Love Me Anyway (A student-teacher relationship)

Chapter Eight

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Hope you enjoy

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Josh’s POV

Angry Birds. What can I say, the game is addicting. I’ve been playing it every free second I’ve had. Free period. Between classes. Lunch. There is just something so amazing about trying to kill pigs by launching birds at them. This was my last period class, and pretty soon, I would be able to go home and do nothing but sling my little birdies.

Last class…

I lost focus for just a moment, thinking of one particular student in said class, before the game sucked me in again.

There was a bang from the back of the class, and I jolted in my seat, gracelessly falling flat on my ass as the chair toppled over. My phone flew into the air, and I had a major “NOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!!!” moment thinking of the game I just lost. I gathered my composure, telling myself that I’d mourn later, and retrieved a couple of papers that had fallen to the floor during my… debacle…

“Hello Miss Michaels,” I greeted from my seat on the floor.

“Hello,” she replied in a soft tone, turning a book around between her fingers. She opened it, placed it on the desk and dug through her bag for a pencil.

It was obvious that she was doodling, and the curiosity over came me. She looked more relaxed than I had ever seen her, leaning a single elbow against the desk. I couldn’t see her face though, what with that hood putting it in shadow, but I could only imagine what I would see there. I walked around her quietly, hoping to avoid detection, and leaned over her shoulder, holding my breath.

It was beautiful.

It was a gathering of lines, and that was really it. Most people wouldn’t see the little things of it, but I could. She sketched out each line with grace and accuracy. The way she moved her pencil, the curves she incorporated brought to mind peace… moonlight… breezes… running water. It was delicate, with the flow and preciseness that reminded me somewhat of a butterfly. He pencil halted at the top corner.

And she slashed.

 Everything about the line screamed pain. The way it dragged in the opposite direction of the others, the way it wavered slightly across the page, the way it bent drastically in the middle, the way it tapered from fine to bold and back again. IT was a violent line, filled with pain, sorrow, anger, frustration. It cut through her other, calm lines, and while peace remained in the background, the foreground was sliced into havoc. It was just a line, but it was so raw, so unconstrained.

My breath hitched slightly, and I wished I had caught myself as she stiffened.

“That’s amazing,” I told her, pulling away slightly, so I wasn’t infringing as much in her personal space. “I like what you did here,” I voiced my thoughts, reaching a hand to trace along that one violent slash. I sighed, wondering what had been running through her mind, what she had been through to put so much feeling into one line.

I backed up, suddenly. Feelings weren’t my thing. I didn’t really like getting close to them. Feelings were a tricky business, and I found that getting myself involved in others made my own come out. I preferred to keep them caged in.

But then again, Cynthia was a very emotional girl. I wanted to help her though.

I smiled, with an awkward cough as I made my way back to my desk. I hoped she couldn’t tell how fake that smile was. I took a seat in my chair, organizing my papers, which were still a little scattered.