HOHB - private tutoring is tiresome...

(This chapter starts of the day after the class competition…)

Chapter #12

A persistent fixture of taps derived from the frontal edge of a sable-colored boot, as the pair of shoes, ushered swiftly and sharply as they hastily swiveled back and forth.

The already apparent and rather obnoxious bounces from the shoes slowly gave way to a feeling of annoyance.

In normal situations, I would have done two possible things.

One of the more convenient, and less troublesome possible solutions to the predicament at hand would be to simply stand up, from the austere low-backed wooden chair I resided in, and simply, but graciously take my leave before a burst of fury overflowed me.

Of course, if that was only viable, that would be my primary solution. But with my current situation, that option became void.

Thinking about the unchallenging solution to my issue, only provided me with further agitation.

The second step, and one I personally dubbed as 'the douche-bag strategy.'

A once again simple solution, but one that required a little more effort and…could be described as snobby when witnessed, hinting at the meaning behind the title it holds.

The simple but doleful strategy is composed of two straightforward steps.

The first was simple, as I would jolt up from my seating, making an intentional toppling bang, from the seat I resigned in, as a loud impact from the falling desk collided into the cold briskly floor, which grasped the curiosity of my intended target.

Following the interested gaze from the onlooker, I would grip my fist into an orb and release my index finger towards my mark.

Forming a harsh jagged, and rather curt glare toward the perpetrator of my annoyance, following simultaneously I would utter a single phrase.

"Get. Out." Emphasizing the pause between "get" and "out," attempting to sound more intimidating, and stretching a sort of authority to my publication.

There were two prominent issues with this strategy, one being that despite my thoughtful and well-devised plan, I have never actually put it to action.

Instead, I would prompt to my initial strategy and sheepishly disengage from my uncomfortable position, and trudge out the doorway.

Secondly, the current circumstances I was placed into, wouldn't allow me to speak that way towards the individual I had been harboring my irritation from.

It wasn't because I didn't have any balls to do so, which was a discreet lie I mumbled to myself, but rather it was someone that I respected.

And even with the undeniable annoyance I felt, I wouldn't dare raise a disrespectful tone towards them, as that somebody was none other than, Instructor Yates.

The consistent toneful thuds from Instructor Yate's a shoes gradually increased as his pace fastened, quicker than the previous monotoned tap from his shoes.

As an outward expression from his face slowly chipped onto his facade.

A glint click of his tongue passed by his already clenched teeth, as his breathing became increasingly audible.

As he quickly and repeatedly gasped for air, kinda like he had just finished running a stressful and elongated marathon.

It would be an understatement that I was worried about his well-being. As previously I had been trying to hold my tongue as I reckon, whatever he was contemplating would only worsen if I intervened.

But upon seeing his newfound condition, my worries overbounded as I stammered to form a sentence, till a mezzo-soprano tone abided from my tongue.

"Instructor Yates, are you okay? You're giving me a scare right now." I lightly spoke from an extent, a reasonable distance from him, but enough within earshot distance.

"Ah. Yes, I am fine, just trying to sort out my thoughts. That's all." He answered in a forceful calm demeanor, but his bodily emotions betrayed him showing quivers in between his words.

"I know you said yesterday to come after class, so I could begin my training regiment, but I think another day would be more suitable." I replied as an unconscious sigh followed, still curious as to why he was so fixated on hiding his emotions.

"Well…" Instructor Yates paused briefly before regaining his composure and continuing. "Truth be told, the nights prior, I was contemplating, trying to find a unique fighting style fit for you.

And while perched upon my bed, I had a fascinating thought! But it seems I have forgotten it already. I'm just disappointed in my own self-impotence. I'm greatly sorry."

I let out a farish chuckle upon hearing the reason behind my worries. I had feverishly speculated he was having an episode from the late war, he had been tossed unwillingly into.

Just imagining the horrid memories he must have attempted to enclose deep into his subconscious, from the heinous scenery of war sent a shiver down my spine.

Upon feeling the obvious gaze from Instructor Yates, seeing my unsettling pale unadjusted face, I could only presume the conclusion he gathered could only be one thing.

"Shit, I'm sorry Damien, truly. I will one-hundred percent, most undoubtedly remember what I composed last night, no doubt about that! Wait!

Just give me a moment, I'm feeling it coming back." Instructor Yates dashed his hands zig-zagaly, to indicate that my worries showed no merit.

But the cold sweats that profusely started to shape, as they fell down his chin, showed otherwise.

I laughed in response to his silly remark, as I sat down onto an amiable wooden desk which startled me, as the prior cold stiff seat I previously sat onto, stiffened my shoulders.

The earlier desk I sat in was rough, and no matter how many times I repositioned my body, it was always uncomfortable.

But this seat had a rivaling effect to it, as the blissful ray from the afternoon sun blessed upon the statistician of the desk beside the one I rested in.

Which covered a proportional length of my face, as the blinding glow from the multicolor sun, didn't cause an ill-favored sting to my eyes, but rather a calming effect instead.

The stressful environment from before seemed to have disappeared, as I placed my face over a pillow-like setup that I formed from the criss-crossed rotations of my arms.

It almost felt…surreal. The feeling of such isolated freedom I felt, Is one I haven't felt in a while. I shuttered my eyes repeatedly, as my body fought over the control over my consciousness, as a relenting battle ensued onward.

But over time my body became frail and admitted defeat, as my heavy eyelids contorted downwards, and a faint shiver of darkness pitched taintly.