Writer

Chapter 4

I've always wanted to be Jane Eyre. Ever since I had read the novel in 12th grade, I was hooked. It wasn't her looks that caught my attention, because she was plain, like me.

It was the way she was so, independent. She never feared to speak her mind. Her thoughts were an endless stream of creativity and her mouth spoke them with pride. I wanted to be a fictional character, I wanted to be her.

Jane Eyre.

I had brought the book with me for inspiration, and I hadn't put it down for a week straight. Avoiding people is hard, but when your head is constantly ducked under a book, people don't really bother noticing you.

I didn't like being noticed.

And I especially didn't like being noticed by Rye.

He was only in one of my classes. So it wasn't too hard to flee to the back of the class and rest the book in front of me.

Sometimes I would read it, and really get lost in the profound writing of Charlotte Brontë. And sometimes I would just use it in case I found Rye's wandering eyes.

The professor didn't seem to mind. As long as I was quiet just like the rest of the class, he was content.

It didn't help much that the class was that of public speaking, and it didn't help that after being able to avoid Rye's wandering eyes for a week, today was the day we had to talk.

Everyone had to go up and speak, and every topic was different.

He wanted us out of our comfort zones. But just by standing up there I was already on edge.

Breathe. I told myself.

Breathe.

It didn't take long for the professor to look at his name sheet and call mine. "Paisley Mase?"

My legs felt like taffy. I felt them bending awkwardly with every step I took. My throat constricted. My vision blurred. My heart stopped. It wasn't until I positioned myself in the front of the room that I started to see bits of black.

I was going to pass out.

I didn't want to.

But I was going to.

So many faces, so many unfamiliar faces. My mind started to shut off, the world was turning into shades of black and white. It was painful, knowing I was about to fall on the ground face first in front of hundreds of strangers.

My eyes kept scanning, my face felt empty, cold.

And then the one I knew was before me.

He was staring. I was staring.

His eyes burned into mine. Those black eyes sent heat waves through my body. They made me see clearly again, if only to see just him.

I stared at him, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't look away. I feared if I did, that I would lose it; my sight, my peace. He smiled that confident smile he seemed to use so frequently.

"Paisley?" Professor James called from the side of me.

I nodded.

"You must speak for the duration of two minutes on the saddest moment of your childhood."

Wow.

"You have twenty seconds to think it over."

Twenty seconds.

I didn't look away from Rye. He tapped his pointer finger to his wrist, and I knew he was counting down.

I bit my lip in frustration. I didn't know what to say. This was hard.

For a few seconds my mind drew a blank, and I kept my gaze on Rye's eyes. His nose. His lips. His chest (where I envisioned his heart beating steadily, unlike my own which was beating too fast for my own good).

And then I knew. I knew what I wanted to say.

"Okay, are you ready?" Professor James asked.

I think I nodded.

"Your time starts," He paused and I knew he was setting a timer. "Now."

I drew a breath, and began to speak. I was quiet at first, looking just at Rye's feet.

Then my gaze drew back up towards his black eyes again.

"When I was young, I had a lot of pets. I loved them. They were always comforting. When no one else was around, they were there." I paused and tried to think of other words to say.

I felt Professor James grunt, and I knew I was taking up too much time. Rye's eyes creased at the sides, and his smile grew sweeter. His eyes told me to keep going.

I did.

"I had bunnies, dogs, snakes, birds, and I had a lot of fish. I hated when one would die. I would cry for days, endlessly. I loved animals, a lot." I had to catch my breath.

"I had this one fish, who I, uh, favored more than any other. His name was Bruce. He was a beautiful betta. I loved him because, because," I stuttered. "Because he held so many different colors on his fins, and it fascinated me. One day I went to feed him, and noticed that another fish was attacking him. A goldfish. The pet store employee told me it would be okay to put them together, and I hesitantly did so. But she was wrong, so very wrong, and I saw that when I jumped towards the tank to scare the other fish away. Bruce had barely any fin left, and what was left was shredded horribly. I was so angry, so sad, so devastated that the beautiful creature was broken. In spite, I grabbed a fish net, grabbed Dennis, the goldfish, and flushed him down the toilet. Alive. After I flushed it, I started to scream and cry, to my parents. 'He's gone. He's dead. I killed him. I'm a murderer.' I screamed. And after that day, Bruce's fins didn't grow back. Bruce didn't grow either."

I didn't see Rye anymore. I saw my beautiful betta floating at the top of the fish tank, and the murdered murderer being flushed continuously down the toilet.

Everyone was silent. No one spoke as reality came back to my vision and my eyes settled back on Rye.

"Well done." Professor James finally spoke, and I broke eye contact with Rye.

I rushed back to my seat.

I hid under my book for the remainder of class, daydreaming about what Mr. Rochester would say about my unique ability to please him with words.