A/N: Yes, I'm aware it's been forever since the last chapter, but I did promise that I wouldn't leave it unfinished...
My breathing was erratic as I felt a panic attack coming on.
Edward, Alice and their equally beautiful friend were all watching my impending breakdown.
With shaking limbs, I pulled myself out of the chair and skirted around the room, attempting to get to Amy without having to get too close to my students.
It took several seconds of me pulling on Amy's arm to get her attention. "I'm leaving. Are you coming now?" I told her, my voice shaking.
"But we have another twenty minutes. You promised."
"Something's come up. I have to go now."
She looked around her, torn. After deliberation, she looked at me and sighed. "Fine. I'll get a cab later."
With a wave of her hand, she went back to dancing, and it seemed that I had been officially dismissed.
I had to pass through the living room again to reach the front door, and when I paused in the doorway, I noticed that Edward's group had moved into the middle of the room. I wouldn't be able to avoid them without climbing over furniture. And that would never end well for me. A concussion would be quite likely.
Steeling myself, I focused on the door and built up all my self control to walk past them without averting my eyes. I didn't know what would happen if I actually looked directly at him.
One step. Two. I gripped my purse tighter. Three steps. Four. Five. I could feel them just to my left, watching me. Six….
I felt something brush against my arm and I stumbled slightly at the shock. My head whipped round and I saw Edward towering over me, reaching out to steady me. He was costume-less like me. He didn't need a costume to look like he belonged there.
"Sorry, Chri—I mean, Miss Walker," a deep melodic voice apologized. It was the first time I had heard his voice, and it was beautiful. Sure, I'm certain that boys don't want to be called beautiful, but there was no other way to describe the way it sounded. In any other situation, I would be happy if he just read the phone book to me. Anything to hear it over and over again.
He let me go, and cool fingertips brushed down my arm as he lowered them. The last of his touch was briefly on the back of my hand. I shuddered at the contact, at the indescribable feelings coursing through me. The only thought I could decipher floating through my head was that it felt right.
A second later, I came to my senses. It wasn't right. It was completely wrong. He was a student. There was nothing right about it. Touching him was wrong. Wanting to do it again was even worse.
I ran. I was filled with shame at how I felt, and I needed to get away from people before I broke down. Slamming the front door behind me, I was across the street, not even noticing until the last second the car which almost hit me, and leaning against my own vehicle. I was shaking as I tried to get the key in the lock, and it took several tries to get the door open.
Once I was safely ensconced inside, I felt my tears leaking. I must be a terrible person for thinking about Edward in such a manner.
I sighed. Edward. If only he was older. If only he wasn't my student. From what I had seen so far, he was the perfect man. I wanted to be able to talk to him without the rest of the class around. I wanted to be able to see him outside of school. I wanted to touch him again.
But none of this could happen because I was his teacher. Not only would I never get a teaching license, but I wasn't sure how I could live with myself.
Five weeks. I had to survive five weeks in his school before I could get on with my life and never see him again.
I knew that they would be the hardest five weeks of my life, knowing just how good it felt when he touched me, and to be unable to do anything about it.
Starting the engine, I slowly pulled out into the street. As I drove past the scene of the party, my eyes were drawn to the front door of the house. There in the doorway, with the glow of the party behind him, Edward stood, his hands in his hair as he watched me go into the night.
Monday was my first day of actually teaching classes. I was using Maree's lesson plan, and she was prompting me whenever I got stuck, but other than that, the lessons were all my own words. Words which didn't seem to come out of my mouth in any credible way. My voice shook the whole day, and it was more than just nerves at having to speak in front of the class.
Only one class went smoothly. Ironically, it was Edward's class. You know why it went well? He wasn't there. When the final bell rang and neither he nor his sister were at their desks, I felt a strange sense of relief flood me. For the first time that day, I could concentrate. I wasn't worrying about seeing him again. I wasn't thinking about what I would say if he approached me. I was clear-headed, and I knew what I was teaching. In fact, I would venture to say that what I taught actually made sense!
Tuesday went much the same way. No Masons were present at school, and it was bittersweet. On one hand, I could concentrate so much better without Edward's eyes drilling into me, but at the same time, I wanted to see him.
Wednesday morning I woke up covered in sweat. And not for the reason I had done so the previous week. When I tried to remember what I had dreamed about, all I could come up with was a feeling of tremendous loss and pain. None of the circumstances surrounding those feelings would come to the forefront of my mind, much to my frustration. As I slowed my breathing to normal, things didn't seem right. I felt like I was coming down with something—my body ached, I could feel a headache coming on, and I felt flushed.
