It's a rule of life: actively try and avoid someone, and you see them everywhere. She'll be queuing for a latte and, in her periphery, she'll him, lounging on an arm chair, leafing through the pages of a Ted Hughes poetry book in boredom; or she'll turn a corner and he's marching in her direction, talking animatedly to another professor, taking a bite out of an apple. Bonnie swiftly opts for a different route back to the dorms. Very swiftly.
Soon enough, Monday rolls around and at the turn of 3pm, she's sat on her bed, ready to binge a few episodes of Teen Wolf. There's just no way she can face the seminar again – not yet. Give it another couple of weeks or so, when the phone conversation isn't as fresh and her cheeks have stopped flaring up at the thought of it. Over FaceTime, Caroline had laughed until she weed; Elena looked positively horrified.
At 5:05pm, Bonnie's just about to click 'play next episode' when an email notification juts across her laptop screen: Prof. Damon Salvatore. And pathetically, her heart picks up. He's your teacher, Bonnie, not some boy you like.
Dear Bonnie,
I couldn't help but feel the absence of your insightful comments in class today.
Prof. Damon Salvatore
Dear Damon,
Unfortunately, I was unwell.
Bonnie Bennett
Dear Bonnie,
A shame. Regardless, you still need to be informed about the essay. My office hours are 6-7pm, Tuesday, Arts 3.50. See you there.
Damon
She wants to type again; tell him she can't make it – just to see how he'll respond… that's all. Oh fuck, I have a serious crush on my professor. Bonnie closes her laptop screen with a sigh, irritated by how easily she's fallen for his stupid charm. Just like every other girl on this campus. Dammit.
Bonnie tries (and fails) to spend less than a few minutes in the mirror at 6:40pm the following day. She's usually pretty low-maintenance, often choosing to go makeup free in sacrifice of a few extra minutes in bed. It's something she's learned to be okay with – her own skin, maybe even love it. Confidence has been a journey, particularly after Elena's brother, Jeremy, cheated and tore her damned heart out of her chest. Going to London, fleeing all the messiness of that: it felt right. It felt hers.
Damon's office door is open; she can hear laughter, a girlish giggle and a low hum. Just grab whatever it is and go, Bonnie. She shifts further into the doorway to catch his eye. Damon smirks.
"Sybil, I'm afraid I'm going to need to cut this short. I've got another student needing my attention."
Sybil turns, a scowl in her eyes at Bonnie's presence. Sorry to interrupt your date. She smiles back to him. "I'll email you if I have any more questions, Professor."
"Great." Damon stands to usher her out. Bonnie's mouth thins at the girl's hips, swinging ridiculously side to side as she struts down the corridor. Strangely, if Damon notices, nothing flickers across his sharp features except intrigue, and perhaps slight triumph, at Bonnie standing in his doorway.
"I'm here about the paper…?"
"Of course, you are. Come in."
He's taken off his tie – she notices it lying discarded on the chair. Damon leans back against his desk to study her. Bonnie shifts on her feet, willing the heat to lessen. She had a rather vivid dream about Professor Salvatore and his desk the previous night.
"You feeling any better, Bonnie?"
She threads her fingers together. "Yes, thank you."
Damon extends every syllable, and Bonnie can practically feel the curling of his tongue as he says, "Lovely."
"Um… the paper?"
He reaches behind him. "Everything you need to know is on this sheet."
Bonnie takes a step forward to retrieve it and Damon's eyes flare with something startling. "Do I make you nervous, Bonnie?"
What the fuck!? "Nervous?"
Damon's face stretches in a lazy smile. "England's a funny place, isn't it?"
"I… guess so?"
"See! You're so tentative to answer. Nervous."
Bonnie folds the paper, desperate for some distraction from her thumping heart. "I'm not nervous. I just came for the instructions."
Damon pushes back against the desk and his brow softens. Weird. "Are you settling in okay?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"I get it. Being so far away from home… it can feel lonely."
"Yeah."
He sighs, like there are words to say but he hasn't the energy nor is he equipped to say them. Bonnie has folded the sheet into four now. "Anyway, I'll let you go. It's student night tonight, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to miss out on all those university 'lads', as the Brits say."
Damon's eyes are narrowed, and is he challenging her? Provoking her? Bonnie's mouth pulls at a smile, revelling in this tiny power, "Don't worry, I won't."
His face drops and for a moment, she thinks she's gone too far. He is still her teacher. But Damon just pivots, focussing his attention on the piles of paper aggregating atop his desk. She slips out the room – not before he can murmur, "See you at tomorrow's lecture."
/
The theatre for their Modernism lectures is vast. So vast, in fact, that the students are scattered in tiny clumps at various corners, leaving aching gaps between. Bonnie starts her own private gathering at the edge, shoots off a few text replies to her mom and Elena, then flips to a fresh page in her notebook. She's writing the date when her arm is brushed past and Wednesday looks very transfigured. Bonnie looks up to glare at whoever jolted her and low and behold, Damon is walking down the steps towards the front of the theatre. He doesn't need to turn around for Bonnie to know he's wearing his smirk.
She watches as he greets the other professors, throws his head back in mirth at whatever one of them said. At one moment he looks directly at her, but she's convinced nearly everyone in the lecture theatre is thinking the same thing. 'Omg Professor Salvatore looked at me!' Bonnie resumes writing the date. Pathetic.
The lecture is an hour long and actually very interesting. Professor Saltzman from the History department (another American, funnily enough) is discussing the impact of the war on modernist writers. Bonnie takes copious notes and begins to pack her bag in the final five minutes, keen on leaving before the rush. Well, and Damon.
And yet, as she's about to cross the street back onto main campus, she hears a familiar, teasing voice: "Bennett." Bonnie continues. He can't seriously follow me, can he? "Bennett!" Apparently, he can.
She turns to see him jog towards her, a grin in place. His tie is back on and swings violently in the motion. Damon stops just in front of her. "How's my favourite student?"
Bonnie folds her arms. "Amazing…can I help you?"
"Always so defensive, Bonnie," Damon tuts and the skin around his eyes is crinkled again and dammit, can he just chill out on looking so freaking gorgeous all the time!? "I wouldn't have had to run after you if you weren't so insistent on leaving before everyone."
"Have I done something wrong?"
"What? No, no, I just," he digs his hand inside his pant pocket, "wanted to give you this." He unfolds the paper in her palm, "I gave you the wrong instructions."
Bonnie studies the title: 'The Tale of Two in To the Lighthouse'. "This is the one you gave me."
Damon's mouth twitches. "Oh really?"
"Professor Salvatore!"
Professor Saltzman waves him over and Damon responds with a salute. He places a hand on Bonnie's arm, very quickly, very lightly, but there all the same, and whispers, "Maybe I just wanted your attention."
It takes several seconds for Bonnie's breath to return.
A/N: As someone who always has a crush on their English teacher, this story is dangerous to write lol. Please do review! (I might be writing more than one new chapter oops)
