The Outsider

7. The Campus Killer (Part One)

7. The Campus Killer (Part One)

A vibrating in my pocket made me realise I wasn't paying attention in my English lecture. It also made me realise that I had been thinking of the 'Campus Killer'—As everyone had been calling him—for most of the lecture.

Sadly, it had turned out the day before at work hadn't been the best time to try to think of a plan to get close to the attractive, smooth talking, almost God-like guy I had been lusting over.

Yes, I may be talking him up a little bit, but to paint a picture, sometimes you have to use vibrant colours.

Instead of spending my entire devising a plan to speak to the guy I still don't know the name of, I decided I would sleep on it and start fresh in the morning.

Which was now.

In a lecture.

One I should've been listening to but couldn't seem to focus. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem to pull myself out of my thoughts and power through the lesson. Even if there was a certain feeling floating about. However, something extremely unexpected had happened when I walked into the lecture hall.

The Campus Killer was sitting in the far corner of the room. So, for the entire lesson, I had been trying to think of a plan to get close to him after class and talk to him.

I had also been trying not to stare at him.

I had been failing.

Miserably.

Part of me thought it was stupid that I needed a plan and I should just go and talk to him, but that's what a maniac would do.

No, I needed to do something clever. I couldn't just waltz up to him and start a conversation. Mainly, because I knew I would say something stupid. Or call him the Campus Killer to his face.

So, step one should be learning his name. The only problem with that is that no one seemed to know it. Or perhaps they did, but every time I asked someone they just referred to him by the aforementioned name.

The thought of asking the teacher crossed my mind. Surely, he wouldn't refer to him as the Campus Killer.

"Class dismissed," Mr Leyonard called, making me realise I had gone straight back to not paying attention after my phone had pulled me out before.

"Damn it," I muttered, leaning back in my seat as the students around me packed up their bags and made their way out of the room.

Turning around to look into the back corner of the room, I saw my lust-crush had already left the lecture hall, and I sighed, before looking down at my teacher, who was packing up his own things.

Deciding to try my luck, I threw my things into my bag, which I slung over my shoulder, and headed down the stairs of the lecture hall to stand in front of my professors desk.

"Mr—" I started, but was cut off immediately, by my teacher shushing me.

"No formality," he muttered with his finger of his lip, shaking his head.

"Oh, okay. I just—"

"No, no. No Mr's."

"Yeah, I got that. I just don't know your name," I finished, regretting the decision I made as the professor lowered his hand and looked up at me.

"Oh, right. It's Richard," he said quickly, and I let out a chuckle, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Yes, ha-ha. It shortens to dick. How can I help you?"

"Yes, right, sorry." I giggled again at his name, before recomposing myself. "Do you know everyone's name here?"

"I have a list of names. The faces they belong to, though, I couldn't give a damn," Richard said, closing up his briefcase and laying it flat on his desk. "I just come here and try not to lose too many brain cells from teaching students, who, how they got into university is beyond me."