Nineteen-year-old Namora Mursings has fallen in love with her married teacher, Mr. Vincent Williams. Knowing the consequences of her infatuation, she still decides to pursue him.
Vincent takes her for a troubled girl still on an identity quest and w...
Things start to progress faster from now onwards, yw ;)))
HEAVILY UNEDITED . I literally wrote this without checking through it even once, but I'll come back another day to make it a better 2nd draft
IF I WERE TO DIE
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"Good morning, Mr. Williams," I chirp as he waltzes into the school building, carrying a pile of books.
What I really wanted to say was, who was that woman you were with? But I don't dare ask that question.
His eyes whip up to look at me in surprise when he sees me, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards.
"I'm almost positive you're stalking me now, girl."
You're not exactly right, but you're not wrong either.
"I have a name!" I pout, taking a small pile of books from the mountain he's carrying in order to be of some help.
"I didn't ask for your help."
"I know, but it doesn't hurt to have someone help you carry your books, does it? Jeez, what a grumpy old man," I murmur the last part to myself.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," I shoot him the most innocent look I can muster, a genuine smile crossing over my features.
He narrows his eyes at me before looking straight ahead, marching on. It's then that I become aware of the eyes watching us, though I know I'm playing it safe enough to not cause any suspicion.
"Where are we going, by the way?" I whisper to him, keeping my eyes downcast.
"To my classroom."
I brighten up, casually upping my pace to surpass him.
'Suprise him.'
"Well, I'll meet you there! The last one there is a loser!"
I poke my tongue out at him childishly as I practically run towards his class, knowing fully well that he won't be racing after me, thereby automatically making him the loser.
Dropping the heavy load of books onto his desk, I breathe heavily, wiping away the cold sweat that has accumulated on my forehead.
I didn't prepare myself for this morning exercise.
"You are such a child, Namora," I hear Mr. Williams behind me, and I turn around only to deprive myself of air.
He stands in the doorway, heavily panting, his cheeks reddened and eyebrows furrowed, blond locks messy atop his head, blue orbs gleaming with annoyance. But his stature leaves me awed— because how can someone look so utterly beautiful? — while standing there doing literally nothing?
"I... I... You didn't have to run to meet me... We both knew you were going to be the loser anyway..." I didn't have the guts to say anything else to him, mostly because his very presence is making me anxious.
Jeez, social anxiety doesn't know when to quit.
"Very funny. I'd have thought you would appreciate the small effort I'd made, but I guess not," he hums as he walks in.
"No! I do appreciate it, and I appreciate the view too, but you're the loser so—"
"You appreciate the view?" His raised eyebrows hint at his surprise. I don't think he appreciates the small compliment.
"Uh... what I mean is... I..." I bite my tongue, hating myself for the slip, "I'm really sorry. Just forget what I said. Anyway," I breathe in heavily, shaking my head.
"Calm down, Namora, your anxiety seems to be acting up," the fatherly tone in his voice, his softened features, the concern in his eyes make me hate him even more.
The fact that he's so understanding, the fact that he knows it's my anxiety without my having to tell him...
I stare at the blonde man, wondering how on earth I was supposed to get rid of my feelings for him when he's like this.
"Deep breaths, Namora," he says calmly, moving towards me with caution, "you shouldn't have ran, it probably triggered an attack."
The fatherly chastisement, the way he unconsciously places a hand on my shoulder, it's all a bit too much. I feel a strong impulse to just take hold of his face and smash my lips against his.
I inhale, closing my eyes, "I'm okay..."
"No, you're not. And it's okay, to not be okay sometimes."
I look up at him, genuinely confused and overwhelmed with emotions. The things I feel for this man... it's unhealthy.
I stare into his oceanic orbs with my own mahogany eyes, and for a moment, the only sound I hear is the sound of my heart going a mile a minute.
I really want to know what he's thinking—I really want to know what lies behind those emotionless eyes, that emotionless face of his.
Can I break down his wall? I want him to let me in.
'Surprise him.'
"Can I... Can I hug you?" I say, but it's barely more than a whisper.
His eyebrows raise.
"I don't think..."
"Please? I really... I need it," I pout, feeling the tears building up again.
There's silence, before he lets out a sigh of defeat. "You're a strange girl."
That's all it takes for me to smile.
And then I run into his arms, relishing in the small grunt of surprise he emits as I wrap my arms around his waist, fisting his chemise in my hand; as I breathe in his manly cologne.
I trace the patterns on his shirt with my hands, greedily pressing myself against him. I can't help it; he's exotic, a painter's artwork.
I think if I were to die right now, I would die happy.
But the moment doesn't last for long.
"Okay, I think that's enough, Namora." His voice sounds strange as he lightly pushes me away, but when I look up at his face, I only see a blank expression staring back at me.
Curse his ability to not feel anything. Or to hide everything he's feeling.
"I'm sorry... I just really needed a hug..." I say, unconsciously wrapping my arms around myself, "... and you were there, so I..."
I trail off, throat dry and tongue feeling like sandpaper inside my mouth.
Mr. Williams looks at me for a moment before clearing his throat, "well, I hope you're better now. As for your little scene... you're not a child anymore, so you should stop acting like one."
I can't suppress the smile that takes over my features. I'm not a child anymore? He doesn't see me as a child anymore?
"Alright sir, but just so you know..." I begin, rubbing my hands together to create warmth, for I begin to feel cold.
"...I would gladly hug you again. Anytime."
And then I look up at him, giving him the most innocent smile I can muster, and I can tell.
The flicker of doubt that crosses his winter blues, the slight red hue covering his cheeks, the shift in his beautiful features.
My words are beginning to have an effect on him, and he's beginning to fall.
