Miss nobody strikes back

what happened.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Classes were the same as always. My head rested on the desk, tuning out the usual droning of the teacher’s voice. It wasn’t worth the effort to pretend I was interested in what they were saying. Today, Miss Joan was teaching—a history lesson, of course, making things worse. She wasn’t well-liked. Known for her bias, she only bothered with the students she favored. The rest of us? We were as good as invisible, unless she needed to make an example of someone.

"Dominic. Dominic." Her voice was sharper than usual. I lifted my head slowly, not in a hurry to acknowledge her. The class turned to look, curious about what she wanted this time.

"It’s rude to rest your head on the desk while a teacher is speaking," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Especially when it’s an adult addressing you."

I didn’t say anything. I glanced to the side, where Sophia was sound asleep. "Why does she get to sleep?" I asked, my tone flat, unbothered.

"She has a headache. You, however, seem perfectly fine." She folded her arms, daring me to argue. "Not paying attention in class is a serious offense."

I stared back at her, expressionless. "I pay attention."

Her eyebrows raised. "Oh, really? Then what year did I mention last?"

"Tuesday, tenth of August 1945," I answered, my tone still even.

She blinked, caught off guard. "And the total number of casualties?"

"Fifteen thousand. Ten thousand women and children, five thousand men."

The class grew quieter, Miss Joan momentarily at a loss. She asked another question, and I answered that too. Her disbelief was almost amusing.

"How did you know?" she asked, more curious now.

"I told you—I pay attention." I rested my head back on the desk, closing my eyes, signaling the conversation was over.

The class returned to its usual hum of half-interested murmurs, and she continued her lesson, though the irritation in her voice lingered. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I doubted it would be the last.

The rest of the day dragged on, as uneventful as always. Soon enough, school was over, and it was time for our study session. Oddly, I found myself looking forward to it, something I wasn’t used to feeling. I walked into the library and spotted Hanna already seated. She glanced up when I entered, but her expression was off—something was bothering her.

I sat down across from her, my voice calm as ever. "Did you finish the task I gave you?"

She lowered her gaze, hesitating. "About that, when I was…" Her voice trailed off, and that’s when I noticed the bruise on her cheek. It was fresh, too fresh. I raised a hand, barely touching her cheek. She flinched.

I stayed silent for a moment, my eyes scanning her face. "What happened?"

She avoided my gaze, her fingers fidgeting nervously. "While I was doing my homework, my dad got angry. He tore my books because I was eating while working."

I didn’t respond right away, letting the weight of her words settle in. "Did he hit you?" My voice remained quiet, steady.

She nodded, her eyes cast downward.

I didn’t like how it made me feel—uneasy, irritated, like something needed to be fixed. But I didn’t show it. I rarely did.

"Come with me." I stood up, not waiting for her to argue. She hesitated, but eventually, she got up, following me out of the library. We walked in silence toward the nurse’s office.

When we arrived, Mrs. Kline immediately noticed the bruise. She didn’t ask too many questions, just cleaned the area and applied ointment with a practiced hand.

"What happened?" Mrs. Kline asked, her voice gentle.

Hanna lied. "I fell. It’s nothing serious."

I stood there, silent as ever, watching the exchange. I knew it wasn’t the truth, but I also knew it wasn’t my place to force her to admit it.

Mrs. Kline gave her an ice pack. "If the swelling doesn’t go down by tomorrow, come back."

We left without saying much, the tension between us thick but unspoken. Back in the library, I sat down and opened my books, my mind elsewhere.

"You didn’t tell her the truth," I said, not looking up from the pages.

"It’s complicated," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

I didn’t push it. "If it happens again, you tell me." My voice was low, but there was an edge to it that surprised even me.

She glanced at me, her eyes lingering. "I promise."

We spent the rest of the study session in silence, working through the material without much conversation. I could tell her mind wasn’t on the task, and mine wasn’t either. The bruise on her cheek, the way she had flinched, it stuck with me.

As the day came to an end, we packed up our things and headed for the door. I glanced at her one last time as we left the library.

"Take care of yourself," I said, my voice even, controlled. I didn't know where that came from, even she seems surprised by my sudden words.  What is wrong with me?

She nodded, giving me a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I will."

I watched her walk away, that uneasy feeling settling in my chest once more. I didn’t say anything, didn’t show it. But I knew something needed to change.

A/N, I'm really sorry for the late upload, watch Dominic the ice cube melting over a little bruise. It's giving possessivness.