I briefly considered calling the school and telling them I was sick, but felt instantly guilty. With only six weeks of placement to learn from, it would be stupid to miss a day unless I really was sick. Maybe it was just lingering effects from my dream that was making me feel crappy. Stupid subconscious. Always causing me trouble recently.
After a brief phone call to my mother to confirm our plans for my birthday weekend, I made it to school. If I was honest, I did feel a little bit better as I entered the building. Almost like stepping over the threshold took some invisible weight off my shoulders, taking some of the aching with it. It was odd how instant the reaction was.
The last period of the day came way too slowly. Teaching was tough, and teaching the tenth graders was becoming the bane of my existence. They wouldn't concentrate no matter what we were learning. Their hormones seemed to be running the show, and most of them seemed to want to just flirt with their classmates. There was too much testosterone coming from the boys, who felt the need to show off at all times. Sometimes I felt like I was working in a zoo; Discovery Channel should have done a series set in my classroom.
When the seniors walked into the room, my posture instantly became straighter and my face became brighter. I found I couldn't stop myself from focusing my eyes on the entrance, scanning each face that entered.
It had been almost five days since I had seen him, and relief filled me when Edward walked into the room, one of the last to sit down. Like a light switch had been turned on, I instantly felt better. All the sickness I had felt this morning was magically gone, and the world felt right-side up again. He was here, in front of me. Things were good once more.
And when Edward glanced up at me, slight concern on his features for a second before they morphed into happiness, I thought I would float away.
When Maree reminded the class that I would be taking the lesson, I couldn't help but glance over at him, and to my surprise, the expression he was sporting was that of pride. Proud of me? Surely not. Surely that was just wishful thinking on my part. Yet, as I continued to lecture the class, stuttering and tripping over my own tongue until I was sure I no longer made any sense, he watched me in rapt attention with a small smile upon his face. To be honest, it was slightly disconcerting.
It was a huge relief to be able to give them a short assignment to complete of their own writing, and to be able to stop talking and sit down. I had been using Mr Darcy as an example of how some characters seem to act badly, but they are just acting out of their own fears. So I asked the class to write one page about their own fears and why they might make others think badly of them.
The assignment kept them busy for the remainder of the lesson, and they all handed their papers to me on their way out.
Edward and Alice was two of the last to approach me, and as Edward handed his paper to me, his fingers brushed against mine. That same feeling I got when he touched me at the party was there again. I really hadn't been imagining it. It was something unusual and my fingers twitched as he left, seeking out a repeat performance of his touch.
I took the papers home to grade. These were AP students, so most had written about fear of failure, fear of disappointing their parents, fear of not getting into the best college. Some had written about fear of what other people thought of them. One was very different and caught my attention straight away. Sure, the name at the top of the page was the first thing to make my heart flutter, but what he wrote….
'What I am afraid of
by Edward Mason
'Recently, my life has been turned upside down, and every day is now lived in abject fear.
'I want her to see me for me, and not for the role I have been playing for others' benefits. I am not who she thinks I am. Mostly, I am terrified that she will cling to what she thinks she knows about me, and in a month's time, I will never see her again. If that happens, I do not know what I will do.
'But then I think about what would happen if she did accept me. What then? I would tell her all my history and all my secrets, and how could she possibly love me once she knows? How could someone so sweet and pure love a monster like me? I have committed terrible wrongs – some against my own family. I don't deserve her.
'My fears make me draw into my own head. I know those around me consider me to be aloof. I know they speculate that I think I'm too good for them. I struggle to talk to them all because all I can think about is her. Yet I can't talk to her because I am worried she will reject me.
'I am so afraid of losing her, and even more afraid of the consequences of having her. I agonize over the potential repercussions all day until I finally see her. And then, just one fond look, one glancing touch, one brief glimpse into her mind is enough to make me forget myself. I want so desperately to make her mine, yet I don't know how to tell her.
'Maybe this will be enough.'
I dropped the paper to the table, shaking. 'Maybe this will be enough'? What did he mean by that? By "this" did he mean this confession? Knowing that I would be the only one to read it?
"Get a grip. You're reading too much into this," I told myself out loud.
I read it over again. In a month's time, he would never see this girl again? I was leaving the school in a month.
No. It couldn't mean what I thought it meant. It couldn't be me he was writing about. I was projecting my own ridiculous crush onto a poor young boy. A young boy who seemed to have some issues a psychologist should listen to.
I quickly scribbled an "A" on the top of the paper and flipped it over, ready for the next one. I needed to stop analyzing Edward's deepest fears and forget about it.
But as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, one thing kept running through my head: "I want so desperately to make her mine."