Eyes. A lot of eyes are on us. I’ve never been a fan of grabbing people’s attention.  Whenever Charlotte bullies me with her friends, the thing I hate most is the attention and the crowd gossiping. I can't just tell people to ignore because this ain't Europe where people usually mind their own business. 
“Open up for me, darlin',” Syntho orders, my brows draw together as he holds a spoon in front of my mouth with a piece of bacon and rice on it. 
“Put that down,” I command, pointing to the spoon he’s holding.
“Why? You seem more preoccupied than eating your lunch. At least let me feed you while your mind wanders. So, open up for me," Is he serious? And why does he look like he’s enjoying this?
“Put that down. I can feed my own mouth.”  Luckily, he does as I ask.  He obediently puts the spoon back on my plate.
“Eat your lunch before I feed you.”  He fixes his eyes on me as I eat, and he doesn’t break eye contact until I finish all my food.
I should get used to his features; I made him after all. How did I end up giving him that rose tattoo under his left eye? And his age?  He’s 28!
“Age gap is just basically a number. Don’t worry about it.  It won’t hurt me that much."
“We really do need to talk after class,” I reply before getting up and reaching for my empty tray. But he’s faster.
“Your afternoon class starts in seven minutes. Go back to your room. I’ll put your tray back. Now, go,” gosh why is he doing this to me? 
“I still have time, plus there’s no need for you to do that.” 
“I insist. Go.”
“But Syntho…”
“Go now, darlin’.”
I give up. I sigh and turn my back on him, walking out of the cafeteria to my classroom. Luckily, I don’t see Charlotte, because I’m sure she would bully me, along with her friends.
I’m scared.  Not of Syntho, but of all the secrets I’ve told him.  Secrets that I’ve never told my parents, because I’m afraid they’ll judge me. That they’ll never understand me. Yes, I did grow up with strict Asian parents. I learned to fake falling asleep. I learned to recognize their footsteps, even their sneeze, the knocks they make on my door. I learned to lie to them. I always stay in my room.  I’m not comfortable around them, I don’t share everything with them, and they clearly think I’m innocent, because all I do is study. Lastly, I have trust issues when it comes to my family. Not just with my parents, but with everyone I’ve grown up with.  I’ve grown up with no physical touch, so a single touch from them makes me want to scrub my own skin so hard, trying to erase that skin contact. It makes me want to cut off my own body.
Sure, I’m aware that they’re my family, but I’ve built a wall to hide my true self from them.  They don’t even know that I’ve been cutting myself for the past years. They haven’t noticed that I’ve been suffering from depression and anxiety, because I’m good at hiding it. I’m good at wearing a mask, while underneath it is a face that’s already drowning. I might look fine physically, but mentally, I’m really not.
'I’m always here with you, Missy,' I hear Syntho’s voice.
“The hell? I’m in class. Stop talking to me, Syntho,” I mumble.
“Lombardi, are you listening?” I look up as Mr. Kellan speaks during his lecture.
“I’m all ears, sir,” I reply calmly, but he doesn’t seem convinced.
“Very well. Mind if you continue to solve this problem?” he points to the whiteboard.
∫₀¹ (ln x) / √x dx Improper Integral. I know this one. I get up and go to the front of the whiteboard.  Mr. Kellan hands me the marker as I turn to face the class.
“In this case, we have to solve the improper integral step-by-step. Since the integrand has a vertical asymptote at x = 0, we rewrite the integral as a limit,” I say, turning to face the whiteboard and beginning to write.  The first step is to rewrite as a limit. The second step is integration by parts. The third step is to solve the remaining integral. The fourth step is to evaluate the definite integral (with limits). The fifth step is to evaluate the limit until we get the final answer.  “The value of the improper integral is -4.” I explain while looking at the class after I’ve explained in detail the Calculus problem. I see some of my classmates yawn and look bored, but it’s not my problem to worry about. I’ve done what Mr. Kellan told me to do. It’s up to them if they listen or not. I’ve done my best to explain it thoroughly.
'You did well on explaining the Calculus problem,' a voice says, making me jump as I leave the room.  I find Syntho leaning against the wall, right across from the door. He’s focused on me, while my classmates stare at him with amusement.  Good thing he didn’t interrupt me during the Calculus lecture, because I was able to focus after that.  As soon as there’s nothing blocking my way out of the room, he pushes off the wall and walks towards me before grabbing my wrist gently.
“I want to show you something,” and this prick slowly interlacing his fingers with mine.
“But I have to go home after class,” It’s always been like that, the same routine every day. Wake up, school, home, study. Pretty boring for a high school student like me. 
“I promise you’ll love it. I’ll explain to your parents once we get home. Trust me,” his eyes lit up and I feel bad I have to decline him. 
“Syntho…”  My parents will hate me if I disobey them. For them, I’m always the good kid who always does what they want.  I really hate to see the disappointment on their faces, and that’s what I try to avoid as much as possible. “I’m sorry, but can we just go home?”
The smile on his lips slowly fades.  “I understand. It’s okay. Let’s go.”
We walk down the hallway in silence, when suddenly, Charlotte appears with her friends.  I wonder what she wants now. Isn't she getting tired of all this bullying?
She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m not letting you off the hook just because you have someone now, Shan.”
Syntho steps in front of me, blocking my face with his back so I can’t see Charlotte. 'Stay behind me,' he commands silently, but I hear him inside my head like it's normal. His fingers are still intertwined with mine.
“That only means you have to go through me now before you hurt what’s mine. She might be weak to fight you, but I’m not letting you lay another finger on her,” his voice cold and authoritative. But I hear Charlotte’s friends laughing. I totally understand them. 
“Do you think we’ll be threatened that easily just because you have tattoos and you’re hot and basically my type?”  That’s clearly Selene’s voice.  But was that a compliment?
“He’s my type too,” Drea comments.
“By the looks of it, you’re probably rich and kind of a daddy type I like—aw!  What’s that for, Sel?  He’s a daddy,” Lian states.  Of course, I know what Lian means by that. Syntho is indeed a 'daddy' because I prefer older men with tattoos, a beard, and a muscular build. And perhaps I have 'daddy issues.'
'Seriously, darlin'? Is that what you're thinking right now while I'm dealing with Charlotte?You knew I can hear your thoughts.' 
Duh of course, I’m aware that he knows about my 'issues' and I’ve already told him how I’m attracted to older men, rather than men my own age.
“Will you girls stop talking?!” Charlotte snaps.  She sounds pissed off about this situation and everything that’s going on.  Honestly, there’s a part of me that’s proud, because I made Syntho.  I’m his creator.  Of course, I have a specific type of man. A man who’s not even a real human.