shakes his head and sighs once more, but this time deeply. A second later I understand why as he tips back the bottle and matches my drink consumption. Except he does not flinch and dares to look me in the eye after, raising an eyebrow quizzically, as if to say so what.
Asshole.

"Now open up your laptop so I don't have to deal with a drunk acting ten year old all night."

I oblige.

***

I laugh as he reads my words out loud. I'm quite tipsy for one, and two he reads them as if I had written them dead serious.

"Why do you try and fail?"

"Oh I don't try," I giggle. He's right I do across like a kid, "if I were going to try I would try and do well."

He massages his temple. "I'm just going to give you fifty percent. You don't warrant it, but we will blame the lack of ration to my kindness on the alcohol."

"So I can go?" Why am I grinning?

It strains him to say yes, but he does.

I'm on my way out the door when he yells my name. I whirl around.

There is a heat to his  face that I cannot comprehend the purpose of. His voice drops an octave. "Charisma. If you want any passing grade, at all, maybe stop spending your nights taking care of your sexual urges."

My cheeks were spotty and pink due to smirnoff, but now they were fiery. "What-"

"Like I said, you speak like you're attempting echolocation."

I open my mouth a few times but settle on closing it. He gestures for me to scuttle out, but he leaves me with one last remark.

"Besides, you'll never find the satisfaction you seek from boys. A true man makes an art out of it."

I dart out, scared of my alcohol occupied brain sending my body the wrong messege.