Unfinshed Untitled short story

My room was more spotless then it had been in months. Lavender water scented my hands and all of the surfaces around me. I didn't stop for two hours. I tried to occupy myself and my mind so that I wouldn't have any more thoughts. So that my brain would not come to yet another logical conclusion. Everything is a matter of balance, I thought to myself, trying to stop the thought from developing any further, but ending up contemplating ratios of self involvement and growth. I punched the side of the vacuum and slid the hissing beast across my rug, which had long been saturated in hair. I felt the presence of my phone wedged between two pillows and stubbornly on vibrate. I refused to change it. There wasn't really anyone who I wanted to talk to, so why shouldn't they have to work extra hard to reach me.
At 5:30 I took a shower and arched across campus to my one art class. It was the only one that I really gave a shit about, and yet I could only fit one hour-long course into my schedule. I sat in my usual spot next to the kids who were just insane enough to go with the craziness that usually came from me during these lessons. The professor and I had a strange but personal relationship consisting of lingering eye contact and in depth assignments. He always wrote such helpful and honest comments in a stack of post-its stuck to my projects. I really can connect with anyone I choose to; I don't find people hard to understand. Most of the time that is, there is one person who I can't seem to figure out at all. I wish I was talking about some burly man and the confusion I was feeling was really some form of deep attraction. I am talking about myself. I don't understand me at all. I try not to let that have any effect on my life or my connections with other people, and usually it doesn't. The only problems come when people try to make the connection go the other way. They can't know me, I don't even know who I am showing them.
The young dreamy professor walked to the center of the classroom, flicked on the "natural" lighting and flashed a massive grin to his students.
"Monsters!" he exclaimed, playing the part of a doofus in front of an elementary school class. Most of the students were already engulfed in his act. I waited for him to continue. "Everyone did extremely well on last weeks project. They were all very thought out, some a little over thought, but that conversation is not for today. Today is specifically reserved for you and your fears. I'm not going to tell you what the assignment is, what I really want you to do is think. What are you afraid of?"
I let my ass slide halfway down the seat until I was leaning back comfortably, my head tilted back onto the backrest. I tuned him out and sneaked back into my own thoughts. This didn't escape him though, I found a large blank poster shoved in front of my face.
"Charlotte!" He yelped, excited to have caught me in my trance, and to be the one calling me out of it, "let's begin with you. Just concentrate on exactly where it is that your fear is. Think about all of the elements of art that you can and locate exactly where your fear is."
I caught his eyes, both of them, and held his gaze with a blank stare. This was my way o f letting him know that I knew exactly how ridiculous he was even though everything about everything was brand new. Most of his students, I had noticed, found him new and outrageous just because he was likable and affiliated with this college. I took the poster from him and put it on the giant easel facing the front of the class.
"Thank you Charlotte." he said, extremely pleased. I caught some of his sheep smiling in a very pleased way as well.
"Your welcome." I said clearly and honestly. I didn't mind going up in front of the class and doing this stuff. It's a guarantee that I will understand the assignment, and it made him happy that he could be so important as to help this girl climb out of her shell.
"Okay." he took my shoulders and positioned me in front of the cheap, waxy poster board. My rear faced the class. "Concentrate on something that scares you." he told me. "Close your eyes if it helps you concentrate. It doesn't have to be specific, just a vague understanding of something that you would run in the opposite direction from."
I opened my eyes and looked at him. Your gonna have to give me more than that, my eyes did their best to tell him. His sheep shifted in their seats, impatient.
"Can you identify something like that?" he asked me.
"Yup" I answered. It wasn't a hard concept to grasp. He looked relieved.
"Okay. I want you to make it. Piece by piece, little by little. What is it made of? What does it look like? You have this fifty cent poster in front of you. Is it thin line? Thick? Are the colours muted? Is it simple? Is it complex?"
"Whoa!" I stopped him. He cracked a smile and everyone laughed. "Okay I get it. Did you want me to do it now? In front of everyone?"
"I wanted you to do it with everyone." He answered, all too pleased with his own response. I decided not to point out the ironic flaw in his assignment of painting my own fear with the involvement of a group of people. It's not actually what he meant. Who am I to criticize people for wanting to sound smart? He knew that my mind was already racing. I liked to work out of eyesight. I make that fact obvious to all of my other professors so that they can work with it.
"Begin." he said, sitting on a desk and relaxing, getting ready to watch his most mold-able student at work. I sighed and them walked over to the supply cabinets. I opened them all and scanned the contents. "Walk us through it Charlotte." he said. I asked myself what it meant when people started overusing your name but couldn't find a specific answer."
"Well" I began."I'm looking for things that scare me."
"Any luck?"
"Not really." I answered, but I was already approaching it from a different angle. Fear is an emotion, I needed contrast. not just with colour though, I still had to make my professor look smart. He had some vague idea about an assignment and he was leaving it to me to take it the rest of the way. I took some objects off of the shelves and loaded them into my arms.
"So you have a plan." he commented. "Can you tell us what you are going to do? Class pay attention because you are all going to have to ask yourself the same questions."
I spent the rest of the class narrating the Shepard and his flock through my every move. I didn't enjoy the experience of having all senses trained on me, but when the hour was up the piece of work in front of the class really sent a chill through me when I looked at it. My dear teacher was bloated with self esteem when I filed out of the room with the others.
"Charlie!" I heard along with the beat of someone running towards me. He didn't have anything planned next but a weird silence.
"Hey, what's up?" I said, sounding happy to see him, feeling happy to see him.
"I tried to text you before your class." He told me.
"Yeah, I haven't checked my phone all day."
His head hing a little lower when I said this. Students were rushing by us in all directions.
"Oh, well, I was gonna ask, I mean I did ask you whether or not you wanted to come with me to my aunt's beach house right now."
He wasn't actually nervous, just proceeding with caution, he knew I would say no.
"Actually I have plans tonight Toru. I'm sorry, I would have loved to go."
He looked around, studying the air and objects around me like they were so normal and me standing there contrasted with them outrageously. By now he knew it was bullshit. Soon he would stop asking me places all together, but until then I would act interested and nothing more. Sorry Tory, your attempts with this girl will be fruitless. You can't have me.
"Well then we should hang out when I come back."
"Absolutely. Call me when you get here tomorrow."
"Will you be busy?" He asked. This was his first attempt at addressing the problem directly, and his question was extremely tactful.
"I don't have any plans after classes." I told him. "My last one ends at 7:00." My response was even more tactful than his question, I thought, smiling to myself. He accepted the answer and did not question it any further.
"So, have you made anymore masterpieces recently?"
He was always interested in my art. I was too, but I didn't flaunt these interests. I kept quiet about how much art meant to me. We talked there on the grass until he had to leave. It was a cheerful conversation and I walked back to my dorm smiling and replaying it in my mind. My hand covered my face in shame as I recalled the awkward way that I tell him things. The awkward way that I reveal more to him than to anyone, and how I did it secretly. I was sure he thought I spoke that way to everyone.