CHANCE | ✔

4| Chance/Callista

The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own. 
— Willa Cather 

Illecebrous 
(adj.) alluring; attractive; enticing 

Monday — September 4, 2023 

Chance 

I sit back with a sense of satisfaction; I didn't even have to do anything to get her worked up. She glances in my direction every few minutes as if I'm waiting for her to lower her guard and slice her throat. 

A soundless chuckle erupts from within me. 

It feels strange, having her here beside me after all these years. It's impossible to ignore her presence, so paying attention to what is being taught is out of the question. 

Which pisses me the fuck off. 

I'm not dumb. My IQ is reasonably high and so is my memory. I just don't see the point in memorizing all these things because half of this shit won't even hold any purpose once I graduated. 

Creative Writing isn't a hard subject — it's probably the only one that doesn't give make me question the education system, and the only one I enjoy — and it doesn't require much concentration under normal circumstances. But this teacher forces us to memorize every word of the inch-thick textbook, and that doesn't even include the most random shit she said in between paragraphs — things that weren't even relevant to the topic — that she asked us to elaborate on in exams. 

I hope she's fired. 

I should get her fired. I'll fuck her someday later this week. 

My thoughts stray back to the brunette beside me. Again. 

She is stubborn. Fiery. But she isn't stupid. She recognizes when she's overpowered and knows when to back down. 

What I have to do is make sure I can drive her to the edge of insanity and leave her clawing at the threshold of life and death, long enough for her to realize that she's condemned to stay at the bottom yet steadily enough to ensure she won't lose her fight in the process. 

Not until I'm done with her. 

My surroundings dissolve into white noise. Brainstorming in such a clamorous space is frustratingly impossible but with all my thoughts revolving around the same person, zoning out is nearly effortless. 

Everything but restraining myself seems to be effortless when it comes to her. 

She's uncomfortable right now, yes, but she isn't afraid. She's uncertain but she isn't terrified. 

Flashes of last night filter through my brain. 

Green to black, prey to predator. 

My gaze which is assessing her movement, her body language, and her actions and reactions, unconsciously drop to her chest. 

Fuck. 

Oxygen rushes into my lungs with the next deep breath, clearing out the unrequested thoughts. 

But along with the oxygen, something else filters through my lungs. A faint trace of coffee and cocoa and new books and roasted almonds and— 

Christ. 

I squeeze my eyelids shut. 

Why the fuck would I think there'd be roasted almonds here? 

"So," I start, drumming my fingers against the dark wooden desk. "What's your deal?"