❝ HE'S PSYCHOTIC, OBSESSIVE, AND MY WORST NIGHTMARE.
OF COURSE, I'M THE ONE HE CHOOSES ❞
[ DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON AU]
[ TEACHER!TOM HIDDLESTON AU ]
[ BOOK ONE IN "THE NEFARIOUS" SERIES ]
[ ORIGINALLY...
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FROM TIME TO TIME, I try my best to stay positive, but considering bad things are always around the corner, it's difficult to uphold this standard of living. Needless to say, this strategy typically doesn't hold for too long, but right now, I'm doing my very best to stay optimistic. It's the last first day I'll have with all my friends and peers. This should be something to be excited about (with a dash of dread). And, so far, all my classes have gone according to plan, that being swift and without any issues.
My math class came after helping Mrs. Gibbons. While I do my best to stray away from stereotypes and clichés, I couldn't fight the overwhelming state of confusion and panic during the first lecture. There wasn't even a break-the-ice introduction or the what's-the-best-thing-you-did-this-summer questions. Albeit, I loathe those games, but I would rather sit through the awkward hellos and fun facts for the next year than jump right into a lesson on the first day back. At least give us a break; summer isn't long enough.
Following a near hour of torture came yet another. Alright, health isn't as terrible, but requiring every student take this class as a senior despite having a course similar to such since elementary is very annoying. Then again, does anyone who isn't interested in the medical field know the function or location of the pancreas?
But finally, after several hours of waiting, sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation, I have a class to look forward to: 'Creative Writing.' Most might groan at the sound of a writing class, but I don't mind nor take offense. Not everyone finds passion on words or mental escape through storytelling. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The interest comes so naturally as if I was born to have a pen in my hand. Maybe one day I'll find myself signing copies of my stories in a bookstore or on Good Morning America with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee. I do my best to stay humble about my dreams, but staying positive in this is something I have to have in order to succeed.
Unfortunately, that idea of optimism is slipping away at this very moment.
I double check the crumpled paper in my hand. From what I wrote down, I'm right, but given the locked door with lights out, a sour feeling fills my gut. The last bell rings out, and I'm the only one who isn't a classroom, save the few stragglers making a quick dash into rooms. I'm unsure if I'm confused or frustrated as I stare down the door to an empty classroom.
