Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 5

August 24th.

"Catalexis, could you please pass these on?" Professor Rowlins hands me some spreadsheets, taking advantage over the fact that my newly acquired self-instructed torture consists of me sitting on the first row, right in front of his desk. 

"Could you please stop calling me that?" I try my best for my tone to sound polite, but I'm beyond gutted; I hate it when people call me nicknames. 

I put on my reading glasses, deciding to work on my poetry assignment instead; I just can't look at Nathaniel Rowlins without sending daggers in his direction. 

In order to fulfill the major requirements, I had to take one quarter of study in an English poetry course and one elective on the same field, which completely pained me but I couldn't do anything else than abide to the rules. I am now pretty decent with theory and technical use of devices, but the emotional part still eludes me.

After a good ten minutes of fighting with the same stanza, I give up, closing my notebook with a scoff. I skim my eyes around the classroom, everyone working on an unknown task. Mr. Rowlins is sitting behind his desk, typing away on his laptop. Perhaps, I should give him a nickname... I do call him a wide variety of things on my mind but none of them appropriate to say out loud. I wonder if he's got nicknames for other students or if it's just an irk against me. I'm in the middle of considering asking around about it when he looks up, causing our gazes to meet.

"You look tired." He comments in a rather flat voice. Did he catch me staring again?

"I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Was it because of me?" An instant frown appears on my face, along with that familiar uneasiness in my stomach. Why would he ask that? Of course it wasn't because of him. Who does he think I am, a teenager fantasizing over her PE teacher late at night? 

After a moment, he continues, "You know, my paper." Oh, that. Of course he meant that. He gestures with his hands, that annoying grin on his face threatening to resurface.

"I finished it days ago, I just had insomnia." He looks at me a moment more than necessary before looking away, continuing his professorly duties.

Was it because of me?

His words haunt me as I recall that silly dream I had a few nights ago. He's been on my mind for all the wrong reasons, and I ought to make it stop.

After the class is dismissed, I begin to put my things into my backpack when I hear Mr. Rowlins call from the front,

"Catalexis, can you stay a minute please?" What is wrong with him?  I'm positive that this applies as some kind of bullying. And I'm not buying it. I hang my backpack over my shoulder and as I walk in front of him, I give him a no-fucking-way look before exiting the lecture hall.

I saunter my way across the English Department and to my dorm in a hasty pace, pushing aside some uncooperative students. 

Jesus Christ Almighty, this man annoys me in ways I can't comprehend. I don't know if it is his know-it-all attitude, his fancy pants appearance, his entitled sense of humor,or all of them, but just looking at him makes me want to wipe that grin off his face; a feeling that has only been growing in intensity witch each passing day.

I keep rambling on and on internally until I reach my door. Except that the rambling doesn't stop, as the person standing in front of it produces new waves of indignation. I stare at him, disconcerted.

"Will, what are you doing here?" I tug a non-existent lock of hair behind my ear. He takes a few steps in my direction, hands tugged in the pocket of his jeans.