I absolutely hate being stared at.
There's just something unnerving about someone's eyeballs being stuck to you by some invisible force, as if searching for your greatest flaws and weaknesses, only to use them against you.
Maybe I'm just paranoid.
However, it seems as if the court jester, Fredric Gooden didn't get the memo. He's staring at me from across the classroom; every time I look back, he's looking me over with his eyes.
He's basically eye fúcking - no, eye rapeíng me.
The next time I look over at him, he kisses loudly at me. I cringe, my skin crawling in disgust, goosebumps covering me.
His eyes drop to my chest, and he grins; I know why. Through my white cotton uniform top, my hardened nipples are showing - a result of being covered in goosebumps - but of course, he doesn't see it that way.
With my face flaming in embarassment, I look away, anywhere but at him.
That's when my eyes fall on Nicholas Greene.
Nicholas Greene is a spectacle to behold. I'm not speaking particularly of his appearance - although his emerald green eyes in contrast with his dark chocolate skin look enchanting, and can be distracting for those who are not used to them; coupled with his dark, brooding aura, they are intimidating.
Anyway, back to the present. Nicholas is currently drawing something in his notebook. It's the way that he draws that's fascinating.
He doesn't even fully look at the book; it's as if he's half looking down at the book, half looking ahead of him. His hand movements are swift and confident, almost careless. He's using a pen, i.e. he can't correct any mistakes he makes in his book; this leads one to believe that he intends to draw flawlessly.
Oh, and also, he's participating in class.
"Cyanide replaces bromine in nucleophylic substitution," he says in answer to a question that I did not hear, because I'm too busy staring at him to properly apsorb any stimuli outside of what I am currently doing.
I'm staring.
I'm doing the very thing to someone that I hate being done to me; that I wanted to strangle Frederic for a few moments ago.
With that realisation, I tear my eyes away from Nicholas, and towards the front of the classroom.
YOU ARE READING
The Artist (Inkitt)
ChickLitNicholas Greene. He never converses with anyone; just "yes", "no" and other forms of short answers. He has no friends; it's as if he takes notice of no one, and no one notices him. The only thing that anyone knows about him is that he draws. In cla...
