Teach Her | Cillian Murphy x Reader

1. Dorm

Sunday, August 30.

3:45pm.

- This story is complete! You can check out my newest one 'Cherry Diner' -

"Is that everything?" my mother asked as she scanned my dorm, ensuring that I had brought most of my belongings with me.

"Yes, of course. I double checked before I left, I promise." I looked at her. She seemed worried, biting at her already-bitten nails, pacing the room, and looking uncomfortably anxious.

"Mom, I am nineteen. You know that I am more than capable of pursing something like this. I need this." which was true; I did need this. After isolating myself throughout most of high school, being deemed as a 'social recluse' to most, I needed a get away - especially to somewhere where I didn't know a soul, like University. A fresh start.

"I know, I know." My mother nodded, still biting at her nails "But you know how your father can get. He isn't too sure that this.. field... is something that you should be majoring in."

I looked at my suitcase that was on the floor, clothes spilling out onto the floor, my journal slipping out, too.

"Does he not believe in me?" I asked, reaching down and picking up my journal, too scared that the sacred pages would be somehow leaked to any people passing by; the dorm room door was wide open, other students walking by with their families, all checking out their new rooms.

"No, no, he does. It just cost quite some money, you know? This is something that you have to take seriously, Jeane. This isn't some high school class you can skip and hide from."

There it is. My mother being a classic bitch! Taking my father's word for everything, which is why I wanted to major in history, his favourite thing ever - almost out of spite? Mostly to impress him, but doing well to spite him would be much more satisfying.

"I am aware." I scoffed, glancing outside into the hallway, trying to find something that would allow me to escape, that would get me away from my mother.

"The course you chose, it's quite fast paced, I think-" before my mother could finish, I cut her off.

"Mom. I know. I took it for a reason. Now would you please just help me unpack? I understand what I have got myself into and I am happy I did! This is what I want to pursue and I am happy with it."

The room went silent, the only thing you could hear were the goodbyes from parents to their children and quiet cries of mothers, knowing that they were going to miss their son or daughter.

In the awkward silence I began unpacking my suitcase. I began hanging up articles of clothing, realizing that most of my wardrobe consisted of muted colours, turtlenecks, and long-sleeved shirts; regretting every single online purchase I made at 3am ever. What eighteen year old girl wears turtlenecks? It was my first year of University, I'm not trying be some sophisticated, smart, historical figure.. I'm mostly just trying to get by, to just scrape by. But it's whatever, right?

I looked over at my mother, she was neatly folding my pants into the dresser, the exact way she used to do it when I was in middle school. It reminded me of the first time my father had said something to me that changed the way I viewed myself.

"Can't even do it herself?" was one of the first distinct things I remember my father saying to my mother when she was putting my clothes away for me in middle school. I was only twelve years old and my mother always insisted on doing it for me, but of course, he needed a way to shoot me down; to make him feel big and to make me feel small.