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EVERETT — one.

I hated Monday's.

I hated the way everyone dragged their feet around, the torturous looks on their faces as if they hadn't seen this day coming every week. I hated how everyone expected the weekend to go by slowly just so they could enjoy themselves doing God knows what. I enjoyed spending my time at work rather than lazing around my home with nothing to do. Even on weekends, I prepped and planned for the next lesson I was going to teach. I hated Monday's because of how people reacted to it, not because of the actual day itself. I suppose I should hate Tuesday's, too, because that fresh look of dread and regret still hadn't left the faces of the young adults sitting in my classrooms.

Why do they all look so dead?

As a child, I loved school. I loved the atmosphere, and I loved how eager the kids were to be your friend. I didn't have friends, but that was my choice. I didn't like people invading my personal space, I didn't like people smiling when there was nothing to smile about. I didn't like people expecting you to share every aspect of your life, and I still don't. My personal business has never reached the ears of another soul, and I preferred my life to be that way. I loved being alone, rather than in a group of people who wanted to do nothing but drink their lives away.

I wasn't at all surprised when the faces of my students appeared and they still looked as if they wanted the ground to swallow them whole any second. It was Wednesday. In all my years of teaching, Wednesday was my favorite day. By Wednesday, the students knew the weekend was long gone, but at the same time, approaching slowly. Wednesday was that day that balanced everything out. Thank god for Wednesday's. "Good morning, class," I smiled. I could hear groans and small mumbles of 'shut the fuck up' echoing throughout the classroom, but all I could do was smirk. They hated me, but because of me, they were all passing. I was more lenient with my classes unlike most teachers. "Okay, so before we get started—"

I was cut off as the door opened and a short, petite brunette girl walked in. Her doe like eyes scanned the classroom before they landed on me. It was like my breath was being taken away. She had bubblegum pink lips with long curly hair that hung low to her flat stomach, Her jeans were ripped and her shoes were busted, but she still looked like an Angel. An innocent, innocent Angel. "H-hello, how can I help you?" I asked. It was all I could muster up. Everything I wanted to show was being gulped down in globs. She was incredibly beautiful, like the sky after a thunderstorm.

"I'm Everett Maxwell," she said shyly. I watched as her beautiful name rolled off her tongue so gently, her tongue coming out and swiping along her plump lips. "Are you Mr. Styles?" She asked. She was in my class. With every fibre of my being, I had hopes that this girl wasn't in my class. I hoped that she was lost, and in some way, she came into the wrong classroom. But, I was wrong. She was a student of mine, and I had to sit and teach in front of this beautiful girl everyday.

"I am," I said, walking over to her. I grabbed ahold of her schedule, fighting to keep my breaths shallow, and not loud enough for her to hear. She was even smaller up close. Her head barely reached my torso, and I could feel my pants tightening as she looked up at me and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Her features were stunning. Her eyelashes were long, kissing the slightly red skin of her cheeks every time she blinked. Her skin was milky-white, resembling a porcelain doll. God, and her hair. I wanted to run my fingers through her ringlets, my hands were just itching to. She was the epitome of perfection. "Just grab a seat in the front while I introduce this next lesson. If you're confused or you need anything, don't hesitate to raise your hand and ask me, okay?" I rushed out my words.

As I paced back and forth in front of the classroom, teaching the lesson, and trying to get my students to understand, my mind was elsewhere. Every time I caught even the slightest glimpse of my new student, my heart would race. It was an immediate reaction from the stunning angel sitting just a few feet away from me. She had looks that women paid for, and men killed for. She had somehow awoken a part of me that I buried so long ago, an attraction that I felt only once in my entire life. She didn't even look real. She looked like god molded her in the images of one of his angels and sent her plummeting to this cold, cruel world.

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