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As I navigated through the chaotic scene that had erupted between Tresa and her followers, a heavy buzz of anger and resentment filling the air, I made my way down the crowded school hallways.
The students had gathered, their fury directed solely at Tresa and her actions, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. But now, instead of cowering away, I embraced the attention that had once terrified me.
And there, coming from the other end of the hallway, I spotted Dax. He walked alone, his friends nowhere in sight, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. There was a sense of calmness surrounding him that immediately put me at ease, even amidst the chaos.
Although he wasn't dressed in his usual uniform, he still managed to command attention in his ensemble of pencil jeans featuring a stylish knee rip, a bold red and white hoodie, with the hood pulled up to partially veil his face.
The addition of a black mask added an air of danger, reminiscent of the villains lurking within the pages of my stories.
Initially, I didn't notice him in the crowd, but his piercing sapphire eyes stood out, instantly recognizable. But then again, he was the type of boy who could wear anything and still claim ownership over the entire school.
A wave of trepidation washed over me as I questioned the choices that had led me to this moment. Would I regret what I was about to do? Despite the uncertainty, my determination to confess my feelings to him fueled my steps.
I took a deep breath and closed the distance between us as he walked in the opposite direction, seemingly stepping out of the depths of my dreams, embodying the very essence of the villainous boys I often crafted in my fictional tales. Seeing him now, in the flesh, everything seemed to click within my mind, creating an overpowering desire to reach out and embrace him.
We were mere steps away from exchanging words when, without any warning or reason, he forcefully grasped a handful of my brown, curly locks, which I had meticulously styled. My hair, the result of hours of care, was being manhandled by him. At first, I believed it to be another one of his cruel pranks, characteristic of the bully he had become known as. However, the intensity behind his actions left me bewildered. Something in his eyes betrayed an emotion I struggled to comprehend - anger.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dax
I despise you. Three simple words, yet they carry the weight of my disdain for all those I encounter. These words act as a constant reminder of the immense hatred I harbor, particularly towards my father. I loathe him - his voice, his face, and the very essence of his being. This abhorrence extends to those who surround me, depending on the faces that cross my path. Their mere presence is something I cannot stand.
Yesterday, I stumbled upon an unsettling revelation that ignited an uncontrollable inferno of rage within me. My father, the man I hold in contempt, plans to tie the knot with one of his deplorable mistresses. To make matters worse, this woman, whom I consider nothing more than a promiscuous slut, will become my stepmother. The thought alone fills my heart with increased animosity towards my father.
In my deluded mind, I had imagined a scenario in which my father would approach my mother with sincerity, bearing a bouquet of flowers.
With humility, he would kneel before her, uttering words of remorse and love. "I still love you deeply. Please return home with me, my love. Let us repair our once perfect family. Let us unite for the sake of our son. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me."
Alas, such daydreams were mere foolhardy fantasies, for my father has chosen to marry one of his mistresses instead.
Deeply wounded, I vowed to despise whoever my father selected as his future wife. Regrettably, the object of this newfound hatred, the very person I have sworn to loathe with every ounce of my being, is none other than Ms. Clementine. This name may ring a bell, as it bears the same last name, Coleman, as the young lady upon whom I bestow my affections. Irony relishes in the fact that my heart has chosen to entangle itself with the daughter of the woman my father intends to marry.
I had glimpsed her in my household before, but it never occurred to me that she was Skye's mother until I conducted some thorough research and unveiled her true identity. Mistresses were never my cup of tea, and Ms. Clementine fell into that dreaded category. She went about cooking for my father, toiling for my father, engaging in raucous sexual escapades with my father, and now, I find myself burdened with her daughter, Skye. The mere thought of it repulses me. Witnessing Skye entwined in the clutches of this woman and my own family cuts me to the core. In just a matter of months, she will transform into my stepsister, eradicating any semblance of the intimacy we shared.
"Ouch, Dax, what the bloody hell, release me!" I heard the enchanting girl before me cry out in agony as I held on tightly to her soft, curls of chestnut hair.
She fought valiantly to emancipate herself from my grasp, her futile attempts reminding me of my own battles to earn my father's approval, even though all my efforts were in vain, forcing me to strive for personal success.
Eventually, I released her hair, which carried a delightful hint of the hair oil she used, albeit leaving a slight residue on my hand.
"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed, extracting a handkerchief from the pocket of my hoodie to cleanse the oil from my hand.
"What has come over you?!" she inquired, her face contorted in a grimace. I did not respond. Once I finished wiping away the oil, I nonchalantly discarded the handkerchief into a nearby bin. "Are you even listening to me?!" she protested.
"Of course I can hear you," I retorted, a hint of annoyance lacing my words. "What do you think my ears are for?"
She hesitated for a moment, then replied cautiously, "To hear, I guess."
I smirked, the corners of my mouth curling up. "Well then, obviously I'm hearing you."
Frustration creased her brow as she shot back, "If you're hearing me, why didn't you answer?"
I leaned in closer, my voice dripping with arrogance. "Because I don't waste my time answering pointless questions."
She rolled her eyes and absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, the radiant glow of her pretty face capturing my attention. "I want to talk to you... in private," I managed to say, my tone demanding.
"Privately?" she echoed, surprise evident in her voice.
