Bella
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The chill from earlier returned, settling deep into my bones. He was moving with the same effortless grace, almost like he was familiar with every lock and combination in this place. My heart skipped a beat.
"What are you doing in my locker?" I asked him, fists clenching at my sides.
He didn't reply and continued to search through the locker like I wasn't even there.
"Hey, I am talking to you!" I yelled, my voice echoing down the hallway. But again, no answer.
My jaw locked, and maybe stupidity or fury clicked in as I attempted to push him away from my locker. I failed woefully. He didn't budge. It was like trying to shove a wall. "Get away from my locker!" I repeated through clenched teeth, my voice trembling with frustration.
He paused. Finally, a reaction.
Then he side-glanced at me, his dark eyes momentarily flashing silver or something like it. Maybe it was the reflection of the overhead lights, or maybe I was seeing things, but it was quick, and so was his return to ignoring me. Without a word, he continued rummaging through my locker, tossing things out like they were meaningless trash.
"Stop that!" I shouted again, desperation creeping into my voice.
He still didn't stop.
One by one, he flung my belongings out. My textbooks, books I'd carefully packed and sent ahead to the school weeks ago, hit the floor with loud thuds. I watched helplessly as he picked up the most important one, a worn-out leather journal that had once belonged to my dad. He glanced at it briefly, then tossed it aside like it meant nothing. A picture fluttered out from between the pages as it landed on the floor.
A picture of my dad.
I lost it.
"I said stop it!" I screamed, my voice cracking. Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I raised my hand and struck him across the cheek.
The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot in the dead hallway. Everything went still.
Even my stalkers were shocked. Even I was shocked. But I lost it when I saw that photo of my father falling out, a photo I didn't even know existed. My anger was valid, I repeated to myself, trying to calm the speed marathon happening in my chest. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.
Mr. Dark and Brooding slowly turned his face back to me, a sharp glare cutting through me like ice. Then, without a word, he threw off his hoodie.
His tousled, long black hair clung slightly to his forehead, damp from either rain or sweat, and it gave him an almost otherworldly edge, mysterious, wild, dangerous. Something imposing and powerful seemed to radiate from him. It was terrifying, but I stood my ground… or at least, I tried to.
He stepped forward.
I instinctively took a step back, then another, until my back hit the locker. He closed the distance, invading my space, and in his hand was a small black box. It pulsed faintly, eerie red symbols etched into its surface, symbols identical to the ones that had been slapped onto my forehead by that girl in the morning class. My blood ran cold.
He grabbed my wrist before I could react, his grip tight and unrelenting.
"Let me go!" I struggled, panic rising, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster.
He pressed my finger down on the box.
I felt a prick, sharp and sudden, and snapped my hand away as if burned.
"Slave contract accepted," chimed a mechanical voice from the box.
My breath caught in my throat. What?
He tossed the box carelessly back into my locker like it meant nothing, then turned his back to me and walked away, silent, like a storm that had passed but left behind shattered glass and chaos.
I stood there frozen, blood roaring in my ears, staring at the locker, at the box, at the photo of my father still lying on the floor.
What just happened?
I was still in shock, my fingers tingling from where they'd touched that strange box, when the pale girl suddenly shoved me hard against a locker. The metal slammed into my back, and before I could react, she leaned in, too close, her icy face inches from mine.
Her breath… There was none.
It hit me all at once. She was speaking, lips moving, words coming out, but no breath, no warmth. Nothing normal.
"So, you managed to push away the only person who could save you," she said with a twisted little snigger. Her voice was smooth but laced with venom, like a snake enjoying its meal. "You're officially food now."
She pulled back with a wicked smirk, then stood tall and elegant, the predator in full display. Without a second glance, she kicked my books…my dad's book, across the hallway like they were garbage. Her pale entourage followed, silent and sneering, their laughter soft and eerie as they drifted after her like shadows.
For a moment, I just stood there, pressed against the locker, my body frozen, my mind racing.
Food?
What the hell did she mean by that?
The hallway felt colder somehow, emptier, like whatever normalcy this school once had was slipping right through my fingers. Slowly, I let out a sigh, the kind that comes when you're trying not to scream, and bent down to pick up my books before anyone else could kick them farther away.
I didn't know what game I had just been dragged into… but I had a feeling it wasn't one I could easily walk away from.
But whatever the case, that boy caused it all. I wouldn't have touched that box if I'd known what it was. He set me up. Manipulated the whole thing like it was a damn game.
I ground my jaws, fists clenched at my sides, my blood boiling with a rage I could barely contain. They thought I was weak. That I'd just sit back and take it.
But what he and his pale-faced freak show didn't know was that I wasn't the type of nerd who cried in the bathroom after being picked on.
I was the type who learned, adapted, and built bombs in her basement.
I was not going to allow myself to be bullied. Not here. Not ever.