novacane | griezmann

1 // ANTOINE

"spotlight, bad baby, you've got a flare;
for the violentest kind of love anywhere out there."
- bel air, lana del rey

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"This essay is worth five percent of your first semester grade. I suggest you get to it right away, as it's due by the end of the week. Thank you, I hope you have a great school year." Ms. Dittmer dismissed us with that, leaving me to throw my books into my backpack and shove my way out of the classroom with annoyance.

It wasn't even the fact that I had been assigned a ten page essay on the very first week of my last year of university, but rather the fact that I was just an irritable person. This was both a blessing and a curse—girls loved it, but others not so much. Sure, I had a lot of guy friends, but that was only because I played football for the university—and I was good at it, too. I was also in a fraternity, but only a few of the guys in the frat weren't on the team.

My life was typical. I woke up, worked out, showered, and got ready for classes. Then I went to them, went to football practice, had sex with a girl that I had a thing going on with at the moment, partied (if I felt like it), went to sleep, and repeated. (and not always in that particular order).

I was what I considered pretty emotionless. Stoic, for lack of better word. It was hard to amuse me or even make me smile, unless you were one of my friends. I was high maintenance and, after four years at this school, had never encountered a girl that I would even consider taking out on a second date just because I liked her and didn't want to fuck her brains out. And I was honest. Always honest, regardless of whether or not it would hurt. I think I was known for my honesty.

"Antoine, remember Elliott? From high school?" Olivier's voice rung throughout my head as I stared at the blank Word document on my computer, wondering what the hell I was going to write my psychology essay on.

"What are good topics for my psychology essay?" I inquired, blatantly ignoring Olivier's obsolete question. He was smart, and besides, he was in grad school—he'd done all of this already.

Olivier ignored my question back. "Do you remember Elliott?"

I frowned at him. "Valentine Elliott?"

"Yeah."

"Yes, I remember Elliott . She had the stupidest name I've ever heard. Now, do you remember what you wrote your midterm paper about or not?"

"Why does that matter? The semester just started."

I let out an annoyed breath. "Dittmer assigned an essay. If you don't help me, I'll just force Julian to write it."

"No, don't do that to the poor boy. He hardly even speaks English."

"So? His professors don't care. He got straight A's last year."

"Antoine—"

"JULIAN!" I hollered my German teammate's name at the top of my lungs, however when he didn't respond, I got up in a fit of rage and rushed down the staircase to talk to him myself.

There, he stood talking to a girl I couldn't see; probably one of the girls from our sister sorority or something that was willing to hook up with him in return for him doing their work. That was how Julian operated. It seemed pathetic at first, but now I had a level of respect for his ways.

"Julian." I spoke again, not really caring about who he was trying to bargain with. I placed my hand on his shoulder and turned him to face me before pausing, staring at the girl who stood before him.