I like your honesty, love. I actually have a degree in English Literature. The language has this sophistication that fascinates me. Like you said, I would not have seen myself doing this kind of job three years ago.
I awoke to the beeping of my phone and a message that continued to make me smile. He made me smile and for whatever reason, he felt the need to reply to me. Maybe he thought keeping in touch was a good option? After all, most teachers liked the idea of keeping in touch with students that had left the school. I frown. But he's not a teacher.
Why don't you leave that dreaded school and go pursue something that you truly love. What is life, if you can't be who you want to be and do what you want to do?
I was blunt. I know I was but I couldn't help but feel curious. This stranger has sudden become a large part of my day to day and I wanted to know more about him. There was something within me that felt like I had to fix him. It wasn't because I liked him but because it was in my nature to want to fix things and make things perfect. Of course, not everything is perfect. That would be impossible but I would be a fool if I didn't try. I liked getting to know people. I mean that's how you made friends. I couldn't help but let my instincts take over. This was what I did and just because of who he was to me, it didn't mean I was capable of treating him any different.
I began to check my various social media's as I laid flat on my back, my head melting into the depths of my pillow as I let my mind take a life of its own. It wasn't long before my body regain control, forcing me to move out of bed.
"Morning" I yawn as I see my mum, George and the cat, sitting around the kitchen centre. I smile, taking Miimee into my arms and stroking her soft ginger tail. She was called Miimee because when George and I got her we found ourselves saying 'she's mine' over and over again, until my dad came to conclusion that, that would be her name. But calling a cat mine wasn't exactly deemed 'normal' and so 'Miimee' was born. Don't ask. I was like ten at the time. I grab the cereal box, finding it empty. "George!" I shout, glaring at him. He kept filling his mouth with lucky charms like he didn't have a care in the world. "Seriously?" his bowl was overflowing with a mixture of cereal and milk. "Mum!" I shout as she passes me a box of bran flakes. I stare at it, then stare at George giving him the, this-is-all-your-fault look and then after a while I gave him the, you're-gonna-pay look which from his expression was probably the same as the look before. I sigh, pouring a bowl of the gross, dull, looking bran flakes and began munching away. Well this sucks.
I sit hunched over on the counter seat, scrolling down my Twitter feeds and isolating myself from the world. George somehow manages to finish his gianormous bowl of cereal and rushes up stairs before returning fully dressed and ready to go to school.
"Liz" he whines. It always confused me why after practically growing up with us, he still didn't have it in him to call mum, mum. She was basically his mother, just not biological. He says it's because he only has one mother – which I can imagine, hurts mums feelings – so we don't mention it. In all fairness to him, we weren't ever going to try to replace his true parents. "Let's go. I don't want to be late"
His high pitched voice grabs my attention as I begin to laugh "... and why's that George?" he glares at me under thick lashes. He tilts his head slightly as he speaks like what he is about to say to obvious.
"I'm one mark away from getting a detention. I don't want Miss Harris to hate me" the seriousness in his voice makes me laugh. Was he being serious? By the glare on his face, I take that as a yes which makes my laughter grow into more of a howl. Being his age meant he actually cared about being late. Ha, when he gets to my age he may think very differently.
"We don't want Miss Harris to hate you now do we Georgey?" he doesn't speak but I could tell he wanted to punch me in the face. I smile, "you better get a move on or Miss Harris will get angry" he sticks his tongue out as mum gives me the, cut-it-out look before she leaves.
[Beeping]
It was 9:00am and didn't that mean he was in school, right now? I slowly open my phone, letting my fingers glide along the screen as I read the message;
I'm not the kind of person to just leave without a plan, Caroline. Don't you think I would have left if I had the chance?
Was he mad at me? I clearly said something wrong and he didn't like it. Or maybe I was reading it wrong?
I'm sorry, I'm intruding. I didn't mean to pry, I was just curious.
