My dark Professor

10

Caspar

The sound of the marker squeaking as I write on the board grates on my nerves. Someone drops a pen; another person shuffles their feet on the ground. I hear every little sound. I felt every air molecule dropping on my skin. Everything was bright in my eyes.

It was one of those days.

Days I didn't feel human. Days I became a bundle of nerve endings, feeling everything too much.

"Professor, should we write that down?"

My fingers stop their motion. I turn to the fool who dared break the silence I demanded from them today.

I glared at him.

"Get out," I spit out.

"But-"

"I said, get out!"

I didn't need to repeat myself. He scrambles out of his sit and rushes out of the classroom, slamming the door loudly behind him. He'll pay for that action later. Right now, I needed to finish this lesson without another incident.

"This goes out to all of you. Interrupt me, and you'll face much worst."

They all look at me with fearful eyes.

Good.

As I was turning back to the board, my eyes clashed with hers. So consumed by my mood, I hadn't looked out for her today. I didn't even think to remember that she was here.

I hate for her to see me like this. Harsh and unfeeling. Though that was how I was every day, today was the worst. I wonder what she thought of me now. If she was scared of me. I wonder if she'll look at me softly ever again. I was sick. I knew that, and I told her as much. But this was a sickness uncurable. I was sick in the head. The only reason I wasn't locked up was because of the way I managed to reign it in. By writing. My antidote. There were days like today when even writing didn't cure the madness in my head.

I force myself to look away from her.

Thirty minutes later, everyone hurriedly leaves. I don't mind their desire to get away from me. I would too if I could.

The rest of the day in school is spent with me glaring and snapping at everyone who crosses my sight. I couldn't help it. I was so fed up. Every little thing irritated me.

I was ready to lock myself in my room and block out the world.

A knock on the door of my office snaps me out of my thought. Whoever it was knew better than to bother me.

"Come in," I say, despite wanting the very opposite.

"Caspar."

A burly man with a beard reaching his chest grins brightly at me.

"Jack," I greet.

"I got your email last night. I want to talk about the draft you sent me." He sits on the empty chair in front of me. Invading my space without permission.

"Ah, yes. But now isn't a good time."

"It's never a good time with you." He laughs loudly, pointing an accusing finger at me.

Truth.

"Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Nope. All done for the day."

I sigh. There was no escaping.

I gesture at him to go ahead. He babbles on about what he thinks is wrong with the draft and how we could make changes to it. I listen to all of this with half an ear. Jack wasn't a bad person. He wasn't. He kept my secret long enough to this day no one knew about it. He helps with editing and takes care of the business side of things. But I can't help thinking he only did it for the money. I know it's not wrong for him to do it for that. Money, after all, is the drive behind everything we do. I only wished he had the passion for it as I did.