CHAPTER THREE

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 his 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 masque 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.' he gives a last look at the mirror and likes what he sees. He gives his reflection a smile.

later. arriving at his new school as an English teacher. out from the car. lock the door. He walks toward the school door with a smile. He walks in the corridor straight to the principal 's office. like he knows the way. He 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 smile. he drags 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 school.'

his eyes on the nameplate on the table. Mrs Shimmers. his eyes then back to the principal 's face. He scanned her face. mid old ages. He could push her if he wanted. or kill her if he wants. She is too old to take this job. Why can't she die?

'I kinda get it a lot of the weather.' he smiled. weirdly.

principal nod. She handed him a file. his schedule. the report and the rules about the school. She also gave him a key. probably locker room for his own like others teachers have. A teacher needs privacy too.

'Everything is under control. the details and everything you need to know about anything inside this file.'

she's up from her chair. 'Let me escort you out.'

'This school is huge. I didn't expecting. I googled this. so much trouble to handle.'

the principal chuckle. She knows what Gibson means by his own words. trouble. He means student.

'I know. That is why we as teachers need to prepare for this trouble.' the two stop. 'This is your class, Mr Gibson. I wish you the best for our students.' she tapped his shoulder then she left.

She walked past him. without look. he wiped his shoulder whereas her hand laid on. arrogant. that is who he is. arrogant. Gibson think he's the best and brilliant among others. that what he born for.

dust his suit. He reaches the knob and enters without closing the door behind him as he walks toward his desk. the students eyeing him. The girl admired him. He put his suitcase on the table. He was standing in front of the class. introducing.

I'm anEnglish teacher. Victor Gibson. not substitute teacher and here I'am.' he smirked. 'Let God bless him.'

he knew the previous English had died. and he doesn't care what kind of death he's suffering for. He doesn't care.

his eyes scanning the room till his eyes on Belle. he stops. his heart stopped. He barely moved because of her beauty. He surely wanted to know her name. He wanted to know her. He wanted to...

Her look stunned him. milky skin. black hair. big eyes. beautiful red lips. the lips he wanted to kiss. He won't let her breathe a bit. let her drown by his passionate kiss.

'I'm sure you know. what your previous teacher left behind. I bet one of you knows my name already or not and I don't care.'

exhaling. He continued. by sitting on the side of the desk. hand crossed on his chest. patiently waiting. He started asking students names one by one till they stopped at Belle. finally.

'You, what's your name blackhair..?'

Belle is the only one with natural hot blackhair. Most of them are blond, red and brown like him.

she blinked her eyes as she sat up without standing. She laid the pencil down. her eyes on him too. They now are staring at each other's eyes. her lips are about to say her name. It took 20 seconds to wait as she said her own name.

'Decker, sir. Andriana Belle Decker.'