The phoenix's hypothesis - Book 1 (MxM 18+)

Chapter 1: Dear f***ing diary

Anthony, Wed Jan 14th 2015

Dear fucking diary,

As you can see, I'm in a good mood today. I still don't know why I'm talking to a stupid notebook like it was a real normal person, but the shrink said it would help so here I am. Again. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I had nightmares last night. Again. You could have guessed since I only write to you when that happens. But you're a dumb journal anyway.

It was more or less the same one as usual, so I don't really need to describe it to you, you should know it by heart now. It woke me up around 4 and I don't need to tell you that I didn't manage to doze off after it, you know how fucked up my sleep patterns are. Hence the feisty mood.

I don't really understand why I'm still having those nightmares. I mean, it's been more than two years and a half now, and I moved on. I think. Still, last time I had one of those was more than two weeks ago when it used to be almost every night. That's better right? Ugh! I'm so frustrated with myself for being so pathetic. Like the anxiety attacks I kept having during the holidays. Again it was probably not the best idea to go back to France if I wanted to avoid having them. But seeing the family was nice... -ish.

My research doesn't really move forward. It's like I'm always stuck with the same ideas, turning in circles and circles. I have practice at the dojo this evening, so it will hopefully exhaust me enough to be able to have a normal night of sleep; I can't even remember last time I had one of those.

Anyway, I don't have much time. I've talked about my emotions with you as if you were a real person, as if you would care, and I have to conclude with my hopes for the next days. So here they are: a good night of sleep, no more nightmares, no more anxiety attacks. Oh, and if I could get laid as well, that would be nice.

I close the diary and put it back in my bag, sighing once again. I don't feel any better after doing this, I should just stop with this stupid exercise. I then go back to grading my student's homework. Yeah, I'm a teacher. Math. I know, you always hated it, I get that a lot. Obviously I didn't, let's move on.

I teach at the Lycée Français in New York. They could say French high school, but that would be less snobbish. As you have certainly guessed from the name it's a bilingual school, mostly for the children of rich French expatriates here in NYC, but not only. It's like an episode of Gossip Girl, just with a bit more French in it. No I exaggerate a bit. Most of the students are actually decent human beings, and they are usually serious and very motivated. Oh and even if it's called a high school, it actually begins with pre-K and ends at twelfth grade.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts me from my work. I remove my headphones then look at one of my colleagues. She teaches Art in middle school, I think... I don't even remember her name. I'm not really a people's person.

"There is a student looking for you, Anthony." Well apparently she knows mine!

"Thanks!" I reply, and make my way out of the staffroom. I instantly let out a heavy sigh when I see who is looking for me: Aurore, a girl from one of my eleventh grade class. She got a bad mark at one of her assignments she completely screwed up last week, and already came to see me twice to ask me to redo it. This time though, she obviously decided that flirting with me would help her case, seeing that she closed just the right number of buttons of her white shirt to leave no part of her cleavage to imagination.

Too bad for her, I'm batting for the other team. Yep, I'm gay! Always have, as far as I remember. It was kind of obvious when guys in their underwear in the locker room would turn me on, whereas girls didn't attract me in any way. Of course she doesn't know that. For obvious reasons I prefer to keep my sexuality to myself while at school. In fact, the less people know about me, the better I feel.