Cutting from those cold hands straight to the teacher saying good afternoon is brutal. My bet is the girl from the centre sits in that room and he stares at the back of her head all lesson.
Would that be prudent?
Thought
Thought
Cutting from those cold hands straight to the teacher saying good afternoon is brutal. My bet is the girl from the centre sits in that room and he stares at the back of her head all lesson.
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— When I was alone, my mind would seek you out… And when I remembered those eyes upon me…
(…).
It’s true that the effect was immediate. This wasn’t the only one, but one of several obvious attempts to tempt me into accepting her, once again. She succeeded.
Not long ago, however, she was, in short: ‘depraved’, ‘caresses’, ‘verbal atrocities’, ‘provocations’, ‘self-deprecation’, ‘vulgar clothes’, ‘an attempt to voluntarily meet her maker’ and a ‘domineering persona’; on her part. She was no longer the person I’d known. She seemed to have changed even her three kind ways… Anyway, it didn’t last long, just a few weeks—I’d say little more than that—since, according to her, her parents had found out everything, assaulted her, imposed strict rules on her and forbade her from even looking at me.
It’s hard to ignore, but I saw her, in the centre; her warm hands were clasped around cold hands—hands that weren’t mine. (This isn’t my fault.)
— Hello, dear pupils, good afternoon! How are you all?
Ah… She’s arrived.
Thoughts
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Cutting from those cold hands straight to the teacher saying good afternoon is brutal. My bet is the girl from the centre sits in that room and he stares at the back of her head all lesson.
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The little bracketed note swearing none of it is his fault is the guiltiest sentence on the page.
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— When I was alone, my mind would seek you out… And when I remembered those eyes upon me…