My dark Professor

9

Lily

My heart was beating so fast I'm sure you could hear it miles away.
Mr. Williams was watching me unblinking. As if he was in some sort of trance. I whisper his name twice, but he doesn't show any sign of hearing me.

He was also leaning closer toward me. Closer, until we were a breath apart.

"I die yet again. Not from fever. Not from cancer. But from poison. The poison and the antidote."

I gasp. Gaping at him.

"How do you..."

"You wrote that in your essay."

Yes, I did.

"It's from the book," I squeak.

"The boy who has no soul?"

"Yes."

His Adam's apple bumps up and down.
"I was going to give you another copy of it today. But you didn't show up."

"I-I had to get here."

"Of course," he says, nodding in understanding.

I should be used to the proximity between us by now. But my heart was still pounding, and my skin had goosebumps.

"I'll go complete my other task now." I point at the kitchen area

He nods again but still didn't step aside to let me move.
"Do you write outside of school work?"

I gaze at him in confusion.

"Like?"

It seems impossible, but his face reddens in embarrassment.
A sight I never thought I'd see. The broody Professor blushed. The girls in class will have a field day if they saw it.

"Forget it," he says briskly. He steps away, giving me enough breadth to move if I wanted to. But I don't move.

"Yes. I write. Sometimes," I say, my face heating up. Why was admitting it so embarrassing?

"But I'm not any good," I rush to add.

He grunts in disagreement. "I'm sure that's not true."

Coming from him it was guaranteed to be true if he saw any of the things I write.

I cough out nervously. I wanted to close this topic.

"I-I better go finish up," I say.

He tilts his head and steps aside silently telling me to go ahead. I run away like I was being chased.

Looking around, everything is immaculate. Shiny surfaces and utensils. Just like any other part of the house. Everything was shiny and expensive looking.

I don't know what to do with myself. I know they have cleaners coming in every day. They had a gardener too. So the only task I've seen left for me to do is to cook. But that can't be the only thing, right?

I squeeze my eyes at the acute pain suddenly assaulting my head.

What should I do?

Maybe I should have left when he told me to. It'll have been a cleaner way out. Now I'll be told to leave because I couldn't get the work done. Which was worst.