Devoted

Chapter 2

Mr Styles’ eyes burn into mine. Why is he so angered? A small chuckle leaves Niall’s lips.

“Something funny Mr Horan?” Mr Styles snaps. His voice is loud and slightly shaky. He slams his textbooks onto the wooden desk and sweeps his fingers through his hair. This makes his hair stand off his forehead.

When Niall doesn’t answer he speaks again, “Mr Horan I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

Niall’s body seems shaky next to mine but when he answers Mr Styles his voice is anything but. “No Sir. I am just glad to be back at school. In your class.” He sounds so confident and charming.

Mr Styles’ green eyes wonder the room before he slumps back into his desk chair. He pulls a pen from the draw in the desk and starts to take the roll. When he is done he makes us read through an introduction on romantic poetry. I am so ecstatic that Mr Styles is making this our main focus for the year. I have studied the six major poets and took a special liking to Poe. This year’s English class is going to be a breeze.

After another half hour of reading Mr Styles interrupts us. “So romantic poetry, not so romantic when you study it closely. We will be paying attention to some of the major romantic poets who shaped poetry into what it is today. So everyone I want to go around the classroom and each of you will tell me your most favoured poet. The one you connect to the most or intrigues you the most. We will start over here.” He points to Nat, a red haired girl in the back corner.

As he goes around the classroom each student states their favourite poet. They range from Wordsworth to Coleridge. No one has said Poe so far and that makes me happy. I have studied his work and life the mot so I challenge anyone who thinks they know more. I sound cocky but this is my passion. I have worked very hard in this subject.

“Eleonora.” Mr Styles raspy voice states my name.

“Sir, the poet I am most interested in is Edgar Allan Poe.”

He ponders for a moment before asking, “why?”

“Well, he was a 19th century poet, so he was later than the top six. He had a dark, lonely life. His family was never one hundred percent secure and this carried on through his life. His poems clearly state his feelings, especially of loneliness. Like in his 1829 poem Alone. But he also loved with a strong heart. Even if his love was for a thirteen year old girl who was fourteen years his junior.” I finish, I am out of breath but I feel proud. My extensive knowledge on this subject shows with my little speech I just made.

My Styles clears his throat before speaking, “You know a lot about this then?” I nod. “Well I expect a very high standard of work from you this year. Next.” Niall starts to speak. He chooses Byron as his favourite and explains his reasons. I am reeling from the way Mr Styles’ green eyes lit up when I explained my love for poetry. He seemed really pleased - but something else swirled behind his emerald eyes.

The final bell rings and I groan. My bus home doesn’t come for an hour. Zayn can’t pick me up because his Uni classes run later than school and mum is on another business trip with the law firm. I pack my things slowly, Mr Styles has already said goodbye to the rest of the class before I make my way to the door.

“Oh, Eleonora do you need to go straight away?” I shake my head no and he gestures for me to take a seat on the other side of this desk.

“So Eleonora,” I interrupt and tell him to call me Ellie for short, I much prefer it, “Ellie, you know a lot about poetry, do you take a special interest in it?” He scans my face with his forest green eyes. They really are beautiful.

“Yes, It’s what I have always loved. I plan to teach about it or write. Either one.” He nods his head while playing with his bottom lip between two of his fingers.

He studies me for a while longer and I begin to squirm in my seat. I take this time to study him as well though. He has smooth, slightly tan skin, brown curly hair that he pushes off and over his forehead, it reaches just below his ears, I notice his fingers are long and slender, his jaw line is very sharp and his teeth are perfectly white and straight. He is very handsome. I wonder how old he is. At least twenty five or six.

A lot of girls at school always comment on how hot he is but I have never really noticed until now. Even though he has been teaching me since my first year at secondary school. Being in this close proximity with him gives me a real chance to admire him. I wonder if he has a girlfriend or partner. He has too. No one could refuse those lips.

He interjects my thoughts about his plump lips, “What about his romance with Virginia Clemm? How do you view that?”

I think about this for a minute, I don’t fully know. I have always thought that his love for her must have been strong, but it was such an age difference. “I feel as though their love was resilient, but I can’t get past fourteen years. That is a lot of years. She was thirteen and he was twenty seven.”

He lets his lip go from his grip, it is slightly redder than the rest of his lip. “How old are you Ellie?”

Random but I answer, “sixteen. I will turn seventeen in June.”

“I am thirty, nearly thirty one. That is the same amount of years. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

I squirm some more. His stare is intense and I feel like he is implying more, but I’m not quite sure what it is yet. He leans onto his desk with his elbows.

“Well no Sir, you are my teacher. So it is expected to have large age differences.”

He rakes is fingers through his hair once more before leaning further onto his desk. His face is quite close to mine, I can hear his breathing. It is irregular and heavy. “No Ellie, would it make you uncomfortable to be with someone my age? If you felt feelings for them would the age matter?”

This conversation is taking a drastic turn. A sound that resembles a mouse’s squeak escapes me before I answer him. “I’m not sure Sir. I have never had feelings for someone of your age.”

“What about an attraction. Have you ever found anyone of my age attractive? I’m sure Virginia Clemm hadn’t before she met Edgar.” His raspy voice is so rough but smooth and the same time. And his accent compliments beautifully.

“M - Mr Styles,” I stutter, “I don’t know if this is appropriate.” We have gone from talking about poetry to me being attracted to a thirty year old male. What the Hell?

He shifts quickly and stands from his seat. He won’t look me in the eye. “Of course Eleonora, I apologize. You may go.”

I nod my head and say my goodbyes. He mumbles something under his breath but I don’t catch it. I make my way to the bus station. I feel bad for not answering Mr Styles’ question. He is just testing my knowledge on this subject. This is advanced English after all. I should go and apologize.

I have twenty minutes to spare before my bus so I lightly jog to Mr Styles’ classroom. I go to twist the door knob but it is locked. I shrug and turn to walk away when a noise catches my attention.

“Mmhh.” Is that Mr Styles? “Fuck,” Oh, is he hurt?!

I press my ears against the door and listen, if he is hurt I wouldn’t know what to do. He is locked in the classroom. I can’t possibly get in.

After a few minutes a load groan erupts from his lips along with some profanities. He isn’t hurt. I know those sounds. It reminds me of the time I walked in on Zayn in the shower. He was touching himself in there. Is that what Mr Styles is doing? In his classroom?

My thoughts are answered when I hear the sound of a jean zipper. I quickly sprint away from his classroom and to the bus stop. Why is he doing that in his classroom, right after I left? The rumours are true, he is a creep and he does touch himself.

I am shaken up from that experience. I have English every day, so I must face him tomorrow. I have no idea how but I will appear unaffected by what I know about him. 

AN// here ya go, xx

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