A Lovestruck Haze

Chapter 9

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Ms Deans P.O.V:

'Whatever you want ma'am'
The words echoed through my head hours after they'd been spoken.

I take a sip of wine and check the clock on my counter. 7pm.

And who'd spoken them? An 18 year old student called Morgan. A student who'd somehow managed to befriend me.

I mean, how did that happen? She's just so...

"Interesting." I answer out loud, and take another sip of the quickly depleting wine in my glass.

'Whatever you want ma'am'
The glass clinks gently as I place it down, my foot rotating as it hung from the bar stool I sat at. 

'ma'am'
My foot moves faster,

'ma'am'
and faster,

'ma'am'
and faster,

until the voice becomes deafening.

"Fuck it." I grab the glass and down the rest of the drink.

I slide off the stool, shrugging on a coat hanging by the door. Then with a sharp exhale I push it open.

The cool night air whipped across my face and I gasp, wrapping the coat around tighter as I begin walking to the neighbouring house.

With every step I take the more and more I began thinking about how stupid this was. And yet I kept walking.

Or perhaps it was a little more like jogging, I realise, watching as the door to her house became closer, and closer, until I find myself staring right at it.

It seemed so huge up close, so unbelievably daunting. So terrifying and I wasn't sure why. My heartbeat speeds up as I raise a hand to knock.

Now or never, I whisper inwardly, and bang on the door a few times.

A few seconds pass and I hold the coat tighter to my body as a breeze passes by.

I'm just a new neighbour inviting her over, it's fine.

A few more pass and still nothing.
Just as I raise a hand to knock again, I hear faint rustling behind the door, and then footsteps.

And then- I notice with no small amount of anxiousness- the door creaking open.

Her long, dark hair hung limply over her chest, contrasting against the white silk robe she wore.

"Ms Dean?" She stutters, a hand braced against the door as she looked at me in question.

Think, think, think.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair and take a breath in, "Morgan." I say, focusing on trying to think of something to say, and perhaps more difficultly, keeping my eyes on her face.

She raises an eyebrow, "Do you need something?"

"Have you... eaten?" Something flashes across her face and her lips quirk.

Barely more than a whisper she replies, "Something like that."

I almost stumble into her.
"What?"

For a moment the only noise was the rustling of wind against leaves.

"Nothing. No I haven't," A quiet giggle.

I decide to ignore whatever that was.

"Ok well, would you like to have dinner over at my place?" I blurt, hands going clammy at the sight of her pondering over my question.