"You freak," this guy said harshly as he saw my doodle of Severus. I often doodled him to hold on to the memory of him, but I wasn't the greatest artist. The guy who spoke to me was standing in front of my desk, towering over me with a demonic smile. I didn't mind, still sitting there scribbling.
"Who are you drawing? Your boyfriend?" he teased. He was trying to be funny, but it really struck a nerve inside me. Usually, this class was filled with high school dorks, emos, and peaceful artists. But there is always that one person who has to test your limits. That one person has to make your day miserable.
I lifted my head up a little, looking at him with a little bit of frustration and just a tad bit of anger. I knew from a glance in the mirror every morning that my eyes were dead and depressed, and there were tired bags encircling them.
"Actually," I replied, "He was my boyfriend. Now he's dead." I stood up, my 6"2 height immediately towering his. He backed away. That's right. Not so big now, huh? "Do you want to be next?" I asked, smiling without a hint of happiness.
The guy shook his head, eyes wide. Good. He was scared.
And perfect timing! Severus picked up the pencil laying on my desk and drew a big "X" over my drawing. He as up-ing the creep-factor by a lot. Making me look like some kind of magical wizard demon.
"Then get the hell away from me," I said, my smile disappearing, before sitting back into my seat. I watched the guy, pale as a ghost, sit walk stiffly to his seat. Poor guy, I overestimated his courage.
I looked around, wondering if any of my chatting classmates had spotted the floating pencil. Seeing as how there were no shocked or confused facial expressions, I assumed I was safe.
"Alright, guys," the professor started, "Settle down. Settle down." He flipped on the projector and flipped off the lights. I picked up my pencil, ready to take notes on the topic of the day, but this time I felt a small, cold feeling on my hand.
This is what happens when my ex touches me. It feels like a dead person running their hands over yours. I know. Gross. But I've grown used to it over the years.
Usually, he only touches me during class when he wants to speak with me. He can just guide my hand to write anything he wants, instead of just picking up the pencil and making it float all class. Someone would surely notice if that happened.
Did I ever mention how much I love you? Severus wrote, probably referring to how I got rid of that guy earlier.
Now you're probably wondering:
Why are you depressed if you have your boyfriend right there, at all times?
Let me explain.
Imagine you are in love with cookies and your mom made the most delicious cookies ever.
And then she put them in a jar.
Now, imagine you can smell those cookies- your mouth is watering. And you would die for those cookies.
But you are too short to reach the jar.
You can't see the cookies or enjoy them.
Every day, for three years, destined to be tortured by the smell of those delicious cookies.
(Sigh. Now I'm hungry)
But I digress.
I love you too, I wrote back sadly.
No. You don't. He had been trying to convince me to move on for a while now. I can still love you because I'm DEAD. I'm not going ANYWHERE. You have a life to live, so live it. Move on! It's not like I'm going anywhere anyway.
I frowned as I read it, then wrote back. You're rambling. You don't mean that. You don't want to see me kissing on other guys.
Maybe. Maybe I DON'T want you to move on. But, God Aaron. You can't bring back the dead can you? I love you, so I'm willing to let you go. And...you have to be willing to let me go too. I want you to be happy. He wrote.
How can I when everything you say makes me fall more in love with you? I said, but then sat my pencil down, ending our conversation. My professor had already started speaking about the notes, and I didn't even know what the topic was.
I soon realized that it was about the framework of the human anatomy: the skeleton. Ugh, bor-ing. I have been learning about the skeleton since senior year. I know every bone in the human body, by memory.
However, I decided to take notes anyway, just in case there was something there I've never learned before.
As I was writing down about bone structure, placement, and joint function, I felt a strange... presence.
Don't get me wrong, I always felt some sort of "presence" because of my ghost friend, who was always with me. I couldn't see him, but I knew he was there. This, however, was a different, more unfamiliar feeling than my previous experiences.
This felt strange...like a tingly feeling or sense of dread creeping up behind me...
Like someone was staring at me.
I whipped my head around to look at my classmates, trying to find the eyes that were boring into the back of my head. And I did, locking eyes with two brown orbs glaring at me suspiciously.
What the hell was his problem?
He was in a dark purple hoodie, the hood consuming everything but his face. The boy looked as if he was attempting to seem intimidating. But, in reality, he was failing. In spite of his narrowed eyes, he had an extremely cute, young face with blushy cheeks and brown hair barely covering his eyebrows. He must have been a freshman, looking as young as he did.
