I always thought life was a cycle.
Day after day, doing the same thing. All of your footsteps, slowly, ever so slowly, creating a rut in the ground until you can't see daylight any longer.
After my parents died, and I was transferred here, my plans were to make no attachments. I was going to float through school, and the only one I ever spoke to would be my brother.
Cyrus told me I wasn't the same after our parents died, but he wouldn't remember me anyway. I was 11, and he 10. A 10 year old isn't observant. And our parent's death did not affect me in any way.
I remember Cyrus asking me who gave me my cross barrette. I definitely love it. When I received it, it became a part of me. There isn't a day I haven't worn it. I don't remember for sure who gave it to me, but I assume it was one of my parents.
Our house was by a forest. It was wide, beautifully scattered with dozens of tens and hundreds of trees. Flowers, animals, colors, colors, colors. Everything that gave me an escape from the rut. That rut that I worked hard to stay in—the rut that I continuously jumped out of just to spend an hour in that forest.
All I ever wanted to do in that beautiful place was explore. Run around, tugging on the flowers and listening to the shift in the grass as I ran. I remember lying in the grass, watching the sky change shades, watching the clouds roll by. The things I'd do in that place until Cyrus trotted in and told me to come home for dinner.
I remember there being a child in that forest. Dressed in a blue cloak, and a white robe. I remember him wandering through the trees, swinging around a toy axe at the height of my knees. His obnoxious voice made the woods ring continuously with his laughter.
And when he first turned around—
I wake up in the morning with a start and a cold sweat.
"Morning," Cyrus says lazily, shoving a textbook into his bag. "You're late."
My body is already sitting up, and then it's moving, dressing me along the way, all the while my mind was reeling in confusion.
Finally, as I slipped my indigo jacket on, my voice found a way out. "I'm never late."
Cyrus grabs a granola bar from the food cabinet. "Well you are." His voice is muffled by the food in his mouth. He slings one strap over his shoulder and heads out the door.
I decided to skip breakfast, but three feet from the door, my stomach growled in protest. Checking the time, I skidded backwards, shoving an apple in my mouth.
Damn…already 6:30…
The half-eaten apple ends up in the garbage. My books won't all fit in my backpack, and when I try to take one of my binders out, papers scatter everywhere.
After maybe 10 minutes of picking up notes and worksheets, I stuff them into my bag and rush out the door, my bangs falling in my face.
As I rush out the door, constantly pulling my bangs to the side of my face, I glance at the spot where Aksel pushed me last night. The spot where he was serious about me…the spot where anything he desired to could've happened—
"Hey, Nikolaus," I hear the voice behind me already.
My face flushes as I turn to him. "It's 6:50…and you're just now leaving?"
"I could say the same for you." He grinned at me.
When we stepped outside, there were still puddles everywhere. As I start to walk forward into the street, he tugs my arm.
"Where ya' goin?"
"…School."
He frowns. "I know that. Why walk when you're this late?"
I sighed, glaring at the murky morning sky. "No other way."
Aksel tugs me around the building to a nearby parking lot. Hardly any cars are left—from what I know, the Swede and the Fin have been gone for a while. Sitting sloppily in a parking space is…what could be called the sexiest car I'd ever seen.
Sleek silver shine, daring black rims, folds in the hood, and deeply tinted windows.
"Now that is one fine car," Aksel grins to himself.
"It's…?" I stare up at him, completely fazed. He nods in response.
"Aaaaall mine." God, that voice of his.
"How can you afford a car while living alone?"
"I could afford to be sent here, right?"
That one doesn't deserve a reply.
"Anyway, get in."
I shake my head, my bangs falling down in my face again. I nearly yank them away trying to keep them still. Why the hell did they keep falling?
A large hand gripped my waist. Before I knew it, Aksel had me over his shoulder and was carrying me.
"Let me go, damn it! I can walk!" I kicked and shouted at him, but he just sat me down in his car.
"Relax, Norge," He sighed, sliding into the driver's seat.
"…Norge?" I raise an eyebrow.
The car purrs as the engine begins to run. "You're from Norway, so I'm calling you Norge."
"Should I call you Danmark?" I glance out the tinted window, and the car begins to move.
"Don't know. If you want," He shrugs.
I glare to the side-mirror. I don't.
The rest of the ride was silent. It took a couple of minutes to get to the center of campus. He dropped me off at my outdoor study hall.
As his car begins to pull around for him to leave, his voice stops me. "Norge."
I turn, internally cringing at accepting his stupid nickname.
He grins wide at me again, rolls down the window, and says, "You forgot something."
Aksel flicks something towards me. I catch it, glancing down at my palm.
My cross barrette.
I don't have to look up at him to hear the smirk in his voice. "See ya."
As I slide the clip into my hair, making sure my bangs are fastened behind it, I hear his car speed away.
There's only one thought I have: 'This guy…Aksel…he could be pretty interesting.'