Can't Help Loving You

Chapter 1

She had not prepared at all for what had happened. She swore it was like a miracle. As soon as she saw him, she knew. It didn't matter what came in between. It was both of them. Both of them against the world, and nothing else mattered.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Clara was tired out already, and she still had another hour to go. Rearranging the paperwork on her desk, she tried to concentrate. It was her first lesson with the 20 year olds. That was how she categorised them, by age, since she couldn't keep track of all her classes. She was also the most nervous for this class, as she was only seven years older than them. She prepared the correct literature course, setting it out neat and organised, and then they walked in, automatically taking their seats. She put on her bravest face and warmest smile, trying to create a good first impression. Everyone had filed past, a blur of students with basketball caps and beards and footballs, like university usually was. But then he did. He walked through the door and her eyes never wavered. She couldn't smile, she couldn't speak. It was like, all at once, a twanging in her gut, like an alarm call, an electricity. He had the most striking appearance, with pale skin and prominent cheekbones. He wore a white shirt and suspenders, with the classic country jeans and long, pointy shoes. His dark hair was swept over one side, dangling into his eyes, which were emeralds. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he took a seat next to a man with sticky up hair and huge sideburns. Clearing her throat and gazing amongst the crowd, she introduced herself. Keep confident, Clara, she told herself. She could manage this. Everyone managed to be more or less silent for her, which was definitely a good start by her standards. She still felt a bit shaky, what with all those eyes looking up at her expectantly, but found it was easy to connect with them. Students raised their hands, answering questions, and she noticed that this group was a lot more intelligent than the last group she had had.

Once they got to work, she collapsed into her chair, writing down her next agenda for the weeks following. She was still quite new in staff, only having been there for three months, but she had settled in more or less smoothly. She was new to this, teaching university kids, whereas she used to teach a high school. This was a lot more sophisticated, and a better fit. She looked up momentarily from her work, scanning the number of people, and her eyes caught his again. They looked up into hers thoughtfully, and she realised he was probably not looking at her intentionally. He had his pencil in between his teeth and his thoughts to another dimension, she could tell. He was definitely a dreamer by first impressions and one very different from the rest. At second sight she noticed the bright red bow tie hanging from his shirt collar. She smiled to herself. He typically looked quite traditional, maybe except the gentleman beside him, who was literally in jacket and tie. She could guess they were friends, as they kept glancing over at each other and smiling.

The bell rung, and everyone began to shuffle out of their seats and grab their bags.

'Right, thanks guys, I'll see you tomorrow, period 4.'

They rushed toward the door, the sound of swearing voices booming loud and a huge shuffle of feet. It was the end of the day, and she still had to plan her next few lessons. Then home, and she could relax. Well, relax was probably the wrong word.

••••

Dinner that night was mostly a discussion on their first English course with Miss Oswald. People had mentioned her, but they're group had never seen her before. And my, what a shock she had given them. He felt uncomfortable at the current conversation as he ate his soup mostly in silence, listening to the crude things the people around him were saying. Even his friends wouldn't leave it alone. As he looked up at them, he realised how out of place he looked.

Nine had a typical crew cut and northern accent that made him look and seem tough, which he was, but everyone knew he was also very loveable. He had a big grin but a hard stony stare anyone could tell was his disappointment or sadness. He loved black, which he wore in every waking hour. He had a big thing for leather jackets and the only variation would be the deep purple or army green tops he'd wear underneath.

Ten loved formal wear, suits and ties, the whole three piece suit with a long brown trench coat. Sometimes he'd wear ties even now because he claimed they were 'classy.' But normally he'd wear matching jeans and t-shirt, with ridiculous sand shoes. He had sticky up hair that girls couldn't resist and a smile that implied his cheeky and cheerful demeanour. He was quite the ringleader of the group; yet somehow the most sensitive, in which he mostly tried to hide.

Now, Twelve was a right character. The full on rock god of university. He sung, he played the guitar like a freaking wizard, and wore tight plaid pants. He was the guy the girls swooned over. He had angry, bushy eyebrows that were visible behind his black shades he constantly wore wherever he went. His Scottish accent was thick and his hair was wild brown curls that many liked to ruffle. His theme was mostly red and black jackets, with a ripped holey jumper or rock band t-shirt underneath. He was the one who swore the most, and the one to sort people out cursively if they were doing something wrong, accompanied by an intense stare.

Eleven looked down at himself, his fetish for bow ties, fezzes and suspenders blatant. He often wondered how they could be his friends.

'I'd hit that.' Nine stated, the wide grin on his face.

'I'd second that,' Twelve replied, 'she's fit.'

Eleven snorted, looking up into Twelve's shades. 'You already have a string of girls on your arm, you don't need another.'

'Yeah but she's a woman. Woman are sexier. Girls can't fuck properly.'

'Wow, thanks for that enlightening, stereotypical, abstract view, Twelve. You're what people call 'ladykillers'.'

