1. LAST SIGHT
My mother-figure drove me towards the direction of some kind of busy and smelly airport with the music blasting in my ears, full volume, the rhythm resembling something of modern techno-pop. Lady Gaga, no less. It was probably some fifty degrees below zero in Oymyakon, the sky a dismal, melancholy blue-grey, hardened snow still falling from the depressed clouds. I was wearing my usual attire, consisting of my favorite gothic lolita-inspired navy dress, complete with a black- and white-striped ribbon, somewhat matching my hair ribbon if you remove the black stripes. In my hand was a pair of shades, of which my mother-figure bought for me a few months back, when she told me we were to be moving soon. Soon is now, and now is ugh.
In practically the middle of nowhere, in some country I've never heard of before until my mother-figure started babbling about it to me frequently, a municipality in the Illizi Province called Bordj Omar Driss exists under a near-constant reign of the sun. The sun is up in this insignificant little municipality more than almost any other place in the world, or so my mother-figure claimed. It was from this municipality and its ebullient, happy skies that my mother-figure dragged me to when I was only a few days old or so. Which means I don't remember much about it, but that isn't too relevant. It was in this municipality that I'd been forced to spend a month every winter until I was a frustrating three years old. That was the year when my mother-figure and her husband realized that they preferred to have their heads on their necks and not dismantled by me. I don't blame them too much. Especially not my father, Toris, who I hold a far better respect than my mother-figure. He is just scared of me as all. Err, during the rare times I am angry at him, anyway.
It was to Bordj Omar Driss that I now hid myself—an action that made me realize I was quite the insane masochist. I loathed Bordj Omar Driss. Not as much as I loathed other things, particularly anyone who is not my brother or spaghetti straps. I, honestly, cannot even say I like my original birth place, Oymyakon, but I digress.
"Bella," my mother-figure said to me, to which I replied with an annoyed, That's not my name, mother; it is Bel, but my mother-figure ignored whatever I said, as always. My mother-figure watched me get onto the plane, tears in the corners of those caliginous, half-lidded emerald eyes, lips quivering with some sensual sense of pride. "Tell Liet that I like, like him!"
I frowned. My mother-figure looks nothing like me. While I have practically white long hair and a pair of (supposedly icy and intimidating, as people have said) violet eyes, my mother-figure had short blonde hair and, as aforementioned, emerald eyes that always seemed to be half-lidded. My mother-figure looks almost as young as me, but then again, I am practically almost sure that he is. Apparently, I was adopted anyway, which explains our lack of resemblances. If he were the one who gave birth to me, then I would have already killed myself when I was two years old.
I didn't even bother looking back to my mother-figure's wide, childlike eyes, how they usually bore into my soul and lured me into almost-slavery. I wouldn't mind leaving my defenseless, useless, good-for-nothing mother-figure alone to fend for himself. He hadn't anyone else, and the divorce was sporadic and regrettable, but the two still refuse to speak, stubborn as they are. It's fine though. My mother-figure surprises me sometimes by being able to live through a year with only a cell phone. He's just that kind of a man.
"I won't tell him," I deadpanned gravely, hearing him whine and flail and bawl right behind me. I'm not lying; I really wasn't going to tell Toris. It is disgusting. I do not indulge myself in being a messenger of sentiments. Also, I am good at being honest. Really.
"Tell Liet I said, like hi, at least!"
"I won't."
"But… but… you, like have to," my mother-figure insisted pathetically, and that was when I could feel his iron grip around my waist. "Or else I'll, like cry! For real, Bella!"
I could see fresh tears dribbling down his flushed cheeks now, and feigned or not, I couldn't care.
"It's Bel," I urged nonchalantly. "You'll live. I loathe you, mother."
My mother-figure stared at me intently for a prolonged minute with ardent anger, and then I got on the plane, and he was gone.
It's a twelve-hour flight from Oymyakon to Bordj Omar Driss, counting every stop in-between, of which I have no clue about. All I know is that I am flying from Russia to some place down in the south. That is all. Flying bothers me somewhat; it is tedious, and I honestly would rather that Toris drive me to my destination in question. Airplanes worry me.
