The Tale of Emily Greenstreet, Marissa Cattoi [best ereader for manga TXT] 📗

I was always insecure. I was never pretty, witty, or anything that could be considered desirable. Even at Brakebills I was alone. A school filled with outcasts and I was still the biggest outcast. My name is Emily Greenstreet, many people have heard my story. It has become a sort of urban legend at Brakebills, though people don't fully understand what happened. I want to set the record straight. Not everything is black and white and this tale is definitely grey. There is no hero, nor is there an obvious villain. It all started my third year...

I had never had Professor Mayakovsky. I had heard rumors though. Tough, strict, and blunt were the words most associated. Obviously, I was terrified. Wearily, I made my way to his classroom. I was never the first one in a room, though never last either. Those things draw attention and I lived to stay under the radar. I sat in the middle of the classroom and waited for the mysterious professor to arrive. Eventually he did. Mayakovsky was not as imposing as I expected. He was not partularly attractive either. He was an average man with virtually no distinguishing qualities. In fact, everything about him screamed grey. Grey eyes, hair, even his complexion was pallid and grey. Why was I so enamored with him from first sight? I had no clue, but I couldn't stop staring. Apparently lost in this confusing line of though, I didn't realize the professor was calling my name repeatedly. Eventually I snapped out of it and gave one of the least articulate responses possible. The professor apparently did not like being ignored. It also became painfully clear that he enjoyed making an example of the first disrespectful student, reguardless how innocuous the offense. Before I can formulate an adequate apology, I am ushered to the front of the class. All my years of staying under the radar had not prepared me to be the center of attention, especially not with the Professor's penetrating and seemingly sadistic stare. He asked in a voice that could actually pass for civil for me to demonstrate the spell he had been lecturing on, saying it was important to always have an example. Of course, I am completely lost and fruitlessly seek the rest of the class for help. After what seemed like hours, but was propably only a few minutes, Mayakovsky gestures for me to return to my seat, which I do swiftly. He addresses the entire class while only staring at me. He tells them that I should be a lesson of what happens when he has anything less than everyone's full attention. By the time he finishes his introduction, the bell rings and I break one of my cardinal rules by bolting out of the classroom first. Just when I think I am home free, another student informs me that the professor asked that I return for a little chat. Though I am very disinclined to aquiese to that request, I warily stomp back to the macabre room. It's empty. With more trepidation than even I am used to, I call out for him. No response. I try once more with the same result before convincing myself that it is okay to leave. As soon as the thought started to turn into action, Mayakovsky appears. I am once again mesmorized by him for reasons that make no sense. I cotinue this reverie for an indeterminate amount of time before he clears his throat. My head snaps to him, more importanty, his eyes. I am frightened by the wicked glint there. It didn't strike me as paricularly malicious, more fiendishly playful. Even so, it made me particularly uneasy. Finally he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing of importance happened during this conversation. He seemed to just enjoy making me uncomfortable. Finally, I am dsimissed, but not before he could make a final remark.

“Oh, and Emily? Capriciosness is not an attractive quality in a woman. If I were you, I would pay more attention when a man is speaking,” Mayakovsky went so far as to sneer this last comment out.

I turned to him indigant. How dare he be so blatantly sexist? Who does he think he is! Sure I am shy, but I certainly could not let that level of masogynism go unaknowledged. He looked at me challengingly, trying to bait me, I soon realized. Well I would not sink down to his level. I turned on my heel and walked as calmly as possible to my room. 

Over the next few weeks this pattern would continue. I would arrive at his class, he would call me out at every oppurtiniy, and then he woul drequest I stick around while he tried to goad me into losing my temper. Eventually, I founf myself arriving first to the class and staying behind without him having to ask. My placid veneer would start to crack, but I wouldn't give in. I still refused to let him see how crazy he was driving me. And he was driving me crazy. He was all I could think about. I hated this man with every fiber of my being. Still, I found that I craved his company. I needed the attention that only he seemed to care to give me. Though I learned to accept the fact that I needed our daily interactions, I still resolved that he would never rise out of me. That resolution would last for another month.

I don't even know how it happened. I was staying behind after class, just like any normal day. He was being repugnant, just like any normal day. But it wasn't normal. My reaction wasn't normal. Finally, my composure shattered. I don't even remember what we were talking about. It could have been a number of things. I remember seeing red. I went crazy. Hurling every obscenity and insult my admittedly naive mind could think of. If you asked me how the next event transpired, I couldn't tell you. All that I remember clearly is that I was kissing him. I don't know why, but I was. I was disgusted and enraged, but I didn't pull back. In fact, I deepened the kiss. And when he went to proceed to the next level, I embraced it. What followed is a blur. To be honest, I'm glad I don't remember. The next clear recollection I have is leaving the classroom feeling dirty yet wanted for the first time in my life.

I don't know what I expected to happen, but I expected something. I certainly didn't expect him to completely ignore me for the next weeks. He was always gone when I went to stay behind after class. If I ran into him outside of class, he would address me as if I was just another student. In class, he opted to not aknowlede my prescence at all. It was not until he started asking a different girl to stay after class that I realized I had been used. All I wanted was for him to aknowlegde me again. I found solice in noone. Not even the one boy that had seemed to actually take an interest in me. I was inconsolable, doomed to pine after the only man to ever make me feel noticed.

Publication Date: 05-10-2013

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