Chapter Two: Heartless, Thy Name is Stan
"Mrs. Hathaway, would you care to explain to the entire class why you were late to runs this morning?" His verbal attack pounced on me like one of those poor animals on the discovery channel being stalked.
The preciseness of those words could come from no other mouth than that of Stan. Oh, all mighty and powerful Stan, the one every person in this room should bow down to due to his superiority. Being the man who has been stuck inside the little and low pay teaching job apparently makes him an expert on killing a Strigoi and taking care of a charge, though he has not had one in over ten years. I believe there would most likely be a reason for that as well, hmm, possibly the alcohol he hides away in his desk. I have always hated Stan.
Usually Stan and I go at it with our verbal attacks on each other, but this morning I was just too tired to deal with any more annoyances so I just shrug my shoulders and say, "I apologize, my alarm clock was set for the wrong time sir."
My response to his snarky comment surprised him, but it did not pull any string of leniency from his body. "Apologizing will not change the fact that you refused to be punctual this morning Mrs. Hathaway, now I don't know how Guardian Belikov and yourself operated—no wait, I believe I do know how, and I hope that you do not expect me to be as weak as he is." By the end of his rampage, Stan's tone became accusing, harsh, and unforgiving. His words mocked me, slapped me in the face, and stabbed me in the chest. Every student in the class stared at me, eyes wide and mouths open. I had no doubt that the Academy had known about the relationship between Dimitri and I through the way that I mourned after him. What was it that his family had said when I mourned with them? That I mourned as if I was a widow, as if Dimitri and I had actually been married and had enjoyed our happily ever after. Therefore, if it was so noticeable by his family, I did not expect it to be a big secret to those on campus, however, the manner in which Stan had insulted Dimitri for his attraction to me after all that I had been through, after all that Dimitri had been through was too much of a shock for one to bear. I wanted to attack him, to kill him even, all to defend Dimitri's honor. Who was Stan to believe that he was above Dimitri? Dimitri was a God among Guardians, a real badass.
But though my rage shook through my body, I could not bring myself to describe the anger into insults, only one word could escape my mouth.
"Was," I whispered.
"What?" Stan snapped.
"Dimitri was" I swallowed the pain, and tried to breathe steady, "not is."
Stan pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, "It doesn't matter, now go run laps until I tell you to stop."
I ran.
I cried.
I cursed.
I tripped.
But I still ran.
I ran away, far, far away. Running away from the idea that Dimitri was gone forever, diving myself into that last hope of his salvation, that one possibility for Lissa, or another Spirit user to revive the man I had loved. That I still love, and will always remember and love. I ran into my new age of hope, placing all my pain into the movement of muscle and sinew.
The other students from my class walked their way over to the cafeteria after being dismissed by Stan, but I never stopped running.
Time was a pointless thing to me. The amounts of laps that I ran were just as insignificant.
And when my body became weak, I ignored it.
All classes were finished and over with, but I still did not stop.
I could see the sun beginning to rise, but I kept going.
I felt like I could go on forever and ever, lap after lap, my mind pacing and finishing off worry after worry.
However, Stan thought differently, and literally had to tackle me to the ground to make me stop running.
When he lifted himself off me, asking me if I was okay,
I punched him in the face.
Then I passed out.
If I had hoped to awake to the bright white hospital walls of the Academy infirmary, I would have certainly been disappointed. The four walls that surrounded me were filled with posters of "Sports Illustrated" models, and some artists off of the "Rolling Stone". They were painted the same ugly pale yellow as the entire guest dorm rooms are. I was in a guest dorm room, but whose? What happened to Stan? Why was I not in the infirmary like usual protocol?
The grand entrance coming from the door to my right, answered every question that would ever pop into my head about what had happened after I passed out. Adrian.
This did not look good.
