Teacher!RussiaXTeacher!Reader~ Staying Strong 1

XXXXX
(Today is Wednesday)

Boring. One of many words that can describe the meeting you're going to. No matter how many times you attend the meetings, it never seemed to peak your interest. You always make up an excuse to avoid going but never really tried one out. Hetahima high school—located in (fake city), Minnesota— has lots of students but not enough staff members; one of many reasons why all teachers are required to go whether they want to or not.

Sometimes you wonder why you're even a teacher. You can barely stand people in general, let alone teens. However, Lily, your little sister, attends this school. You, above all, are protective of her and would (literally) kill anyone who'd make her cry. The thought of leaving your precious flower in a "man-eating" public school is unbearable. Groups will pull, tear, and push at her, which you're trying to prevent. So, you of all people, give up your happiness to make sure she's safe.


Especially from him. You HATE him. Your friends say that your "sadistic-like" personalities are quite similar. In response, you tell them it it isn't sadism—you're just cruel, stern, and strict to kids that get on your nerve or to those that bully your sister. Silly friends. It's not sadism, it's just plain negativity. There's a difference you know. Either way, you hate the man. Not only does he scare the kids but your sister too. She's in his class: Anatomy. Just a perfect class for a sadist. Being able to hold sharp objects and cut open/dissect dead, and sometimes live—until he kills it—animals is one way to traumatize the students. Especially the way he does it.

First, he grabs a frog—dead or alive, either or (preferably alive)—and pushes his thumb against its throat. Next he opens the mouth where he pokes a pin through the roof. Then pushes a couple of pins in the amphibian's hands and feet. He slams it against the dissecting sheet and holds it up to show the class. The teacher continues with the dissection by grabbing the tweezers and scalpel where he proceeds to take out the heart. The man's name begins with "I" and ends with "van". Last name: Braginsky.

You sigh. As the air around you becomes stuffy from the bodies of people coming into the room, your mind becomes clouded as well. You haven't been feeling good lately; ever since your mother passed away yesterday morning while she was walking with your father. Apparently someone wasn't paying attention and drove off the road. Supposedly the driver was sending a selfie to a friend. Your father received a few minor injuries while your mother's ribs were shattered and pierced her lungs, which resulted in her death.


As soon as you began teaching your class, you were notified of this event. Tears begin to take its place in your eyes, but as stubborn as you are, you didn't let that interrupt your teaching. All you did was excuse yourself from the class, asked Alfred F. Jones, the U.S. History teacher who was on breakfast break, to sub for the rest of the day. No questions asked. Immediately, you began to head towards your sister's class and excused her from school. As you stood beside your mother's bed in the hospital for the entire time—until she died—your mind was blank. Your father, who thankfully saw the car coming and ran to your mother, broke his right arm and shattered a few ribs. Both of your family members were crying. You weren't. Too shocked to comprehend what had happened thirty minutes ago; too flustered by the incoming thoughts that intruded your mind; too scared to speak; and too scared to move. The emotion you held in that room was unfamiliar to you. I mean, you felt all those emotions before, but not all clustered together like a snowball. The last words you heard from your mother were "Stay strong," and "I love you". Silence fills the room when the heart monitor became monotone. That's when you finally let out your emotions. As you silently wept, the other two wailed. Sobs and cries flood the hallways of the hospital, resulting in nurses and a doctor to rush in.


Five minutes later, after exhausting work and effort, they confirmed your mother dead. That day, yesterday—specifically November 19—was Tuesday. The funeral was scheduled immediately on Sunday. Indubitably, the media gets a hold of this tragic event and publishes it in the newspaper: "DRIVER HITS COUPLE AS SHE WAS TAKING A SELFIE. ONE BADLY INJURED AND THE OTHER DEAD." This, of course, causes a mess for your family. Your father was put into a mental hospital because of the traumatic scene he saw, while you and your sister continued to stay strong.

