my professor, my obsession || cillian murphy

chapter eight

There was no chance I was attending Professor Murphy's class. I didn't even think I could look him in the eye without my mind racing back to that vivid dream of mine. I even decided to skip all my classes, because honestly, it wasn't worth it. He was the only thing I actually cared about anymore.

Reluctantly getting up from the comfort of my bed, I wrestled with the nagging urge to turn onto my side and fall back asleep. The idea of succumbing to a day wasted in bed loomed over me. The sun, unapologetically streaming through my window, served as a relentless reminder of my laziness. Fueled by a growing sense of dissatisfaction, I made the decision to finally get up.

As I got myself dressed, I couldn't summon the motivation to put much effort into my appearance; after all, there was no point, I wasn't seeing Professor Murphy today.I felt some regret for skipping his class, but the memory of that all-too-vivid dream that he starred in left me feeling somewhat relieved that I had spared myself the potential awkwardness.

I had the desire to at least attempt to divert my attention to anything but Professor Murphy, and with each step away I felt the weight of my surroundings lift. I didn't have a car here, so I had no choice but to walk. A few blocks away, a strip mall stood with an array of restaurants and cafes, so my decision was to satisfy my hunger and hopefully distract myself.

I grabbed my backpack, hoping that I could at least get some homework done. Although everything about that day had suddenly changed within seconds. The backdrop of the strip mall basically transformed into a stage for unexpected drama as I saw Professor Murphy stepping out of his black Subaru Outback. My heart quickened as he strode purposefully toward one of the buildings, his presence casting an unexpected spell over the ordinary surroundings. I cautiously trailed behind him, keeping a low-profile demeanor to evade detection, particularly because I had taken the liberty of skipping class without emailing him prior. My eyes keenly observed him as he entered a familiar local coffee shop that I had gone to on numerous occasions. Skillfully concealing myself behind my hair, I made my way towards the cafe with a heightened sense of anticipation.

When I got there, I found him standing in line, his hands casually tucked into his pockets while he scanned the menu above. Although only his back was visible to me, my vivid imagination effortlessly conjured an image of his contemplative expression as he pondered over the selection. Settling into a corner, I opened my laptop, typing relentlessly through the document was nothing more than a jumble of meaningless text.

As he approached the register, I observed him engaging in conversation with a young girl, around my age, who seemed to already know him. A harsh burn of jealousy gripped my heart as I gazed at her, envying her casual use of Professor Murphy's first name. Unfazed and confident, unlike my own nervous demeanor whenever his gaze met mine, she cheerfully inquired, "The usual, Cillian?" Anger welled up within me as I witnessed her exchange with him, clenching my fists as he chuckled in response, confirming his regular order.

"Well, I was gonna try something else but, you know me well," he remarked with a casual nod, further intensifying my internal turmoil. Unable to tear my eyes away, I watched him hand her his credit card, their fingers brushing in a fleeting moment. My anger simmered as I fixated on the girl at the register, thinking, "That should be me, not her." My frustration manifested physically, my clenched fists drawing blood from my palms, which I hastily wiped on my jeans.

Maintaining my intense scrutiny, I watched their interaction unfold as he completed the transaction. A sharp pain gnawed at my stomach, and my attention shifted back to the girl at the register. My glare bored into her, teeth gritted, as I fought the urge to confront her. I honestly didn't know what I would even say to her, but I knew that if I didn't control myself, I would end up making a scene in front of everyone, including Professor Murphy.

Ordering an americano, the simplest espresso drink, he received it swiftly, and the girl called out his name, flashing yet another flattering smile. "Thanks, Shelly. See ya tomorrow," he said, turning away without sparing a single glance in my direction. The invisible threads of yearning and frustration tethered me to my seat, compelling me to endure this silent agony.

***

Sorry this is so short! I wanted to publish a chapter before my 9 hour work shift.
(Fuck me)

I'll update again either tonight or tomorrow