I will not bore you all with explanations on why my update was so slow to come. I will apologize however and I will warn you that updates will probably be weekly as opposed to my modus operandi of daily :p I've decided to do the whole story from Derek's POV because I think I'll be able to explore the dynamic between him and his family even further and I think it'll be interesting to write Derek as a normal person without the supernatural side to it. This story will most likely follow the same timeline as the original, which is why I ended this chapter where I did. BUT I am already working on the next and will hopefully *crossed finger* be done tonight or tomorrow and be able to update again sooner than expected.
Thank you readers and reviewers because you keep me going :) End of blathering now. Here's chapter 2 :p
The next two weeks passed by as similarly and as tediously as all the other school weeks in the year, years even. Football was fun enough—perhaps distracting enough is more apt—but I had to play with some of the most ignorant and self-important people to have ever walked this earth, which significantly lessened the enjoyableness of the experience. And it wasn't as if homework could be considered a diversion either, because frankly, I hardly had any, usually finishing it at lunch.
At first, I hadn't known what—who—I had needed a distraction from, why I suddenly felt restless and unsettled unless my mind was utterly occupied. It was when I caught her looking at me—frequently, might I add—that I couldn't push it away any longer.
Chloe Saunders had become the bane of my existence. After our first hour together, I had begun to see her everywhere. In the halls, I could pick out her light, almost strawberry, blonde hair from the crowd, differentiate it from the sea of overly-processed imposters; in English, she was the first thing I noticed when I walked into the room; and perhaps most maddening of all, was the fact that she looked at me, stared at me, it seemed, whenever she thought she could get away with it. There was never any fear or judgment in her gaze either; it was simply unadulterated curiosity, almost innocent, like she was trying to figure something out.
If I were lying to myself, I'd say that it was then, after noticing her looking at me from afar, that I began to wonder about her. But that was only valid if I were lying to myself. If I were being honest though, I'd grudgingly have to admit that my curiosity had blossomed after our first meeting, that I had infuriatingly began to watch her when I could. Observing her however, only contributed to my frustration.
Chloe was quiet; even with her friends, she seemed comfortable with taking the back seat, mostly smiling and laughing along as opposed to directing conversation. And when she was by herself, walking down the halls or seated in class, she seemed to draw into herself, as if trying to blend in and remain unnoticed. Aside from easily being able to deduce that she was either self-conscious or hiding something—it was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for—she remained a mystery. I didn't know about her, I couldn't figure her out, which was an unusual occurrence, for, at least the people I had been surrounded with for so long, were like rubiks cubes—once you knew the pattern, you could solve any one.
Now, looking down at her bent head as she studiously attempted to work out a problem that I had already identified a mistake in, my curiosity was reaching an unhealthy level. Why was she so quiet? Why did she stare at me so often? And how could she do so without malice? Why did she look so damn curious instead?
Her head snapped up unexpectedly, taking me slightly off guard, as she slid her paper towards me, looking quite proud. Glancing down at it, I made a five negative and in turn, drew in another negative in front of her otherwise right answer.
Her brows knit together in frustration and her blue eyes were brimming with annoyance.
"Not bad," I said. And it wasn't—I could already see an improvement from the first week.
She snorted quietly and stared at me with narrowed, challenging eyes, falling back into her chair, crossing her arms and pursing her lips gently.
It was altogether disconcerting for some reason and I suddenly felt dehydrated, throat going dry. Looking for anywhere else to set my eyes upon, I settled on my watch, which surprisingly indicated that the hour was up. Making as limited eye contact as possible, I grunted, "See you next week," even though I knew I'd see her tomorrow and even worse, wanted to ask whether or not I'd see her at the game. Did she like football? I doubted it—it wasn't fun to watch unless you were committed. Did she hate it and chose instead to stay home? Or did she go to support the school? I didn't know because I had never noticed her before, which seemed odd in retrospect, that she had slipped by me when now she seemed to be all I could actively take notice of.
"Are you going to the game," she asked quickly. Her eyes widened fractionally, as if surprised by her sudden question.
I regarded her levelly before answering. I was positive she knew I was on the team. As sad as it was, it was also unfortunately true. You'd have to be blind, deaf and living under a rock not to know who was on the worshipped team.
