Simon Snow is going to be my undoing. He and Bunce are always gallivanting around Watford like they own the place, babbling on about their latest escapade. Usually, I can ignore their shenanigans. This year is, apparently, an exception. It seems as if Snow is the sun, eternally present, eternally annoying. I had hoped that our fifth year at Watford would be a bit quieter than the last few, but no. Simon bloody Snow had to ruin everything. Every year, Snow and Bunce seem to have some sort of adventure (usually leading towards imminent death, which they somehow escape) and then return to Watford triumphant heroes. But before the adventuring and escaping death, they seem determined to talk every single student's ear off with their incessant planning and plotting. And me, as Snow's (unwitting) roommate, has to bear the brunt of the Snow/Bunce chatter overload. I also, despite my best efforts, seem to get wrapped up in their schemes. Not because they actually want to include me, of course. Why would the most powerful mage on the planet and his best friend (sidekick?) recruit their mortal enemy, heir to a family that hates both of them, to help them with one of their master plots? Especially because (according the the Mage's Heir himself) I am plotting to kill him! (Not that I plan to, at least until we graduate, Roommates Anathema and all that). Besides, I wouldn't want to associate with the likes of him anyways. Not that my parents would let me… But despite all of this, I somehow manage to end up involved in their endless plotting. Which brings me to the events of our fifth year at Watford, and my current… predicament.
All year, Snow has been prattling on about hares. Not heirs, which would at least be slightly more interesting. Hares. Bunny rabbits. All. Year. Long. I don't know all of the details, but essentially he has to find five hares around the school in order to save the Mage, who was stupid enough to get himself captured. Now, this would have been a joyous occasion for me and my family, except that somehow the disappearance of the mage only intensified the arguing among the old families. When I went home for Christmas break, my father was in a borderline murderous rage, and my stepmother's face was almost purple the entire time. The only cheery one was Aunt Fiona, and that was only because she caught a record number of rogue vampires. Still, spending a week with the gloomy Grimm family quickly assisted her in regaining her vindictiveness. And on top of the terrible holiday, my mind was hardly ever off of my roommate. Despite the fact that Snow was inadvertently the cause of my unpleasant week at home, I somehow found myself wishing that Simon was here. The lack of Simon's easy smiles, gold hair, and perfect moles, needled at me throughout the winter holidays. It didn't help that I had almost two weeks without anything to do, leaving me quite a lot of time to wander the pathways of my mind. But no matter what I did, every pathway led back to Simon. My infuriatingly perfect roommate, whom I hate with every fiber of my being. Or at least, my infuriatingly perfect roommate whom I am supposed to hate with every fiber of my being. But if I'm truly honest with myself (which doesn't happen very often) there are a few fibers in my body that might possibly like Snow a tiny bit… Well, really there are a lot of fibers in my body that are completely and totally enamored with Simon Snow. I've know that I'm gay for years. I came out to my family a few years ago, and they had not taken it well. Not only is the heir to the Pitch fortune a vampire, but he is also queer. Honestly, I think my father took the vampire piece better than the gay bit. At least there was some chance of me carrying on the Pitch bloodline back when I was supposedly a "straight" vampire. Now everyone just sort of ignores my homosexuality, like if they don't acknowledge it it will go away. Which is not happening, especially with my latest obsession. Simon Snow. I am, at least a little bit, in love with Simon Snow. My worst nemesis. My mortal enemy. And the straightest man to walk the Earth. My case is completely hopeless. But even that doesn't stop me from loving him. And for hating myself because of it.
So after a long and painful Christmas break, I returned to Watford especially icy. I hardly acknowledged Snow when he walked into our dorm, though I had watched him and his friends in the courtyard, through the window, less that five minutes earlier. Spending the hour before dinner alone in our dorm together without Bunce or Wellbelove to carry on a conversation was agony. Snow went about his merry way, putting away his things, changing into clothes for dinner (at which moment I pointedly stared at my computer screen), and finally, at long last, leaving. I sat back in my chair with an audible sigh of relief. Being in the same room Snow was becoming increasingly difficult. He was practically a little angel, with the golden hair and teasing smile, and every second I spend with him has become paradise and torture wrapped up into one painful bundle. I needed to escape, or else the longing and hatred would drive me insane.
Standing and pushing back my chair, I left the room, locking the door behind me. My metal tipped shoes scuffed against the cool stone of the Mummers house as I strode down the stairs. I needed to take a walk and clear my head of all thoughts of Simon Snow. As I stepped through the polished pine doors and into the swirling snow of the courtyard, my stomach lurched. My already pale face became almost white as I realized that I haven't fed in almost a week. Snow has distracted me so much that I haven't been consuming enough blood to keep me functioning. Frustrated, I altered my path and turned towards the catacombs. My feet crunched through the freshly fallen snow as I trudged through the white cloaked world. I've always loved the snow. I used to sit in our mansion, watching it fall, wishing for even a fraction of the freedom it possesses. Perhaps that is part of the reason I am so enamored with Simon Snow.
The tell-tale sound of heavy boots in snow filled the air. Boots that did not belong to me. I walked normally for a few paces, before whirling around on my heel to face my pursuer. But all that greeted me was an open expanse of snow. I shook my head, embarrassed at my ridiculous paranoia, and hurried towards the secret entrance of the catacombs.