The Way I Love You

2

Y/N POV:

I can feel my eyes slip away from its focus. I know I should pay attention, but I can't. There's so much going on, and this class...well it just doesn't feel important anymore. I simply stopped caring. So, I let my eyes slip away, and I let my mind drift.

I don't even notice class is over before I feel a hand on my shoulder, "hey, may I have a word with you? Hello? Earth to Y/N...?"

Startled I look up at the touch and see my teacher standing right next to me. I'm met with green eyes. The most beautiful green eyes now just filled with concern. "Huh? What sorry- did you say something Ms. Maximoff?" I can hear how weak my voice is, but I don't know how to fix it.

"Class is over Y/N," she says with a voice filled with less concern than what her eyes implied.

I gather my things and get up, but she puts her hand on my wrist stopping me in my tracks. "I'm sorry, can I have word with you?"

I nod my head, knowing what this could be about. I don't feel like talking about it. I have been managing somewhat fine. I haven't talked to anyone about it, but why would I? It's none of their business, and honestly what's the point?

I feel my heart sink as she hands me a piece of paper with a large F circled on the front. I look at it for a minute taking it in, then back up at her. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, is all I can think as I meet her eyes. I know it's too late when I see my glossy eyes in the reflection of her watch.

"I'm sorry, but if you want to pass this class, you'll have to take this again, with a passing grade." She takes a pause as she says, trying to read my expression. I tug at my green jumper as I feel a few tears leave my eyes.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sor-" I can't stop repeating it. It's the only thing I can remember how to say. How to pronounce.

Her arms are flung around me, and I can hear her words brush through my hair, "hey hey it's okay...it's okay...what's wrong?" She pulls back and takes my face in her hands, "what's wrong sweetie, why are you sorry? what's going on?"

I just shake my head and look down at the floor when I realized our eyes were locked with one another. What's wrong? More like what isn't wrong.

When I don't answer she continues, "last week you weren't in class at all, and this week, so far, you haven't paying attention at all. You've been dropping assignments and the once you hand in are barely answered. I know something is up, so please help me understand. Help me understand how such a smart girl is failing everything, almost on purpose it seems."

Her words just make my tears drop faster. I know I should do better. I know I could do better. Lately I can't even remember where I put my phone, or the way back to my apartment without walking into a million blind ways.

Her thumb goes over my cheeks in an attempt to clear away the flood that was happening. I breathe in quickly, but it stops midway, and I have to try a few times to stop the sobbing. "I was away last week..."

"You were away, why didn't you say so? You can't just go away without a word, we need to know if you're staying in school or not."

Why didn't I say anything? I didn't say anything because before right now I didn't think you knew my name, or who I was. I thought nobody at this school knew who I was, nay this city. Nobody knows me, nobody cares. I have no one anymore.

"I had to go home..." I stutter out, not that it was any sort of explanation.

"Right, you're not from here...where's that again? Home I mean?"

"...Norway"

"Right, that's it. I always thought your accent was kinda Nordic, but I couldn't place it...not that that's important. You still have to, you know, tell us when you go, and not that you can just leave in the middle of semester and come back the next week without a reason..." she leaves the sentence hanging in the hopes of getting an explanation.

"M- my dad..." I start off, my lips trembling more for every word I try to get out. "H- he...he passed away." I say turning my head away, I don't want anyone to see my eyes. I can't let anyone see my eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss Y/N. I truly am." She has let go of my head, but she carefully guides me towards her desk making me rest against it, as if I was going to pass out and fall to the ground. Did I really look that exhausted? I mean I do feel that exhausted.

"I know losing someone you love is hard. Were you guys close?"

Normally I would have left before anyone could've asked more questions. The handful of people at the funeral only saw me, every time they came up to me to talk – I left. I didn't want to hear their pity, their sorries. Nobody knew my dad the way I did. He was one of two people I had left in this world. Yet everyone expected me to be alright and get over it as soon as the funeral was over.

"He was all I had left, him and my brother." I say still looking away.

"What about your mother?" She questions. I can see where this is coming from. Of course, people wonder when I don't mention her, "I never knew her, she died giving birth to me."

I never felt the need to know my mother. I know my dad and my brother loved her dearly. My dad never held any sort of resentment towards me for being born, he never loved me any less. He made sure he took care of me the way he was supposed to, and he made sure I felt the love of two people coming from one.

My brother on the other hand hated me. He was already 10 years old when I was born. He knew mom, he loved her, he lost her...because of me...and because of that our relationship was never that good. In elementary school when I was being bullied, he made sure I was okay, and chased the bullies away. He always protected me, but he could never forgive me for making him lose his mother. I think he forgets that I lost her too.

"I lost my parents too...I was very little, and there was a war in my country...all I remember is that I never saw them again. It was just me and my brother until a few years ago." A few years ago? What does she mean a few years ago?

I look back at her for the first time since telling her about my dad, and she continues like she knew what I was going to ask, "he died a few years ago as well. He was out with a friend and a few muggers stopped them, he dove in front of his friend catching a bullet." I can hear her swallow hard reopening something so personal.

"I'm sorry..." We both just stand there taking in the pain of each other's reality.

I don't know why I shared what happened with my mom, I usually avoid telling people. I don't want their pity, or the awkwardness that comes with it. But somehow, I knew she wouldn't pity me. I knew she would understand. I feel it standing here with her. I feel safe.