"I'm on the team. I kind of have to be there."
Her cheeks slowly flamed and she looked down, rapidly gathering her things. She got up, still avoiding eye contact and apparently so embarrassed, unable to even manage a goodbye. As she turned to leave though, what self-possession I had been grasping onto crumbled, the words that came out of my mouth un-thought of, almost impulsive. They were uncontrollable.
"Are you," I asked, hoping she couldn't see just how curious I was about her answer.
Her eyes met mine—finally—for a moment before she answered. "Yeah," she said quietly. She nodded and left, leaving me in the study room feeling strangely relieved.
I was on the couch, reading a new study about a protein that had recently been discovered and was believed to be connected to chromosomal conditions, when Simon ambled over to me from the kitchen, snatching the paper out of my hands.
I looked at him questioningly, registering his devilish grin.
"I saw Chloe today," he announced, still grinning.
I immediately tensed and it took all I had to remain stretched out on the couch when what I wanted to do was stand up to my full height and ask him to repeat himself.
"So," I asked, aiming for disinterest.
"You were right. She is really pretty."
This annoyed me. Simon had a reputation and I didn't want Chloe to be another one of his conquests. She was too good for that. Not for Simon—he truly was one of the good guys—but for the situation as a whole.
I shrugged, deciding that unresponsiveness would probably be the most beneficial.
"Is she—"
"I have to go," I interrupted before he could finish asking what was sure to be a question that would only make me more tightly wound. If the words 'Is she single,' had left his mouth, I don't know what I would have done, how I could have responded without sounding unaccountably defensive. I was up and out the door before he could respond, only pausing to grab my keys and my stuff—so what if I was a little early? It seemed better than the alternative. Plus, I didn't even know whether or not she was single—I hardly knew her at all. She could be in a committed relationship for all I knew. The sudden tightening of my hands around the steering wheel was chalked up to frustration over the past two weeks and at my irrationality as I continued to drive.
The locker room after a game was always an unfortunate place to be, whether we had lost or won. There were copious amounts of yelling; the shrill sound of lockers banging shut; the coach's loud voice booming either in excitement or vexation; and the annoying snippet of yelled conversations between teammates—altogether a very unpleasant environment, which is why I tried my best to get in and out as fast as possible.
Pulling my sweater over my head and grabbing my bag, I managed not to break stride as I left. I had just played the game, I had just lived it; I didn't need to—nor did I want to—go over the minutes once again in agonizing detail with people who had no filtration system and said whatever the hell came to mind.
The cool air that hit me was a relief; it seemed to clear my head and help me relax. Looking around, I noticed that the field was practically deserted, only a few parents or whoever else standing small and dispersed on the bleachers, waiting.
As I crossed into the parking lot, the night seemed to grow still around me, almost as if it were closing in on me, creating an odd, ominous feeling. Compelled by some unknown force, I picked up my pace, and as I turned a corner to get to the second extension of the lot, I stopped sharply to register the scene in front of me.
Chloe—I could tell it was her by her small frame and her hair—was walking rapidly, almost jogging, head bent against the wind. Four guys were following her. Four. And their intent was clear, distressingly clear, by the way they held themselves, in the way their gazes never seemed to stray from her.
"Chloe," I called, only taking a second to process the situation before reacting without thought.
Her head snapped around, eyes locking on me, seemingly ignorant of the distance, and looking so relieved she sagged a little with the feeling. I jogged towards her, paying no attention to the sick assholes that had been stalking her. A quick assessment when I had first spotted them enabled me to come to the secure conclusion that I could take them if it came to that. What surprised me was my readiness to stand between them and her, without question and without guilt.
As I slowed to a walk and they got a better look at me—six feet five inches of natural broadness and sturdiness that came with football—they seemed to come to the smart decision that it would be in their best interest to walk away.
As soon as Chloe was within hearing range, I let the question that had been eating away at the back of my mind free, not realizing until the words were out just how mad I was at her, at how she had handled the situation she was in.
"What the fuck," I asked, voice low.
R&R *imagine sweet, glowing smile* thank you :)