It didn't surprise me if he didn't reply. I crossed the line. I don't know what I was thinking. I ruffled through my wardrobe, finding a loose fitting t-shirt, leggings and some of those knitted comfy socks. I slump back into my bed, the covers slightly spilling onto the floor as I curled up beneath them. I wasn't sure what it was about him. I bit my bottom lip as I thought about it. Why do I let it bother me? Why does he just get under my skin?
My phone beeps again.
I didn't mean to sound brash, love. Forgive me. I was purely stating that I'm not the kind of person to give up and leave without a plan B. Leaving the school would be a dream but it would be stupid of me to leave without any prospects of a job.
Looks like someone has had a change of heart, I sigh, but he has a point. I forget that while I still sat here under the roof of my parents, others had to look after themselves. I noticed how he wasn't as nice as he was to begin with. It was like as I began to pull back the layers, I was revealed his true self. Did I like his frankness? That was yet to be decided. He was definitely a troubled soul. I could feel it. It was like he was hiding behind this kind exterior and on the inside, he was hurt. Someone or something had hurt him and I couldn't help but wonder what. I decide to change the subject.
Isn't it like 2pm? Doesn't that mean that you should be working or teaching or doing whatever it is you do, instead of talking to me?
The more I spoke to him, the more intrigued I became. He was more than just a pretty face, so much more. From a school girl's crush to a therapy session, I felt like our relationship was reaching a whole new level. I didn't know where I was going with it or what I expected from him but I couldn't wait to find out. I had learnt more about him within the last few messages than I did within the whole year I had seen him.
Just because students aren't allowed phones in school doesn't mean that we can't. For your information, I actually have plenty of work to do. Don't go thinking that I spend all day talking to you. I have better things to do, love.
I muffled a laugh, please I think, and I'm the queen of England. In a way I was somewhat offended by his response. Firstly, who knew he had a sense of humour and secondly what did he mean he had better things to do. Was talking to me a waste of his time? Or was that just a figure of speech? I frown as I continue to reply back;
If you have 'better things to do' why don't you go do them instead of 'wasting' your time talking to me? I'm clearly distracting you from your hard work.
I tuck my phone into my pocket, finally deciding to make my bed and probably get some kind of lunch. It was strange that my stomach alarm bells didn't go off at exactly 12 O' clock but then again, I was somewhat occupied. I spent what felt like hours staring at the fridge. It was moments like this that I always complained that there was 'nothing to eat' when in all honesty, there was plenty to eat. By that I mean there's nothing pre-made that I could chuck into my mouth without having to cook. I sigh, grabbing a packet of ready-made pasta. I hear my phone as I empty the contents into the pan, adding milk and water before letting it simmer.
I've noticed that you have quite the temper on you, Caroline. Don't get your knickers in a twist, love. I'm only playing. But I don't joke about being busy. I have papers to marks, pencils to find and an awful lot of chatting to you. Believe it or not, I like your company. I find it refreshing.
I can't help but laugh out loud, refreshing was that supposed to be compliment? If it was it took a lot of effort to pull that one out of the Ogre. My eyes widened as the smell of bubbling milk began to fill my nostrils. I spun around to see steam evaporating off the spillage as it leaked from the stove and dripped onto the floor. Oh my goodness I shout, running over, my socks sliding on the titled floor. My hands rush to scoop up the flowing mixture, realising very quickly that it was still hot. I could feel the liquid seeping through my socks as I squelched over to off the stove.
"Mum's gonna kill me" I mumble, filling the towel with the half dampened mixture. "Gross" Did that mean the pasta was now in for ten more minutes? Or do I just start again with the fifteen? Oh why was this so complicated. I roll my eyes as I sat on the countertop, before answering Klaus;
Only you could compliment me and offend me in the same sentence. Well done you. Don't try to hide behind your snappy comments, I know somewhere deep down you enjoy talking to me and you know it.
"Right" I swivel around from the centre to stare at the stove behind me "Pasta" I state, pointing my finger towards the saucepan. Let's start the ball rolling again.
