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She snorted, wrinkling her nose like a swine.
I hate that damned memory.
On instinct, like it always does, my fingers find my love handles—or where they would be if I still had them, I guess, and I pinch the skin tight. My fingers dig into my sides, and I may be staring at the girl in the mirror, but I'm not actually looking at her. Staring back at me is my mother from over a decade ago, her bleached-blonde hair drawn tight into a ponytail. She stares at me, pinching my sides with her manicured claws, and scrunching her nose up as the other girls with normal moms look over and whisper.
"Pig, pig, pig!" my mother practically shouts, squeezing me harder, and bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I would have promised anything to shut her up. I would have told her I wouldn't eat for a year, that I would run more laps in the backyard, and not sneak snacks up to my room late at night. But she never gave me the chance.
Duckface girl opens the door to the bathroom and leaves. The scrape of the door against the floor as it closes pulls me back from my childhood hell, and I look up to find the creep standing against the wall.
Where did he come from?
I catch eyes with him in the mirror as he shifts positions, leaning against the wall with one shoulder lazily pressed against the subway tile, staring at me.
He is cute for a total freak.
But then again, I ain't about that freak life.
Who says I love you to someone they just met, even if they qualify it withI think?
I think I love you.
Whatever, weird boy.
I don't care that he's got a face pretty enough to model in Paris and a body that belongs on the big screen. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me, his biceps stretching the white fabric of his dress shirt. He's lost the tie, or maybe he never had one, I can't remember. If he did, he took it off, though I don't blame him. It's hot as hell in here, and it makes me a little dizzy as fresh beads of sweat pop up low on my back.
My stomach pinches again, and I wince a little, I can't help it. He cocks an eyebrow, appearing more interested than concerned, but he doesn't say anything. He just stands there and stares at me. It seems like a pattern with him.
"You going to say something?" I finally ask him, matching his raised eyebrow with one of my own. "Or are you going to just stand there and try to remember your words?"
He cracks a toothy grin that makes me tingle all over as the door opens and a girl walks into the bathroom. She's pretty in a Disney princess sort of way, looking like Snow White just escaped the seven dwarves, but she's wearing a leather collar with a ring at the front around her neck, and the whole vibe she's sending me gives me pause.
Like what the fuck? I didn't realize we had permission to accessorize, not that I have my shit back to accessorize with yet.
Halfway inside the bathroom, the girl freezes, turns around, and looks at the creep, her mouth dropping open. She stands there a moment, frozen. Then she looks at me and looks back at him. He gives her a sharp glare that threatens something I can't quite figure out. A second later, she leaves the way she came and backs out of the room. Or at least I think she backs out before the world wobbles a little and my stomach does a great impression of a knife-twisting-slash-stabbing thing.
I lurch forward and grab onto the sink for support as the world turns like a Ferris Wheel. In the mirror, I see my stalker still staring at me as my vision goes black at the edges. I take a deep breath, and the world refocuses, but he is still there.
And now he's looking more pissed off than interested.
3
GABE
I'm pretty sure my Firefly tells me to go to hell before she leaves the classroom, darting away. It's cute, but it's also unusual, for me at least. See, I've gotten good at showing people what they want, and normally, it works on the first try. This girl craves knowing that she's worth something. It was written all over her from the moment she stepped into the room. It was in the slight shuffle of her feet and the downward glance of those breath-stealing eyes to the floor before she put her game face on and looked up at the rest of the classroom. I thought I'd win her over with the profession of love, though God knows Kill almost had a coronary at my words.
Bastard knows better than anyone that our kind doesn't love, not me, not Saint, and especially not him. Sure, we feel anger, hate, fear, and anxiety like the rest of the world, but love is something for other animals, not for us. Psychopaths aren't out there whispering loving words and doting on others. Well, not unless it benefits us. I came on too strong. I see that now because even the ones that crave attention don't tend to appreciate weird behavior.
Fuck.
I should have saidhellofirst oryou're beautifulor evenwanna fuck?I think any of those options would have done better than my profession of love. Goddamn, maybe I am a moron like my father likes to say.
I've got to fix this. I need to catch my Firefly. I have no idea what I'm going to do with her when I do, but I haven't been this excited since I set the dorm rooms on fire freshman year. Luckily, a guard just happened to be nearby and had a fire extinguisher handy, or we would've all been toast, me included. What can I say? Sometimes the burn is too hard to resist.
I should have tried to be normal, but God, when was the last time I had to try to be anything I'm not? Sure, I show people what they want to see, but that's easy. People tend to see what they want to see regardless of what I do or don't do, and there's an unspoken law. A pretty face must correlate to a nice person, or at least a nice personality, but that's not the case with me. If anything, I should come with a warning label.
Attention: Contents are extremely asshole-ish and deceptive. Also, they like to set shit on fire.
Luckily for me, that's not required, but the girl didn't seem at all affected by the look I'd been giving her for most of class. I know for a fact that look offers to take her into the nearest supply and bury my head between her legs until she squirts all over my face.
