Mr. Salvatore. That's what the other students called him. Me? I called him Damon. I began the transition of calling my twelfth grade English teacher by his first name shortly before we made love for the first time. We knew it was wrong. We knew the possible consequences. But it didn't matter, none of it ever mattered. And you know why? Love. It was true love that kept us together, that kept us fighting. We were in love in it's simplest definition. But it was too complex for anyone else to understand. And Damon and I regret nothing. And we aren't sorry.
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"Come on Elena!" My best friend Bonnie calls as I tare my eyes away from Gatsby. I sigh, I was just getting to the good part.
"Let's go, we can't be late for first period." I rise from the bench I am sitting on and head to physics with Bonnie. Who's bright idea was it to give me physics first period?
It's the first day of school for the young minds of Mystic Falls. If you're a senior, like me, you can feel a bit of excitement in the air. One year. Only one year separates us from freedom and our futures. It's thrilling and scary all at the same time. Well at least that's how the other students feel. I just feel scared. The future is so unknown and frankly, it scares the hell out of me.
How could I have guessed that my parents would die driving the car off of Wickery Bridge while driving me home from a lame end-of-summer party after I skipped out on family night? How could I have guessed that and miracle would happen I would make my way out of the backseat and survive? How could I have guessed that my Aunt Jenna and her boyfriend Alaric would end up taking care of my brother Jeremy and I? How could I have guessed that my brother would start smoking weed and drinking alcohol in a failed attempt to cope with the pain? Unknown, so unknown..
I feel empty. I can put on a happy face in front of my friends and what little family I have left and pretend like everything is fine but I am an abyss of sadness. I want so badly to believe that everything will be alright but I've just given up. I have completely given up, plain and simple.
We walk into physics and my other best friend Caroline bombards me with questions and concerns of pity. I know she means well but I hate when people feel bad for me.
The day drags on like it has been for me recently and by the beginning of ninth period I desperately want to go home and cry, just to let it out. As much as I try, I can't bottle it up all the time. My parents only died a few months ago but the pain is still fresh. Just one more class...
AP English. The last class of the day. If I can get through this, it will be a miracle. None of my friends are in this class with me, which I kind of like. They don't necessarily understand my love for literature.
I walk into my favorite subject and the sight before me hits me like a wrecking ball.
He sits at his desk, reading an old book. I can't tell what it is. He's wearing simple, black, reading glasses that frame his face perfectly. They're kinda sexy. He is so focused on the words on the page that he almost doesn't hear the last bell. He forces himself to set the book down and remove the glasses. He has jet black hair and he wears it messy. His features are chiseled as if he was a marble statue. His brooding forehead makes him look like an old, tortured soul who has experienced the world. His face is clean shaven and has eyes so crystal blue that I feel like he could look right through me. As if he could literally see through my facade of happiness and see how depressed and emotionally damaged I am. I felt like he would call my bluff and expose me. Silly of course..
I reluctantly take my seat as I am in awe of this man. I am curious of him.
Only this particular man isn't a student at Mystic Falls High. He is however, the new teacher of twelfth grade AP English.
My new teacher, Mr. Salvatore.