LITTLE MISS RED

 RED.

      It isn’t really a mind-blowing moment or anything like that. I had just finished a class, tired and exhausted, and trudged to my office. But on my way there, loud noise coming from one of the empty classrooms drew me in. It’s late in the evening; not many people should be in school. Maybe I’m about to stumble upon some juicy information or something. I once heard a professor talk about how he stumbled upon some students having sex—he couldn’t do anything about it, because most of the students in Arborheight are rich, spoilt brats whose parents could ruin your life.

        I approached the classroom with caution, my heel clicking softly against the marble floor in the hallway. Anxious and curious, I raised my hand to open the door. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, excitement running through me—only for the door to be yanked open from inside. I dropped my hand quickly, my face a brighter shade of red than my hair. I looked around, trying to feign the fact that I wasn’t about to open the door.

       A girl stepped out—blonde, very pretty. She had this kind of bitchy energy to her, like those mean girls in high school. She glared at me, her blue eyes piercing, before storming off. My gaze followed her as she walked away. I was confused. Why is she glaring at me? I didn’t upset her. I don’t even know her. With a purse of my lips, I turned my gaze away from her—colliding with a hard surface.

 “Ouch.”

“You should watch where you are going, little miss.”

     The delicious, sultry British accent wafted into my ears like soothing balm on a sore muscle. I glanced up. Dark eyes stared down at me—sucking me in, drawing me in like a black hole, an endless abyss.

      He is pretty. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Sharp dark eyes like they could see into the depth of my soul, long lashes curling over them like shades keeping whatever is out in the world away from his beautiful eyes. A pointed nose perfectly sculpted, thin lips, a sharp jawline, dark hair that looks messy but in a neat way. I want to run my hands through it. And the ink peeking out of his neck… his entire appearance is mesmerizing. It felt like I was being hypnotized by beauty.

“Little miss,” he called out, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Oh, uhm… sorry. Excuse me.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. If I could run, I would, but I’d embarrassed myself enough. I willed my legs to walk and hurried out of there. The moment I turned a corner, I placed my hand over my heart, trying to calm my erratically beating chest.

Who is that?

•••••

“Miss Townsend, any horror student stories to share?”

“Uhm?” I glanced at everyone.

    I didn’t get what they were talking about. I haven’t been myself since yesterday—since my encounter with the pretty boy. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. He even appeared in my dream. It’s actually very annoying.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I kind of feel a little under the weather today.”

“Well, you didn’t miss much. We were just talking about the horror students in our classes.”

“I don’t really have one,” I responded with a strained smile.

The students are terrors, we know that, but they don’t really terrorize me as much as they do the other professors.

      I heard someone scoff at my response. I already knew who it was without looking—Darna Trevor. We got the job at the same time three years ago, and she has been a thorn in my side since then.

“Of course no student wants to terrorize sweet and pretty Professor Townsend,” Darna remarked.

  I ignored her. After three years, being a bitch just gets old.

“I had Michael Dew in my class today,” someone said.

   It suddenly became quiet. I looked at the lecturers’ faces—they were horrified.

“Oh no, are you okay?” another person asked.

“Yeah, I feel dumb and useless, but except from that, I’m alright.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“That’s so sad.”

“You’ll get over it.”

   Words of comfort came from different parts of the room, but I had never been so confused in my life.

“Who is Michael Dew?” I asked.

   The room became silent again. This time everyone stared at me like I had grown three heads.

“You don’t know Michael Dew?”

“No… who is he?”

“An insufferable little brat who makes you feel like you’re in the wrong line of work.”

   I watched as they all trauma-bonded over Michael Dew. I was surprised by how much terror just one guy could induce in a couple of professors.

“Listen to me, Townsend,” someone warned. “Anytime you come across him, just stay away from him.”

“…Ok.”

It felt like I was being given a grave warning before going off to war.

     This is the reason I rarely come to the break room—my colleagues can be dramatic. I packed up my books and picked up my laptop. I had to get out of there before I heard something insane or absurd again.

“Miss Townsend…”

I froze. I turned around and smiled tightly at the person who called me.

“You’re coming to the gala, right?”

Ah. The gala. I sighed in relief—I honestly thought I was about to hear the “why are you leaving us so soon, stay longer” talk.

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

Before I got stopped again, I hurried out of there. I didn’t stop walking fast until I got close to my office.

Immediately, I felt relief—until I heard one of the voices I dreaded in this school.

“Red.”

I turned slowly, coming face-to-face with Julian Oxford, a disgusting little man who has been a menace to my life for about a year now.