"Oh Care, didn't think you would be home" I turn to see my mum walking through the doorway. I was stuck at the sink, trying to hide majority of the mess. It didn't take me long to finish what was on my plate but it was taking a damn long time to clean up the preparation. Why did it always take hours to prepare a meal but seconds to eat it? The physics of time confused me.
I heard the clunk of the keys as my mum laid them in the disk on the counter. I refused to turn around. I knew sooner or later that happy smile on her face would fade. "Caroline ..." I wince. The time had come. If you don't hear from me, call the police.
"Yes?" I say, smiling from ear to ear in an attempt to pretend I was innocent in this whole situation.
"Yes? Is that all you have to say?" her voice was slightly rising more than usual. She was clearly overreacting, it wasn't that bad. "What is that?"
"A stove" now probably wasn't the best time to play 'What's the object?' but I needed time to think about how on earth I was going to get out of this. The racoon story was getting old.
"Well I can see that, Caroline" this was the second time she had said my name in full within the last few seconds. It was official. I was dead meat. "Would you care to explain what is on top of the stove?"
"I do believe its Pasta. Well the stuff on the stove might be a combination of milk and pasta but I can't be completely sure" her face was starting to tighten "I tried to clean it up. If you walked in like five minutes earlier, you would have seen it pouring all over the floor and -"
"- the floor!?" she stops as she holds her temples "the $500 floor!?" I quickly realise my mistake. I made a mental note to know when to stop.
"No, well yes but I cleaned it. Look, you wouldn't even have noticed if I didn't say anything and I will clean the stove. I mean, I was going to after I cleaned my plate" I point to the plate behind me "see?" her eyes squint and I see George emerge from the corner of my eye, smirking in the doorway. Instead of shouting at me, she closed her eyes, slowly lifting her hand in a 'whatever' gesture as she spoke;
"See that you do" she walks away, letting me take that breathe, I didn't realise I was holding. .
"What did you do this time?" asks George as he walks in looking in the fridge.
"Oh shush" I drag the cloth to the stove like it weighed a ton as I begin moping down the dried, crusty – what was - liquid. I sat down next to George as my phone beeped.
Why thank you, Caroline. It's not every day that I get told I can be both nice and offensive at the same time. Wow, that really is a new one to me, love. I suppose you are right. I do like talking to you, deep down, of course.
Was this classed as flirting? It definitely seemed like it. Sometimes I wondered whether Klaus had a split personality. One minute he was nice, then blunt and now flirty? If I didn't know better, it was like he had done this a thousand times before. He knew how to cover himself when things weren't going his way. He knew a lot more than he was letting on. But nethertheless, he made me feel like I was the only girl in the world and that he only had eyes for me. I began stealing a celery stick from George, my face glowing as he shouts;
"Hey!" I roll my eyes, failing to notice his eyes reading my message "who's Klaus?" it was a perfectly innocent question but my eyes couldn't help but widened.
"What?" I say, pulling the screen to my chest, out of his view.
"The guy you're talking to?"
"He's none of your business" I reply. Klaus was my secret and I didn't need some ten year old boy opening his big mouth about him. I could see his little brain devising a plan and I didn't like the smile on his face.
"Caroline's got a boyfriend, Caroline's got a boyfriend" he begins to chant in my ear.
"Stop it!" I shout "He's not my boyfriend"
"Wait, 'til Liz finds out" there's a glint in his eyes "Oh Liz-" he begins, before I grasp his mouth with my hand. His words turned into more of a mumble before coming to a stop.
"Don't say anything or I swear to God, I will actually go into your room when you're at school and take something. You won't know what and it will bug you for months" I smile, gotcha. George was slightly OCD when it came to his room. He had to know where everything was at all times. It - for some reason - bothered him more than anything else. If you asked him for something, he would know exactly where it was and probably what order and date he put it in there. It was creepy but very helpful when it came to finding things. His eyes squinted, knowing that I had got him where I wanted him. My hand slowly moved from him mouth.
"Fine"