However... "Alright everyone! Let's start this meeting already and then get the hell out of here!" Cheers erupt from the room. All except you, Ludwig, Kiku, Matt, and him didn't cheer.  The meeting was, yet again, long and boring. Too long to be talking about one subject for three hours. You had places to go and people to see. Overall, you slept right through the meeting. Who cares anyway? It's not like the school is going to "let go" or fire people. That's absurd! If anything, they'll just make those slacker's schedule loaded—no breaks. Finally, after pointless talking, the meeting was adjourned. "(Name)," a voice began. "Can I talk to you for a second?" You whirl your head around to see Alfred rubbing his usual blonde, bed-headed hair.

Raising a brow, you shrug, "Sure, what's up?" The colleague fiddles with his gloved hands before looking back up at you. Without a doubt, something was wrong. Why would a usual hyperactive male be all shy-like and serious? It's unheard of! His glasses drops down at the bridge of his nose as he looks up at you with his ocean colored eyes. Great, you thought, I wonder what this is gonna be about... Secretly, you roll your (e/c) eyes, or when Alfred wasn't looking.

Of course you know what it's going to be about. It was in the newspaper for Pete's sake! The fact that rows of people surrounded you and your sister when you came to school this morning was not admirable at all. If anything, it just dug a deeper, darker, and more depressing hole—reminding you two of your loss who had told you two (three including father) to stay strong. That uncomfortable feeling in your gut returns yet again for another round of misery. "A-Alfred," you mumble as you feel your vision becoming blurry. "I-I think I know what this is about. I get it, you're sorry for my lo—"

"Actually," interrupts the all-American with a tiny bit of confusion in his voice; "I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go and get McDonald's with me after this." Feeling as though it wasn't the right time to ask, Alfred begins to turn the other direction. "But..."

He becomes silent when you place your hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. But now's obviously not a good time. Please excuse me, I should be getting home." You cover your face with your (h/c) hair while you walk out of the room. Your vision becomes very blurry when you reached the head of the hallway—to the point where tears begin to stream down your reddened, heated cheeks. This was a pitiful sight, you thought. Showing weakness in public isn't ideal for you, especially when you're at work. All you want to do is grab your sister and get the hell out of here.

You lived alongside your parents—since your job takes place in your hometown. Might as well bunker down at home since you, who, not only skipped two grades, graduated from college a master's degree and worked as a full time teacher, didn't have a home. You stayed at a friends house where you rented out their basement for the time being. This time, though, you will be staying in your old house. With your mother whom passed away and your father in a mental hospital, your little sister Lily would be left alone unsupervised until your father's mentality is stable. This, however, is unacceptable for you; for your sister is your pride and joy, and leaving her alone leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

As you continue to walk down the empty hallways of Hetahima high, the silhouette of a petite girl comes into view. Her long, chestnut-brown hair flows down to her lower back. When she hears you approaching, your (e/c) eyes meet. A shy smile forms on her (s/c) face as she says, "Hey, sis. Can we go home?" One of only few people could make you smile, and, of course, your sister is one of them.

"Sure? Got all your things, notebooks, textbooks, etc.? You know that I don't want to come back here again; better safe than sorry." Lily chuckles, which was the first time befo— "I'll take that as a yes."

Just as the two of you reached the front entrance of the school, an icy chill runs down your spine. You know it was him: Ivan Braginsky. The hand that was about to reach for the handle had stopped and, instead, begun to tremble. You begin to  perspire little beads that soon trickle down your face. Lily notices this and turns around to see who caused it. "Привет, студент и товарищ," he hums. To be honest, the sound of his voice is like nails on chalkboard for you. The fact that he's even showing his face to you and your sister causes you to explode inside. The Russian, now two meters behind you, can tell he's on your last nerve. Everyone thinks it's some sort of rivalry when in reality it's just plain hate. You don't envy him, you hate him. If anything, you guys are archenemies. You don't have one specific reason to loathe him; you have many reasons. Undoubtedly, your sister is one of them. "Привет, (name)." The icy, yet not threatening tone in his voice causes the hairs on your neck to rise.

With a lump in your throat, you mutter, "Y-yeah, hello to you too, Braginsky."Just as the blood returns to your hand, you immediately open the door. "And if you excuse us, we're going home."

~~~~~~~~~~