I pause shy of the door, my hand poised on the knob to turn it and leave. I should leave. But I’m curious as shit and want to know what he’s reprimanding Saint for.
Nosey, nosey.
Why do I even care?
Now I’m the one stalking .
“Just because you come from one of the most prestigious families and one of the original six founders of this academy does not mean you are immune to the rules and punishments.”
And there it is.
When I was a child, my father had a cat. A demonic little shit with black fur and yellow eyes that hissed, yowled, and scratched like it was possessed by the devil itself. I liked to watch it. I grew curious at its cruelty and lashed out at the thing myself. I remember one particular moment when I yanked at its tail and the heathen bit me, teeth embedding so deeply into my skin that I bled for hours.
“You knew nothing good would come of it, and still you did it anyway,” my father chastised as he wiped my tears.
I’m not sure why this reminds me of that moment. Probably because I know I should not have listened to this, and yet I did. And there’s no going back from that truth.
Saint’s family funded and founded this fucking prison.
And they sent their son to rot in here right along with me. What the fuck did the vampire do to get sentenced here? Is he really that out of control that he risked his family’s reputation by getting locked away?
Nerves make my hands tremble as I push open the door. Saint’s response is lost among the cacophony of raucous calls and shouts of delinquent Prods.
I’m completely alone now, left to my own devices to roam these halls and find my next class. The sensation is overwhelming, but being alone is better than being in bad company. And everyone here seems like bad company.
I drag my feet to my next class without incident. On and on my day goes. I share most of my classes with my roommates, but we don’t approach each other, rather glare from across mildewy, half renovated, shitty classrooms. The only one who even offers me a small smile of reassurance is Malek in fourth period, but even he turns away from me to mingle with his own group of friends, other wolves it seems.
I can’t wait until the day is over. So far, I’ve learned nothing of importance, been given no clue as to what could be inside me. Just as the academy starts to feel like a huge waste of time, it’s lunch hour and my feet eagerly carry me to the cafeteria.
Finally. I have something to look forward to in the form of nourishment in my belly. Of a warm meal and cold milk. I’m one of those people who always liked high school food. I lived for chicken nugget day.
I can almost taste the crisp of fried bread crumbs on my taste buds as I push past the double doors and come to a screeching, surprised halt.
This… this can’t be it, can it? No pleasant aromas warm my senses and settle over me like the hug of an enthusiastic grandmother, who all but shoves food down your throat because ‘you’re too skinny’.
Instead, the smells that assault my nostrils are bland. The orderous stench of steam and sweat overpower the food and push the cravings straight from my stomach.
Why had I expected anything more? This isn’t grandma’s house. It’s the fucking Academy of Six, where everything looks like a fourth generation hand-me-down. From the curtains, to the chipped trays, to the stale fucking bread the kitchen staff hands out.
I take a tray and utensils, praying to whatever gods exist that they at least fucking sanitize them, and get in line.
The lunchroom windows are stained with mildew and what... may possibly be blood. They let in just enough mood lighting for depression to really feel at home here.
I swipe a preassembled plate of some sort of porridge type meal, with hotdogs diced up into big chunks, and keep moving with the others.
That’s been my goal here, just keep moving and try not to gag at this culinary bullshit on my tray.
So far so good.
Until a mammoth of a hand slams into my tray and the hotdog porridge splatters down the front of my skirt and burns down my calves. Pain sears into me, but the lock of my jaw is a harsher feeling while I breathe though the urge to just completely scream about every fucked up part of this academy.
My lashes open slowly on my next cautious breath.
Translucent wings catch the light and the halo around a cruel face with even crueler eyes staring down on me
“Watch where you’re going, Feck.”
The man’s wings shutter with an eerie clicking sound before he rams his shoulder into mine and walks right out, the eyes of this school holding up his ego every step he takes.
Fucking moth man. What the fuck is that? He has bug wings, and that makes him better than me? What are the standards here because Saint’s a vampire and he still gets shit on? I bet he wouldn’t be such hot shit if I pointed a can of Raid at his sorry ass.
My hands hold up at my sides and for a long moment I have no idea how to react. My lunch, which looks more like vomit, is sliding down my thighs and legs and there isn’t a napkin in sight. Can’t spare us that luxury it seems.
“Here…” Blonde hair slips into my space before the psycho angel from earlier today falls right to his knees, right in front of me. As if he might start a religion of my body and begin worshipping between my thighs at any moment.
A coldness presses at the highest part of the sticky mess, beginning just below my hem line at the inside of my thigh and he drags the white cloth ever so slowly down. I swallow hard and it’s impossible for me not to shift beneath his every move.
“There.” His warm breath kisses the quiet word against my skin before Syko stands to his full height, looking down on me with those sinfully dark eyes.
The small girl at his side rolls her big eyes at the man before taking her tray to a table at the back, her long blonde pigtails swinging with every step she takes.
“Thanks,” I rasp out on the weakest sound that pushes from my throat.
“You’re very welcome.” That smile of his shows every one of his perfect white teeth.
He nods to me and I trail after him to where the girl is sitting by the blood stained window.
“Don’t fall for it.” The girl shovels a spoon of muck into her mouth and I can’t help but wait to see if she gags it back up.
She swallows without change in facial expression.
Well. That solves it. This little girl is a demon for sure. Only someone straight from hell could have eaten hotdog porridge and not exorcist vomit right on the spot.
“Don’t fall for what?” I ask, pulling out my chair and taking the spot directly across from her. I don’t scoot in though. I don’t have food and after that warm welcome, I don’t think I’ll be staying.
The flat out way the girl seems to not give the tiniest hint of a fuck and the annoyance in her gaze when she looks at Syko makes me like her immediately.
Common interests and such.
“Don’t fall for that obnoxious flirtation my brother likes to shove down women’s throats. Don’t fall for it, you’re too good.” Her round face holds the soft curve of adolescence but it seems something in her has aged her outlook on life.
“No, she’s not. She’s not too good for it,” Syko whispers, his hip leaning right next to me, his palm splaying wide enough to nearly slip his fingers right between mine.
... shit maybe I’m not.
“She is.” The girl passes her cold glare back to her brother, and he arches a nearly white brow at her.