God! She’s so thoughtful at such a young age. I’ll have to tell her parents that she’s an amazing kid. All of my students are amazing in their own way. That uniqueness that I get to guide and cultivate in the right direction is what I find most satisfactory about teaching.
“Ms. Moore, I’m done with my line,” Kelly raises her hand dramatically in the air.
“Good girl, Kelly. Why don’t you take a break and see if any of your friends need your help?” I praise her from my seat behind the desk.
‘You’re doing so good, baby. You’re a good girl taking all of me like that.’
Noah’s words and his kisses all over my skin from last week flash before my eyes like my own vice. My eyes widen at my thoughts, and I instantly avert my gaze to the notebooks in front of me.
God forbid any of my students see me blushing and wonder what is wrong with me. What would I even tell them? Not that any of my thoughts areappropriate for the kids.
Though it’s not just the moments of passion we spent together that have been plaguing my mind for the last few days.
I can’t forget the distant look Noah had in his eyes when he told me that I have no right to pry into his life just because he took my virginity. I burst into tears the second I entered my apartment, doing all I could not to until I reached back home.
As much as I detest admitting it, he never promised me anything more than fulfilling my physical needs. In fact, I was the one who even suggested it in the first place and convinced him after his insistent refusal.
That’s why we had all those rules in place not to kiss or fall in love, so we don’t get attached. He held up his end of the deal, and I can’t be angry at him for following through.
For the first few days, I was angry at him, but soon, with a call to my therapist as I revealed it all, I realized I was angry at myself for developing feelings for my brother’s best friend. And that anger stemmed from the humiliation and hurt I felt when Noah showed me the mirror.
All he said was the truth, and I can’t hold it against him. My mind understands that. But how do I convince my heart to follow my mind’s lead and let the anger dissipate?
I’ve tried everything I can to distract myself—preparing for the play, spending my time writing stories that’ll never see the light of day, binging movies. I didn’t even post any fan edits of Noah, just so I can avoid looking at his perfect face.
It worked to some extent, but somehow I always end up thinking of him, like right now. I’m in school, and I should be focusing on making the year-end event the best one yet, so that I can become a permanent teacher instead of staying on a contract basis.
But all I can think about is how he filled me up, whispered dirty words in my ears, choked my throat while he took me to the highest of highs.
I’ve never been as intimate with a man as I’ve been with Noah, never trusted someone with my body as I did him, and so to be with someone like him for the first time has set the bar way too high for anyone to reach.
Noah has only been inside me once, but I’m almost convinced that no man can compare to him and his raw strength.
A knock on the classroom door has my attention shifting there, heat rising in my cheeks when I find Mrs. Deena there.
God! If she even had an inkling of the thoughts…
I clear my head of anything not related to school as I stand up and walk over to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Deena. How may I be of help?” I ask her with a polite smile, even though I’m well aware she merely tolerates my presence.
She looks as well put together as always, her hair tied in a tight bun, as her immaculate sense of dressing makes her appear better than us. That’s where the problem lies; she somehow believes she is, too.
Now, I respect my peers, elders and seniors. What I don’t respect is being treated like I’m less than just because of how I look or how much I weigh. None of it hinders my performance, so it shouldn’t come in the way of the courtesy and respect I deserve either.
“How’s the preparation for the event going, Ms. Moore?” she asks, her expression as stoic as ever. If it were someone else asking me the same thing, I’d assume it was out of concern, but with her, I know that she’s always looking for a way to shoot me down, discredit me.
She’s praying to the universe for me to fail.
So, I give her an overly sweet smile. “Why, thank you for asking, Mrs. Deena. It’s going great. My students and I are very excited for our first stage practice today.”
Her left eye twitches, and I barely bite back a smile. “Don’t be happy just yet. We’ll see how capable you are. Because from what I could see, you were day-dreaming instead of teaching your students,” she scoffs, undignified for a teacher if you ask me.
“We certainly will, Mrs. Deena,” I meet her penetrating gaze with the confidence I don’t feel and a smile that feels fake.
When Mrs. Deena walks away without as much as a simple bye, I’m left deliberating over how much I have allowed myself to get distracted.
Not again, and especially not at my place of work.
I’ve suffered and sacrificed so much just to be here—dropping out of law school, losing friends and peers, and losing part of my independence to find a residence near school and letting Ezra own the apartment.