He glared at the back of the two girls' heads. He had finally squeezed a ride to school out of his self-centered brother, and now these two preps had forced him to sit in the truck bed. He swore under his breath as his long silver hair whipped around his head. How dare they butt in and make him sit out under the broiling heat of the sun! Then again, why should they care? After all, he was just a hanyou, an inferior half demon.
He cursed again, and then fell silent. He looked at his clawed hands, which were gripping his black leather bag. He carefully lifted the edge of his black sleeves to reveal a sliver of his mutilated arms. His fingers ran over his scarred skin emotionlessly, cracking one of the scabs that ran across his wrist. He wiped the blood from the open wounds, and slipped his hand into the pocket of his trench coat.
It was there! The brainless gits at the nuthouse hadn't even noticed it. The hanyou pulled the switchblade out of his pocket, and turned it over. No, they hadn't even seen it; if they had, they would have at least washed it. But the razor sharp blade was still caked with blood from last time.
He looked around to confirm that his brother was not watching, and then put it to his wrist.
Another very short chapter! But who doesn't love a little suspense, huh? READ ON! =D