Gibson's house in the early morning light. A huge white living room with floor to ceiling windows looking out over the neighborhood, decorated in expensive, minimalist high style bleached oak floors, a huge white sofa, a large Baselitz painting hung upside down and much expensive electronic equipment.
The room is impeccably neat, and oddly impersonal as if it had sprung straight from the pages of a design magazine.
At the end of the week Gibson's new life began in Colorado, new school, new air away from the people he's not interested at all.
POV. "My name is Victor Gibson. I am twenty-six years old. I live in Colorado, the mountain almost near my new neighborhood. The house is nice. I can't believe I purchased this house for myself. The weather is kind of cold and chilly but I like it very much. maybe".
Gibson walks into his bathroom, urinates while trying to see his reflection in a poster for Les Miserables above his toilet.
POV CONT'D. "I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy. I'll put on an ice pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now".
Gibson ties a plastic ice pack around his face. He does his morning stretching exercises in the living room wearing the ice pack. After that, a mirror-lined bathroom. Gibson is luxuriating in the shower steam, scrubbing his body, admiring his muscles.
POV CONT'D. "After I remove the ice pack, I use a deep pore-cleanser lotion. In the shower, I use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub".
Gibson stands in front of a massive marble sink applying a gel facial masque.
POV CONT'D. "Then I apply an herb mint facial mask which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine".
He opens the door of a mirrored cabinet, which is stocked with immaculate rows of skin care products. He begins selecting bottles, jars and brushes, laying them in readiness on the marble counter.
POV CONT'D. "I always use an after-shave lotion with little or no alcohol because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion".
Gibson stares into the mirror. The masque has dried, giving his face a strange distorted look as if it has been wrapped in plastic. He begins slowly peeling the gel masque off his face.
POV CONT'D. "There is an idea of a Victor Gibson, some kind of abstraction, hut there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping you and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there".
In the Gibson bedroom. Another huge white room, equally minimal: a futon, rumpled white sheets, a bedside lamp with a halogen bulb, and a large expensive painting by Eric Fischl or David Salle chosen by Gibson's interior decorator. Dressed in silk boxer shorts, Gibson stands in front of a huge walk-in closet, filled with rows of expensive shirts, shoes and designer suits, organized according to color and tone.
POV CONT'D. "It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. My self is fabricated, an aberration. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent".
Fully dressed in Armani, Gibson stands in front of a full-length mirror in the middle of his vast bedroom, adjusting his cuff-links.
POV END. "My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago, if they ever did exist".
Gibson gives a last look at the mirror and likes what he sees. He gives his reflection a smile.
Later. Gibson arrived at his new school as an English teacher. Gibson climbs out from the car then locks the door car. He walks toward the building door with a smile. He walks in the corridor straight to the principal's office.
Like he knows the way. Like he was born there on purpose. Gibson pushes the door without knocking. "Haa. I know you. Mr. Gibson. Please have a seat. You are coming just in time. I'm about to give you a call but here you are".
Gibson smiles, dragging the chair and takes a seat in front of the principal. He smiles again. "I'm so pleased to have you with us. My apologies, the weather is a bit colder than your previous place".
"Not to mention that. I love it".
Gibson eyes on the nameplate on the table. Mrs Shimmers. His eyes then went back to the principal's face. He studied her face in the middle ages. He could push her down stairs if he wanted. Killing her was the best part. Shimmer's too old to take this job.
Why cannot she die?
"I kinda get it a lot of the weather". Gibson smiled weirdly. The principal handed Gibson a file, timetable, report and the rules about the school. She also gave him a key, probably a locker room of his own like other teachers have.
A teacher needs privacy too. "Everything is under control. The details and everything you need to know about this school, anything.. was inside this file". she's up from her chair. "Come Mr. Gibson. You'll get to know this school".
"This school is huge. I didn't expect it. I googled this building, it was so much trouble to handle". What Gibson meant was the students. Gibson read about this school. "Try my luck I guess".
The principal snickering. They two stop. "This is your classroom Mr. Gibson. I wish you good luck and best for the students". She tapped Gibson's shoulder then walked. Gibson dust out his shoulder where the principal hand was laid on.
Such an arrogant Gibson was. The man destined to be born in this world. Gibson enters the classroom as he walks toward his desk. The students began to eyeball him, the girl students admired Gibson's look.
Gibson laid his suitcase down on the table and stood right in front of the class. He smiled. "Good morning students. I am your new English teacher. Victor Gibson". snickering. "I am here to replace your sick English teacher. I'm sorry for your lose".
"God blessed him". one of the students said. "He died in an accident , Mr. Gibson. He's not sick".
"I'm sorry. That is what I heard. Of course god bless him".
Like Gibson care what kind of death the man had suffered for. Gibson's eyes studied each one of the students' faces, his hand inside the pocket, getting to know them until his eyes laid on this beautiful girl.
It was Belle.
Gibson's heart stopped beating as he set his eyes on hers, barely moved and stunned by Belle's beauty. He surely wants to know her name, where she lives and what she likes. Those red lips Gibson passionately want to kiss her so badly. Those big eyes, long waving dark hair, milky skin.. flawless face.
"I'm sure you know what your previous teacher had left behind. I bet one of you could tell me before we start our lesson". Gibson crossed his arm on chest, hips sitting on the side of the desk. "You? dark hair. Yes you". he pointed at Belle. She looked at Gibson. "What is your name?"
Belle's lips stuttered. She laid the pencil down. Gibson and Belle are now staring at each other's eyes. It took twenty second to wait for Belle saying her own name. Gibson smiled. "Decker, sir. Andriana Belle Decker".