I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Three

A light rose tint bloomed on her porcelain cheek, and she issued in a mellifluous tone, 'Do forgive me, I am not usually so frightfully maladroit.' I passed the books back to her, saying, 'There's no need to fret; they appear to have sustained no permanent damage. No harm done. Though if you care to throw things at me, I would be most obliged if you chose something lighter and of less delicate constitution than books.' She then smiled at me in the most beguiling manner and after we made our introductions she said, 'Thank you ever so much for stopping to help me. I would like to repay your kindness in some way. I know, you must come to tea this afternoon.' I did not hesitate to accept her offer, as I found her entirely enchanting, and after my meeting we met for tea and had a pleasant conversation.

Since then we have spent many afternoons in one another's company, either conversing or reading quietly and she has invited me to spend the week-end at her home in the country a fortnight from now. I am looking ever so forward to getting to know her better. I feel as though I have quite met my soul-match, if that makes any sense at all. All I can truthfully say is that the mere sight of her thrills me to the very depths of my being and I believe the same is true for her, as she always greets me in the most delighted tone and rushes over straightway for a hug and kiss. I must go now as we are dining together this evening and I haven't a clue what I shall wear.

Yours truly,

Annabeth Craven

I had a rich inner life.

Several weeks passed and I began to be increasingly jealous of her students. I never saw them, as that part of her office was not visible to me, but I could tell when they were there by her body language. I loathed every one of them. She was mine, no one else saw the real her. On a rational level I knew that I didn't see the real her, either, but I didn't need to, she had an entire existence in my mind. It was very fulfilling and neat and solitary (because solitude was much more tidy than coupledom) and would not benefit from my traipsing through and muddying it up. There was not enough structure in the world, if you asked me, so I opted to be an observer out of respect for order.

Then one day I looked up from my book and saw she was regarding someone at the hidden end of her office. It was during one of her free times, so it must have been a social call, though she did not laugh or give any indication of pleasure or camaraderie so I decided it must have been a strictly professional, if unscheduled, visit. From her response I could not ascertain whether the visitor was a peer of hers or an underling of some sort.

Knowing someone else was in her private space was too much to bear. It was a breach of our unspoken pact of solipsism. I accepted (though seethed over) the fact that she had to entertain pupils, but there was no excuse for guests. I was outraged on her behalf—someone was interfering in her solitude. How rude. I stewed, feeling betrayed, despising the person who had interrupted our time together.

Drastic action was called for. Being the silent bystander was no longer enough. Respect for order be damned. It was time for a field trip to assert my rightful place in her life. I wouldn't speak to her, (quelle horreur!), but would extend a show of friendship—of solidarity against the intrusive world. I decided I would wait somewhere she was sure to walk by, to see her up close, or at least closer than I had done. I would wait outside the building her office was in at the end of the day on Friday to silently wish her a pleasant weekend. Yes, that's what I would do. I smiled at my notebook; it felt good to make absolute plans. She and I normally simply went with the flow of our day-to-day lives, happily co-existing, but this we would schedule. I wrote in my student planner, 'meet Lavinia at 5.35.' In ink.

On the appointed morning I rose early and dressed carefully—in a way I thought would be pleasing to her. Knowing that she would approve of my outfit would surely come through in my demeanour (most people didn't understand that the little things were really the most vital). I checked the pins in my hair several times and made sure my glasses were on straight. After my tea I strolled over to the library, skipping my tutorial—the first time I had ever done so, but this was a special occasion—and watched her go through her morning ritual. Apparently, she didn't have meetings on Friday, as I sat there for several hours and she read and worked the entire time with small breaks for lunch and tea. I did attend my second appointment of the day, an English lecture, fretting for the duration that she wouldn't be there when I came back. I concocted all sorts of reasons why she would leave early, but when I returned she was reading at her desk, oblivious to the heartache I had endured for the previous hour. I liked that about her, she was always utterly composed.