It read 5:46PM on my phone. Mr. Lee was fast asleep on the cushioned seat, his head tiled upwards and his lips set in a straight line, puffing out gently from their lovely size. My head was still leaning against his arm, and I debated whether or not I should move my head and whether or not it would wake him up.

I didn't move my head. My neck throbbed and ached but I kept my place, attempting to get comfortable. I slowly brought up my knees and turned to the left, my face now awkwardly pointing towards his well-built torso. I nestled closer against his arm and shut my eyes, but sleep did not arrive. My body was tingling with an electrical feeling from being so close to him, and that itself caused my body to feel more awake than ever.

Due to the rainy weather, there was no sunset, just a darkening sky and rain pouring at its' usual pace. Everyone else on the bus was sleeping except for Mr. Falliner, and I knew because his phone light was illuminating the ceiling with a bluish glow.

Mr. Lee's arm fell on my back and he unconsciously snuggled it around me, pushing me closer to his body. Every nerve in my body exploded and I held my breath while my heart thumped a thousand times per second. His other hand was clutching his phone.

His face looked so soft. His lips were so big and kissable and his hair was messy with curls resting on his forehead. Would he wake if I touched his cheek? Just to feel it?

I raised my hand as slowly as possible, my fingers uncontrollably shaking. I kept it in the air for a few seconds, a mental debate going on in my head as to whether or not I should touch him. I plopped my hand back down in defeat.

"What are you doing?" He whispered, making my own body jump in surprise. He had that attractive male morning voice, where it was low and carefree sounding. He sounded younger than he probably was.

It would be too dark to see my notepad. I whispered almost inaudibly, "N-nothing." My stuttering sounded like I was admitting to a crime. A sharp pain of sadness overcame me when I spoke, a clear reminder of my mother. I shuddered but thankfully he did not notice.

"I don't think that was nothing," he whispered, his eyes still closed but his lips beautifully moving in sync with his voice.

"I wanted to touch your cheek," I whispered boldly, my sanity going down the drain after I realized what I just said. I closed my eyes and an image of my mother popped in my head again. I wanted to cry but at the same time I found comfort in being so close to him. I wanted- hell I needed to feel his cheek. The skin contact would make my worries fly away instantaneously, that was for sure.

"You can," he murmured. He was probably half-asleep. That's what it looked like, anyways. His eyes were still closed.

Basically he gave me permission to touch his cheek and the only thing I could do was gape at him.

I raised my hand for the second time, moving it closer and closer to his soft-looking facial skin. My pointer finger touched the indent of his cheekbone and my breathing immediately increased. It felt like my heart was on fire. All I could hear was the sound of our soft breathing mixed together, blending in with the engine of the bus and the pitter-patter of the rain hitting the roof.

My finger trailed down to the corner of his mouth, where it softly ran over his bottom lip and onto his jaw. His eyes opened slowly and he looked at me.

I didn't understand his look. It was mixed with comfort; as if he were experiencing some type of personal contentment with himself. He just looked at me calmly and I looked back, my finger and my mind having completely different plans. My mind was telling me to stop; that my damn finger shouldn't be on my history teachers' unbelievably well-structured jaw-line. But at the same time, my finger felt like it was disconnected from my body. It literally had a mind of its' own. My finger was the bee and his face, or all of him, was the honey.

I tore my gaze and my hand away, completely ashamed of the way I was acting. I distastefully grabbed my notepad and angrily scribbled.

Sorry.

He looked at it for a few seconds and his gazed focused back on me. He straightened himself in his seat.

"For?" He asked calmly, giving me his full, nerve-wracking attention.

I couldn't help but think about the fact that I probably looked like the walking dead. My hair was almost-definitely sticking up in awkward places and my clothes were extremely wrinkly.

For touching your face, I wrote.

"Nobody has to know," he said quietly. "It won't happen again, right Ms. Rose?"

Calling me by my last name sent a new whirl of strong emotions to bubble in the depths of my abdomen. I steadied myself in the seat and pretended to not be impacted by his sexy formality.

I began to write, but his large hand delicately pulled the pen out of my grip.

"Go to sleep. We still have a while before we get back to the school," he said as he multitasked by checking his phone. The pen was still in his other hand. He could keep it for all he wanted. I was too afraid to ask for it back, anyways.

"Yes, sir." I said weakly. My mother didn't show up in my head this time. Holy shit.

Maybe I could start talking more. But then again, I killed my mother. If it weren't for me, she'd still be talking. She'd still be alive.

Overwhelmed by the sudden traumatizing thoughts, I quickly stretched and stood up, but I realized he was still looking at me from when I called him sir. I didn't even know he was looking at me. Observing me, actually. He had his head tilted to the side in an almost questioning manner.

I grabbed my notepad. I leaned in close to him and stopped for a second, enjoying the smell of mint and the view of his neck. This was so out of my league, but at this point I didn't care. I wanted to anger him. I grabbed the pen with my thumb and pointer finger and gently slid it out of his grip.

Excuse me, I wrote. I need to use the bathroom.

"Go ahead," he said awkwardly, pushing himself out of his seat and making room for me to pass by. I brushed past him slowly, making sure to glide my hand along his lower stomach before getting into the aisle. I felt his eyes on me like a burning laser, and the excitation literally made me feel like I could fly. This man was giving me more confidence than I ever thought I could muster. Maybe a little inappropriate, but hey, I deserve to be a daredevil once in a blue moon, since I couldn't remember the last time I had my adrenaline pumping through my veins like it was this very second.

As I walked to the bathroom, my shoe caught on somebody's backpack and I literally went flying, and not the way I wanted to fly. My head slammed against the side of a seat and I heard students already groggily muttering about the sound of my body slamming against the floor. I didn't think they could see who I was, though. It was still dark.

"Poppy?" I heard someone ask. I would have wanted to take time to identify which voice that was, but there was so many things going on in my head and the only thing I could hear was my own voice telling me to get the hell up and out of sight before I got publicity humiliated.

I got up quickly, ignoring the burning feeling in my cheeks and the actual burning sensation of rug-burn on my kneecap. I flew into the tiny bathroom and shut the door behind me, letting my own body slide onto the tiled blue and white floor. My fingers felt relaxed under the coldness of the tile, so I laid down completely and rested my cheek against it.

My heart thumped against the floor and my vision felt so foggy that I didn't even realize the bathroom lights were off, but I didn't care much either. My anxiety raised way past the normal limit and all at once tears escaped my pathetic, ugly green eyes.

Of course I couldn't successfully be sexy around Mr. Lee. I couldn't even talk, what made me think I could make him think I looked attractive? I probably looked repulsive. The thought of going back out there made me want to commit suicide right in this very bathroom.

I didn't know what to do, so I stayed where I was and thought about how pathetic and stupid I am. I silently cried, my body uncontrollably heaving and my tears of defeat creating tiny puddles around my face. I wished my mother was here to comfort me. She would have known how to make me feel better.

But she wasn't, and it was all my fault.