“Excuse me, Professor Oxford, I don’t recall us being on first-name basis.”

He grinned and waved a hand playfully. “Don’t be silly. We are—”

“We are not anything. There isn’t even a ‘we,’ Professor.”

His face contorted in anger. It’s always like this: he tests my bottom line, I reject him, he gets angry.

“You can’t keep playing hard to get with me.”

Words failed me. Hard to get?

I don’t even like him. His mere presence irritates me.

I decided not to speak. As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. Disgusted by the skin-to-skin contact, goosebumps appeared on my skin.

“Unhand me, Professor,” I demanded, my voice as firm as I could muster.

I was upset—very upset—but even though Julian is the same height as I am, he’s fat and I can’t overpower him. I could taste the underlying fear bubbling in my stomach.

“You’ve played enough games. I know you like me.”

“Let me go right now.”

God, I need help.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

Help.

My eyes stung from the tears welling up in them.

“This is interesting.”

I looked up sharply at the source of the voice. Relief washed through me. The pretty boy… he was here, standing behind Julian. His tall frame made him stand out in the long empty hall. He looked bored by the situation, like he could be anywhere but here.

“Go away and mind your damn—”

The moment Julian saw him, he froze.

I quickly snagged my hand away from his grip. I don’t know why, but I found myself walking towards the pretty boy.

He grabbed me by my waist, pulling me closer.

“Are you alright?”

I had never thought a British accent was sexy until now.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

His hand on my waist burned. I could feel the heat through my clothes. It felt like I wasn’t even clothed, like he was touching my bare skin. He lifted my hand and stared at the red mark left by Julian’s manhandling.

“I’m alright,” I said quickly. “My skin just bruises fast.”

He gently pushed me behind him, blocking me from Julian completely. He smelled good, like the forest.

“Professor Julian—”

I tugged on his shirt. He looked back at me, and I shook my head. I didn’t want him getting into anything with Julian. What if Julian decided to bully him? I heard Julian is a relative of the owner of the school.

I peeked from behind him—Julian had left. Thank God.

I stepped out from behind the pretty boy and looked up at him.

“Thank you for coming when you did.”

He didn’t respond. He just stared.

His gaze made me uncomfortable, aware… seen.

“Well… I’ll leave now.”

“Do you have another class today?”

I stopped. “Class?”

He tilted his head. I swear he thinks I’m an idiot.

“No. I don’t.”

“I’ll drop you off at home.”

“I can drive myself home.”

He closed the space between us, his scent flooding my senses. He held my gaze.

“I want to drop you off at home,” he stated—leaving no room for refusal.

I swallowed. His eyes are so pretty.

“Okay,” I managed to squeak out. He was probably just scared Julian would come back, that’s why he wanted to drive me home.

He stepped back, giving me space to breathe.

“I want to drop these in my office and pick up my bag,” I said. “Are you coming with me or waiting in the parking lot?”

He leaned forward, collected my books and laptop, and stood like a good puppy waiting for instructions. I giggled at the comparison in my head.

He looked at me, confused.

“I’m sorry. Come with me.”

I led him to my office.

•••••

“Thank you for offering to drive me home,” I said as he opened the passenger door for me.

He got in, and I watched as he rolled up his sleeve. A snake tattoo disappeared into his shirt. It made my head conjure images that shouldn’t be there.

I looked up at him and saw him staring at me. Embarrassed, my face heated up and I looked away.

“You don’t like the ink, Professor?” he drawled.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to stare.”

He smiled.

Goodness gracious—he is gorgeous.

Smiling increased his charm by a thousand. Heat pooled between my thighs. I pressed them together and looked away, embarrassed at my reaction.

It’s quiet obvious he is a student—and a sweet boy at that.

I didn’t look at him again. I gave him my home address. The ride was silent. I didn’t say anything; he didn’t say anything.

“We’re here,” his voice finally came.

“Oh. Thank you for bringing me home.”

“You’re welcome.”

He got out and opened my door.

“Oh my, you’re so sweet. Your girlfriend is a lucky girl.”

He paused, then leaned forward—our faces barely apart.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, little miss.”

The thumping of my heart was so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“Excuse me.”

I hurried out of the car, putting distance between us.

He leaned against his car.

“You should get inside, Professor.”

As I fiddled with my keys, I heard him add:

“And lock the door. Goodnight, Professor.”

By the time I gathered enough courage to look back, he had driven off.

I have this inkling that I shouldn’t interact much with him.

God… I don’t even know his name.