A LITTLE DEATH, rigel wilde

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ━━ The first breath of fresh morning air showed that summer was coming to an end and that, instead of gorgeous summer outfits, a very modest school uniform would soon appear. The last year before moving away for the real world, the last year before freedom, for those of us who spent a couple of years in boarding school - condemned to each other, to the same people for nearly a couple of months in a row.

I can't say that I won't miss this part of my life later; I miss my friends, with whom I spent many nights lying on the bed and talking girl's stuff. Our favorite band, who we previously liked, gossip... But it is still too early to say goodbye; the final year of boarding school began a few days ago, and I have already caught myself letting my thoughts wander to a more beautiful place on less fascinating issues.

Someone is hands jolt me awake from my daydream; it was my roommate from day one. Lucia was a huge extrovert; she knew a lot of people and hung out with a lot of students at this boarding school; for example, in the mornings (until noon, when I completely woke up), she would talk nonstop.

"Can we go?" She asked me a little louder. I simply nodded my head in response to her question. "The next class starts, you stayed in the classroom during recess and fell asleep again," she said.

Last night, I discovered a tiny mouse curled in the corner of the canteen; it is an understatement to say that I spent the evening searching for him around the boarding school, which is why I did not close my eyes. Lucia grabbed my hand, lifted my notebooks off the table, and hurried me to the opposite side of the hall, where our next literary session was.

Of course, mornings like this are common for some reason - Lucia sits with someone else while I seek for a seat (the one by the window in the back pew is always taken if I get there late).

"Grace, why are not you in your seat?" Mistress Ella asked, closing the classroom door behind her. I shrug my shoulders, knowing that any response I provide will be misunderstood.

"All seats are taken," I said with a more cheerful tone. I understood the professor's personality, so I knew how to act.

She returned her reproachful glare to the rest of the class before turning it back on me. "You have a seat at the third table," She gestured to the table with her finger. The lecturer made her way to her chair, while the entire class, with the exception of my 'partner' on the bench, continued to stare at me.

Rigel Wilde.

I pull out a chair and settle next to him, his aroma flooding my nostrils, leaving me haunted for days. There was stillness in the classroom, so my every movement was audible, and I retained their attention.

I left the book in front of me, open to a random page, and arranged my hair nicely in a high ponytail. The professor had already begun reading a paragraph from our new reading, so I had to struggle through all of this and fetch my reading glasses so that I could follow the text.

"Nerd, stop squirming all the time," he said gruffly, right next to me. I looked at him a little surprised.

"You know how to talk, Rigel?" I cover my mouth in surprise to complete the reaction. This is the first time he has spoken to me since the school year began.

He gives me one look from the corner of his eye, and a small, evil smirk forms at the corner of his mouth. "You can't stay quiet"

"I'll teach you how to be quiet", he murmured.

I bite the inside of my cheek so as not to continue the conversation with him. Except he continues to murmur something to himself. Fortunately, we are in a desk far enough away from the professor that she does not hear us. My concentration was not complete after talking with him, and he paid a minimum attention to what we were reading.

Frowning, he drew on the blank page, sketching black roses wherever he had space.
"Stop watching what I'm doing," he quietly reminded me. "I'm not watching what you are doing." I responded to him quickly.

"You are not that interesting to me," I add to the prior sentence. Rigel Wilde has always been a mystery to me. He was so discreet from the start of school that he spent most of the break alone, but he took advantage of the opportunity to socialize with boys from the same class or other years.

The girls drifted apart from the day he arrived at our boarding school; while he refused practically all of them, the last time he was seen with someone was three years ago, when she graduated, so they most likely broke up after that. I am not sure if it was his gruff demeanor or his deep dark eyes, but I desperately wanted to know more about him. I knew very little, only what everyone else knew, and it was not anything special.

I would pay millions to get inside his head for a few minutes. Rigel, named after the brightest star. A man with cold eyes and furrowed brows that veiled his actual emotions.

Someone was swinging their long fingers in front of my eyes. In the same second, I returned to reality, only to find out that it was still him.

"I was worried if you were alive"

"Really?" I queried him sarcastically as soon as I heard the irony in his tone. "No, I really do not care"

Wrinkling my nose, I turn away from him and mumble, "Jerk." When anything like this occurred in the past, he feeds off of it, earning numerous nicknames from me.

"Of course you find it funny," I reply, not dissatisfied. He looked at me momentarily and said, "Silly Grace."

Suddenly, the light coming through the window is covered. The professor stood in front of our desks. "Is there something much more interesting going on here?" her attention shifts from him to me. However, we are both silent.

Rigel stretched and gave a quick yeah. (That is how he leads us into a massive challenge called a group project.)

Another reason to not watch it again. Who am I kidding? I will see him tomorrow in the same class, and we will work on that project together. Class quickly finished, and I was one of the first to leave, with Rigel following behind me in an attempt to overtake me; when he did, he came to a halt, causing me to collide with him. "You can't be angry if you can't shut up first"

"Move," I instructed him.

"Or?" he asks, tilting his head slightly towards me.

"Or nothing, you are not worth it," I pushed past him and headed upstairs; when I got high enough, I stared at him and his unruly black hair as he searched his pockets for the remaining cigarette.

Gosh, he is so handsome. No, he is not. Be for real.