'I am not.'

Snorting again into his soup, he actually thought about it, and she was pretty. She was, almost, inhumanly beautiful. He could also understand why people would fantasise her in that way, but he was much more interested in how her dimple creased when she smiled and the way her hair fell perfectly apart. Was he being cheesy? He often couldn't tell.

'What 'bout you, Ten?' Twelve asked with a mouthful of potatoes.

'I don't know, I think I'm in love with Rose.' He said, staring off into the distance and threading his hands through his spiky hair.

'Aww, love? You love her, do you? You Love her?' Nine nudged him.

He smiled, still staring.

'Yeah, yeah I think I do.'

'So, no Oswald for you.'

Twelve reached over, smirking, 'that's alright, me and Nine can share her.'

Eleven shook his head, 'she's not a thing, she is a human. And even if she even considered it, the last person she'd pick was you.'

'Why?'

'Because you're rude and you have no manners.' He laughed. Twelve raised his angry eyebrows.

'Aw, do you want her?' Nine teased, 'do you want her to be you're lady friend?'

'No, course not. I'll finish my degree, go to...I don't know, Australia and make little Australian babies.'

'Challenge before you make you're...what? Australian babies...(which is way random, mate), we are gonna get you laid before we leave.'

'I'm not gonna get laid, Ten. I think it's clear no one would want me.'

'How did it work for us, then? If we can do it, you can do it.'

'Because,' he explained, his hands waving about demonstratively, 'you play an instrument, you have natural charm, and you are a badass. I'm just a guy who likes bow ties.'

'Come on, I bet you you'll get someone by the end of term. Bet you.' Nine challenged.

He laughed, 'okay then.'

'Do you think she'd fall for this?' Twelve joked, pointing to himself.

'Who, Miss Oswald? Not a chance.'

'Can we stop talking about her?' Eleven said irritably. They all raised their eyebrows, deliberately mocking him. He laughed. He was also the guy with invisible eyebrows.

As they all made their way up to their dorm, he couldn't help but think of Miss Oswald again. She was certainly very attractive, and it had him in shock when her huge, brown eyes turned directly to him. He felt under pressure from them, like he was melting into a pool of nothing on the floor. Apparently she now had that affect on him. It made him nervous. Collapsing onto his bed, he finally had to admit it. He would definitely, definitely hit that.

•••••

Classes the next day were a lot more calmer, smoother. She could tell she was making progress. As bad as it sounded, she still hadn't cast the image of him from her mind. She knew that it was so very, very wrong, but she often had to restrain herself from thinking about him during other classes. With guilty conscience, she realised she had been anticipating his class all day. She hoped she wasn't getting too carried away. She was his teacher, after all.

Clara set them all work, telling them that she would evaluate it before class ended. One by one, students made their way up to her desk and she marked each paper, talking about pro's, con's and all manner of everything grammar related. Then he came up to her desk with an odd saunter, and she smiled politely at him as he handed his paper to him. Marking it, she noticed he was wearing tight fitting trousers and a waistcoat, with yet another bow tie. He held a red fez, turning it round and round in his hands.

'Very good,' she told him, giving back his paper, 'and you're name is, remind me...'

'Uh, John. John Smith. But don't call me that. Everyone calls me Eleven.'

'Eleven?' She raised her eyebrows.

He nodded, walking nervously away. She decided it suited him better, so that's what she called him from then on. Another hour gone, just as fast as the rest of them. Soon it would be her fourth month in the job. Making her way to the canteen for lunch she noticed stares following her. Not many people knew her, since she was new and it was a big place. Plus, she only taught four classes. Nervously grabbing lunch and setting back to her classroom she could see Eleven looking at her. Too embarrassed to look back, she walked away.

••••

Eleven didn't know what hit him. He really didn't. It was like she had cast a spell and now he couldn't concentrate in any of his classes. He would find himself day dreaming about her and as the days wore on it only got worse. He greatly looked forward to English now, something which was usually a challenge. Everyone else, however had stopped talking about her as she was 'old news' but he still seemed to find her attractive. It wasn't just her appearance either; she held a certain wisdom and charm, an easy-going quality. A person very open and very easy to get on with, who would not just entertain you, but entertain you into the lesson. He didn't know how she did it. He discussed it with his friends and they had to agree. Even their marks had gone up from the short period of time in which she had been teaching him. His embarrassment, however, came about one afternoon when he asked her for help on something. Explaining it to her, she had leant over his desk, and he had turned a hilarious bright red. Trying to hide it, but irrevocably failing, he blamed it on the cold he had caught. And then his view fell almost accidentally to her chest, which he could see perfect view of. Leaning back upwards, and walking away, he could feel blood rushing downwards, and he cursed silently. Struggling to get back under control he thankfully remembered it was the last lesson of the day. After the bell, he went straight up to his dorm, not waiting for anyone. And it was there he realised he had developed a deep infatuation with his English teacher. Shit.