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"Get on the ground!" he shouts. "Get on the ground now, motherfucker!"
It's not like either Michael or Xavier listens, though. They are too busy trying to kill each other.
I fucking cackle as the blood and punches add to the noise until it's one steady buzz ringing inside my skull. It starts like it always does, a nervous reaction, inevitable and one that used to creep the fuck out of my parents and scare the other kids when I was little. A minute in, though, and I'm laughing for real because these two beating the shit out of each other on a random Tuesday is perfection.
I have to hold onto the wall to gather myself as my middle hurts. The punches cease as both of the dumbasses are restrained with wrist hobbles and carted away to the hole.
Finally, when they are long gone, I stop guffawing and head to my first class.
It's math, and I fucking hate math. The numbers get all jumbled in my head, and I spend hours going down my pitted and potholed memory lane, reminiscing about my father yelling at me and telling me I'll never be good enough.
At the thought, my hand slips into the pocket of my black dress slacks, Academy issued and approved, to find the cool metal of the Zippo tucked inside. I open the cap and roll the wheel, pressing the lever as I've done so many times before. It lights on the first try. My girl always does, well except when I'm out of juice and have to steal some from the lighters in the employee locker rooms on the fourth floor.
I should catch my pants on fire, but I don't. I never do because I have my index finger wrapped tight around the nozzle. I feel the flame heat the underside of my finger momentarily, burning that spot on me once again. It snuffs out quickly due to the lack of oxygen, but I like when it burns. I've permanently disfigured the underside of my finger by now, but at least it burns away the memories.
I'm not listening to my father light into me.
I'm lighting myself on fire instead.
I do it again on my way to class, over and over, until even beneath the well-worn callous, my finger starts to sting.
I want it to stop.
I can't stop.
I turn right at the classroom at the end of the hall and head inside, taking the middle seat at the back like I always do. I place my books on my desk and don't open a single one. They are basically for fights nowadays or for when the rogue newbie decides to take a shiv to me in the hallway to try to earn his place at the top of the food chain.
They're fragile fucking things, designed to be safe for us crazies, and they are about to fall apart at this point, stained with blood and pitted from all the shit I've put them through. Sometimes I'll peek inside and see what's going on, but not today. It's too early for that shit, and I know what I'll find inside, all the numbers and letters jumbled up and reversed, becoming an entirely different alphabet.
Kill falls into a seat at my right, looking dead inside. He didn't bother to bring a single book, but I think they changed his meds or something because now he's sleepy all the time or angry, always looking for a jolt of something to wake himself up.
Students spill into the classroom one after another along with the professor until the bell rings and class begins. A minute later, a girl with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes stumbles through the door, nearly falling to her hands and knees, probably because her student guide is an asshole and shoved her.
The sunlight coming in from the windows hits her hair just right, and it erupts into a thousand tiny strands of orange, red, and gold.
Like the sun.
Bonfires.
Burningflames.
Fuck me.
I go still as the moron at the front barks at her to take a seat. There's only one open, and it's beside me. She walks down the aisle with her head held high, and when her eyes, the color of the sea, scroll to mine and don't back down, I wonder what I'm going to have to do to see her dressed in flames.
I cock my head at her as she takes a seat at the desk beside me. I catch a whiff of her scent, sugared strawberries, and I nearly come undone.
"I think I love you," I tell her as she takes her place beside me.
She freezes and looks over at me as doped-up Kill manages, "Ha! What the fuck, Gabe?"
Up close, her blue eyes are endless clear tropical waters, enough to douse the flames of her hair.
"What did you say to me?" she asks, her mouth falling open.
I smile, and she flinches.
It makes me feel warm and tingly all over, and the noise in my head goes silent for a moment.
