Jonas Brothers Imagines/Preferences

Mr Jonas Part 3

#imagine

Your pen tapped against the side of your desk. Your brow furrowed and your teeth bit down on your bottom lip. The hands of time spun around and around, each tick making your heart jump.

You thought of him.

You pushed the thought to the far corners of your mind, grimacing at the pain that entered your chest with every picture of him.

Tap. Your pen tapped again, and you refused to let this essay be the death of you.

This essay.

His essay.

No.

Just another stupid essay by your stupid teacher who you were madly entwined with.

You scowled.

Stupid essay.

20% of your grade, he said.

He looked at you, leaning on his desk. He looked straight at you. He always did. You gulped, hurt, and he knew he had royally screwed up.

No.

You needed to focus on this essay.

Your phone buzzed, the light from the screen drawing your eyes away from the words you meticulously had written, to now examine who was texting you.

It was an unknown number, so you ignored it. You had to finish this essay.

It buzzed again, this time with an incoming call. You thought to ignore it, but you decided a small break wouldn't hurt you. Besides, it was probably just your Mom calling from the hotel she was staying at this week, so you answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

You repeated that word in your head, tossing it over until you found who it belonged to.

"Bye." You said, and just as you were about to hang up, you heard him scramble to stop you.

"No, don't hang up. Let me just..."

"Just what? Make me feel worse?"

There was an eerie silence that followed.

"I'm sorry." He finally said, and you could feel your body being scrubbed with pain from head to toe.

How you imagined he'd say it, you thought about it every night, but now there was no need to.

"I should have told you."

"Mr. Jonas," You choked back tears, "This is inappropriate and I must hang u-"

"Stop that." He demanded. "Don't call me that."

"Mr. Jonas," You insisted.

"It's Nick." He said flatly. "It's after hours, school is over, and you can't call me that because it hurts me..." He trailed off, and you could hear he had been crying, too.

"You have a wife." You said, numb. A concept that made you dizzy to the point where you could make yourself puke if you tried long enough. A wife.

You thought back to how she had barged in the classroom to give Nick his lunch. How he got nervous at the sight of her, and try to push her out the classroom. But it was too late. The damage had been done, and you hated him for making you sit in that desk and watch him lecture you for another hour when you felt your heart breaking with every word. He watched you, pleadingly, wishing to explain, but you couldn't see him anymore...every glance his way clouded by her image. His wife. A wife.