Chapter 5 || A Lover of Shakespeare

Unedited. ◇

A LOVER OF SHAKESPEARE

I hate him.

I hate him for being so smart, for outsmarting me, for insulting me, for making me fall for him without doing anything.

I hate him. So much.

And that's what I tell myself repeatedly as the lesson drags on, fuming in the background much to Mr. Williams' pleasure.

He seems to get a kick everytime I give him a glare.

Or was it indifference? I honestly don't know. I wish I could say I didn't care, but I sure as hell cared.

"...Lovely, Belle. You can score an A if you keep working like this."

I scowl at the remark I should have gotten.

Is he trying to show me that he can continue his class without my participation? Is he trying to challenge me?

Test my temper?

Annoy me?

The way he's messing with my head is so exhausting but I'm helpless as I watch him, muscles bulging underneath his tight shirt, jawline as sharp as ice, eyes as cold as his heart.

I hate him, I simply hate him for usurping my attention, my thoughts, and my life. Still, what I would give to have him moan my name with that sensual voice of his.

Shut up, Namora.

"...Namora, care to share with us all whatever the hell it is you're thinking about in my class?"

I sit back in my seat when everyone turns to look at me, feeling the blush wafting over my cheeks.

Fúck him. He's going to pay for this later.

"I was just thinking about..." Think fast, Namora...

Thank God Charlotte wasn't here today to witness this disaster.

"About?"

I feel like slapping this blue-eyed Adonis but I'm afraid of ruining his face.

"About how the relationship between Romeo and Juliet is so..."

I attempt to search for the right word, furrowing my eyebrows.

"So?"

"Toxic."

"Toxic?"

"Poisonous. A venom; injected into the bloodstream..." I inhale, "...An addiction. A thirst. Insatiable hunger."

For a second, Mr. Williams only stares into my eyes, while I glare back at him, almost numb.

Can he sense the parallel?

Can he get the hint?

Will he be able to fit the puzzle together?

As his gaze slowly becomes more intimidating, I look away.

"...Subjective, but somewhat incorrect."

There's so many things that point to- I swallow my persistence. I don't have time for this shít.

Squeezing my eyes shut as I hear the whispers, letting them pass over me like waves.

It's okay, Namora. Breathe.

Opening my eyes once the whispers die down, I fix him with as much of a poker face as I can muster.

I won't let him get to me.

And he won't be able to get to me.

Looking down at Romeo and Juliet, I choose keep my eyes off of him for the rest of the lesson, knowing fully well that he would be casting his blues in my direction.

And indeed, he did.

More than once.

"You all had best finish your homework before you walk into my class on Monday," Mr. Williams concludes the lesson as the bell rings. Everyone seems to rush out, safe for me. I hate to admit it but I secretly wanted him to talk to me before I leave.

Still, I tried to make sure I didn't look too eager, and moderately slung my bag over my shoulder, lifting myself off my seat. Gaze trailed on the floor.

Then I heard it, the familiar clearing of a throat.

Unable to hide the small smile wafting over my features, I swivel around to face Mr. Williams. Who looks back at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes, leaning against the teacher's desk.

God, please preserve my sanity.

I really, really want to jump him.

"Come here, girl."

"I have a name."

He crosses his arms, "come here, Namora."

Like a kicked puppy, I shuffle over to him, keeping my gaze on his chest. I won't let him have the satisfaction of seeing me frustrated a second time.

"Look at me."

I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows, "give... give me back my book."

Being met with silence, I curiously shift my eyes up at him, "please."

His brows are raised as he looks down at me, his eyes scanning my face.

I instantly feel self-conscious, taking a small step back. I'm not beautiful. I have a slightly asymmetrical face. And the way he's scrutinizing me isn't helping.

"Please, can I have my book back?" I ask again, breathless.

"Where did you find another book?" He asks, ignoring my request, his gaze trained over my hands which are tightly wrapped around the copy I need to return to that girl. - fúck, I forgot to ask her for her name.

"I... I'm not obligated to tell you."

"Oh? Well, why don't you go learn some manners before you come and teach me about your obligations."

The hint of anger in his tone has me uncomfortable. His words are like knives being thrusted into my heart.

How on Earth am I supposed to seduce him if he's like this?

Mr. Williams stares down at me, his expression emotionless. I do realize it's my fault when he's only asked a harmless question.

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd," I offer, by way of apology.

His eyes narrow, "it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."

"Have you memorized it?"

"Not really, no, but when you mention it, it comes naturally." I don't think he realizes how much his words made me happy. To know that I have such an effect on him...

"I got it from a friend," I say vaguely, distantly; even.

But his sharp eyes tell me he's already understood. "Ah, I thought you said you didn't have any friends?"

"I didn't... not until earlier today," I smile contentedly, and his expression seems to soften at my expense.

"Who on earth decided it would be a good idea to befriend you?"

He says, but it was less with a grave voice, and more with a teasing one.

"Well... she's new, and a nerd... and she hasn't heard the rumors about me yet, so..." I trail off, nibbling on my bottom lip.

His eyes narrow at the action, but he looks away. It looks like it's more of a fatherly form of respect than one that gets him hot and bothered.

"The reason I called you was to discuss this," he says, dangling my book in my face.

"Can I have it back, please?" I ask distractedly, half torn between wanting to stay and talk to him, and half torn between not wanting to betray the girl's trust.

"You should be more careful with your belongings, Namora. The day before, I'd gone to the cafeteria and found your book lying there. I had intended to give it to the lost and found section." He says no more, leaving me to piece the puzzles together.

"Thank you very much, sir, I'll keep that in mind the next time," I say, truthfully grateful to him. If it weren't for him, I would've probably lost the book for good. And I'm well aware of that fact.

Casting him an appreciative glance, I add, "I can no other answer make, but thanks and thanks."

His blue eyes pierce into me, "do you find it necessary to quote Shakespeare for everything? I've never seen someone so obsessed."

I smile goofily up at him, realizing I was getting used to his taunts.

"Because I know you're as much a lover of Shakespeare as I am. I can see it in your eyes when we do class; the passion. An insatiable hunger. The way you talk about his world as if you belong there."

He's caught off-guard. Taking the chance, I snatch my book from his grasp and quickly dash out of the room.

I don't know if I messed up, but I know I liked it.

I liked seeing his winter blues wide with surprise, his cheeks dashed with red.

And I know it was worth the risk.

Because now he's beginning to warm up to me.

And it's only a matter of time before I can finally taste his rosy lips.