The only way to describe him was adorable.
But why was he staring at me?
I usually didn't care about my classmates or anybody else in general, to be honest. I didn't care to learn their names nor did I feel like asking. Social interaction is tiring and useless.
But...this guy. I wondered who he was. Because anyone with the audacity to just glare at someone for no reason- Let's just say, I wanted to know his name. Just so I could ask if he had a problem with me.
Maybe it was because I was super tall? Was I blocking his view of the notes? Was that why he was glaring at me?
I glared at him in return, sending out a message with my eyes: Dude, it's not my fault. Leave me alone.
He must have read my glare the wrong way because his eyes widened a bit, as if coming to a realization or being slightly shocked by something.
What did I do? Grow devil horns, sprout wings, and fly away?
What was this dude's problem with my face?
I wasn't that ugly was I?
"Mr. Will, please face the front, unless you want to fail the upcoming exam in this class?" The professor said sternly. With one last second of glaring at the boy, I turned to the front of the class resuming my notes.
He's a cutie, wrote my pencil, You should check him out.
Stop trying to set me up with people, I argued, And no. Based off the fact that he was glaring at me already- the relationship will end before it starts.
If you two end up together, I win bragging rights, my ex continued.
What makes you think that will happen? I asked, but then wrote, Deal.
He's exactly your type, the pencil responded.
Right. Like a punk, emo motorcyclist man and a doe-eyed, baby-faced boy were the exact same thing.
I know what you are thinking, the pencil wrote, We look nothing alike, I get it. But you seem to be drawn to the sweet, kind ones. You always used to cringe when I beat bullies up, but not object 'cause it was for good reason. You'd coo if I got all sappy.
And you think that glaring little kid is sweet and kind? I wrote.
Look at him, Aaron. You and I both know he couldn't hurt a FLY.
I looked back up at the notes, deciding to ignore that statement. Because I knew he was right. The boy glared as if he wasn't aware that it was ineffective, and his small body was engulfed in that purple hoody. He looked more adorable than threatening. However, I could still feel him staring at me, and it took all of my inner self-control to not yell at him to stop.
But no, instead I paid attention to the professor before I failed the class. It would be awful to take this class again.
Fortunately, when I picked up my pencil, my boyfriend didn't seem in the mood to chat. He may be floating around the school like some camouflaged ninja-spy, how would I know? I knew he probably never left my side, but I could never know for sure- unless I asked.
I was too lazy to ask.
Instead, I wrote some more notes. Unfortunately for me, that class was super short, and ten minutes afterward, the bell rang. Oh God, I thought, I missed a drastic amount of notes. Right as I was innocently packing up my stuff, and thinking that I should probably do some hardcore research on bones after lunch, I heard a THUD! from behind me. As I turned around, I easily pinpointed the source of the problem: the glaring boy, lying on the ground, groaning.
His shoelaces were tied.
Ah, I thought, So that's where my boyfriend has been. The overprotective boyfriend has struck again.
Strangely though, when the boy saw his shoes, he looked straight at me and narrowed his eyes, as if I was the one who did it.
What am I supposed to say? "Oops! Sorry! My dead ex-boyfriend and ghost guardian is super overprotective and doesn't like people who GLARE AT ME. Just let me go talk to him- Oh wait! He can't talk."
Uh, I think not.
In fact, he doesn't really have a reason to blame me since he doesn't know my ex exists.
Or...did he?
Nah.
The boy stands up and quickly brushes himself off. He bends down, retying his shoelaces the right way, before walking up close to me. And by close, I mean close. He got so close, I could tell you how flawless his skin seemed to be. Perfect and smooth.
You know what, my ex was right. He would be my type- if only he could take a chill pill.
The boy was waiting patiently, as if being dramatic or something made him more intimidating. I decided to just give him a bored expression, telling him quite clearly that I did not want to wait much longer to hear him speak.
The boy's eyes narrowed further as he realized his staring wasn't working. I hope he realized that a 5-something freshman was not going to intimidate a six foot me.
"Meet me in the back lot," the boy finally said, his voice actually deeper than it would seem, "By the dumpster. Or else."
By the time I was about to say "Or else what?" the boy dashes out the door, almost comically running into the door frame.
I couldn't tell whether the poor thing was a dork or just overdramatic.
I'm going to go with dork. I thought, before exiting the classroom and heading to lunch.
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