"𝐖𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐞."
-------------------
Alyssa, Alessandro and Alessio Smith have gone through hell.
They've been fighting to survive from the moment they'd first opened their eyes. Six...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
IT'S A PRETTY simple assignment. Gather information on our assigned artists from the 19th century, sum it up in an organized map or list of some sort on a poster - presenting that in front of the class will make up one third of the grade, including format, font, etc etc. - and thereafter, create a painting that reflects a combination of our assigned artists' styles. Simple.
-ish.
Either way, not the obstacle in this case. No, the obstacle isn't a 10-page essay or an incomprehensibly phrased task, it's not even the witch of a teacher that's going to grade us with utmost (over-the-top) diligence. The obstacle is a 5'5'' brunette. One, who hasn't said a single word since stepping foot inside this school several weeks ago. One, who's never been seen even five feet away from her triplet brothers. One, whose family I can - under no circumstances - get involved with. One, whose skirt has ridden up just enough to reveal the way her thighs are splayed out on-
I startle to attention, jumping up from my slumped posture as I sit up straight on the chair, whipping my head around, away from her, away from her legs. I swallow heavily, a frown spreading across my face as I gaze intently at the edge of the table separating the two of us. What the fuck was that.
My hand curls in on itself, squeezing its flesh like how my stomach is squeezing itself. I clench my teeth. Fuck.
You idiot-
You stupid, fucking idi-
All of a sudden, before I have properly gotten over this haywire thought of mine, a weight lands on the dip of my left shoulder. I swirl around, my eyes ablaze with a combination of residue shock and an irking anger at the disruption, being greeted with Ms Folk's infamous glare, her glasses perched on the very tip of her nose, her chin tipped down, her gaze hard - looking down on me. And god, if this had happened two minutes earlier, I would've punched her in her stupid face by reflex and gotten myself expelled.
However, matter-of-fact, my mind is still partially with a different matter entirely (one much more concerning than the newly arisen want to disfigure this annoying bitch's face), thus it simply wasn't able to catch up fast enough to send the impulse for my arm to shoot out and uppercut the woman in her ugly face. It appears to be too busy battling with a bout of lust so forbidden, even fucking the woman in front of me would pale in comparison.
Breathing through my nose, I shoot the teacher an annoyed glance. "What?" I ask rather rudely, uncaring of drawing attention by misbehaving. I'm already in deep shit as is, sitting in such close proximity to Alyssa Giordano- who cares anymore.
Who cares what those teachers think about me.
She raises a threatening eyebrow in response. "You haven't said one word to each other, and we're 20 minutes in. If you don't start speaking with that poor girl over there, I'll have to give you both an F." And before I can open my mouth to retort to her ridiculous demands, she's turned on her red stilettos and approached her next victim. I exhale sharply through my nose, whereupon I proceed to take a steadying breath back in. Trying to simmer my thoughts back down, to return to my usual air of nonchalance.