Toris had been pretty nice about the whole thing, especially considering my mother-figure is a pretty difficult person to reason with. He seemed genuinely happy to find that I was to be living with him for the first time in the span of thirteen years. He told me he had already registered me for a high school somewhere close to where he was currently residing in, and he was going to help me get a car in a few months or so. Which, really, is not necessary at all, considering I don't have a driver's license. Naturally, nobody listens to me when I say something of significant importance. His ignorance was rubbed off on him by my mother-figure, I suppose.
But it was surely going to be a better life with Toris. He did all the talking, and I pretended to listen. It was the perfect relationship. My mother-figure always did annoy me with this, as he would keep talking, and I would keep droning him out, and he would expect a detailed response from me in the form of valley girl talk. I do not want to talk like the rest of this convoluted population. They disgust me, what, with their plethora of unnecessary "like's" and their stentorian music and their clothing choices. That is why I wear antique-esque clothing. Fortunately, people dare not cross my path when it came to mockery of my rather refined tastes. People are scared of me. At least they have some sensibility in the area of the stake of their lives.
When I landed at the airport in Bordj Omar Driss, it was so sunny out that I found my retinas begging for me to punch the sun out of existence. Instead of complying with my body's wishes, I merely put on the shades my mother-figure bought for me and found my eyes calming down, albeit only slightly. Surprisingly, I miss the unbearably freezing temperatures back in Russia already.
Toris was waiting for me in a police car. Of course, I expected something like this, as this is, from what I have conceived over the years, the only kind of car my family owns. My mother-figure insists on riding his pony every day, and he even bought me one, much to my dismay. I have not ridden it since the day I buried it somewhere in our backyard. I believe it is dead already, anyway.
Toris gave me a small wave, then a smile when I floated my way off the plane.
"Bells, long time no see," he greeted, smiling as he rolled down the window and motioned for me to come inside. I stood still, expression unmoving. "You look so pretty and grown-up! I'm proud? Oh, and how's Feliks?"
"The same," I replied in a deadly monotone, finally succumbing to Toris's anxious gesticulations and walked into his police car. Almost as if I was a murderer and he was to be taking me to the police station. I suppose I am a murderer, but he doesn't know that. I do not make my hobbies very clear.
I didn't bring much. There was nothing I particularly wanted to bring along with me, save for a few clothes and some spare knives and a few weapons, just in case. Surprisingly, I was not caught during the weapon inspection on the airplane. Typical.
"I found a good car for you. Expensive, but we'll make do, right?" he asked no one in particular, or maybe he was asking me. That did not matter though, because my only response was an ambiguous sound that resembled something of an "umph".
The rest of the car ride was dominated with my Lithuanian father's serenading voice. I droned him out, watching the bright scenery from behind the oblique window. I felt like a stranger in a new world then and there, wondering whether or not I would be able to survive the frequency of the bright sun overhead. I convinced myself I would shrivel up and die from the heat and the light and the lack of cold, and I suddenly found myself interested in that form of death. Frankly, I would have preferred something more violent and bloody, but becoming a prune-corpse would be good, too.
"So, do you like it here so far?" I heard Toris ask me, snapping me out of my reverie. I didn't answer for a while, mainly because I didn't want to and he should very well have been used to that by now, but I guess he was not for he reiterated his question: "Do you like it here so far, Bells?"
"No."
"Oh."
Therein afterwards, the car ride was dead silent, save for the rush of rolling car tires on pavement and the soft piano music playing in the speakers. I liked the quietness of it all. I actually enjoyed being with Toris during moments such as these.
When we finally reached Toris's household, I almost puked in response. Everything was so disgustingly brown—rotting brown, as if death swooped in and ate up every living thing, leaving only small remnants of withering life. Naturally, I would have liked that, but the fact that I would be living here in such a disastrous area, where the sun was out and beating up the leaves, I couldn't stand it. I could already feel a lack of oxygen from having no plants around. Just… death.
Actually, no. I liked it here. It was better than being stuck with my mother-figure by a longshot.
Toris's house, even, was respectable: a two-story house made of firm red bricks, plastered together perfectly with white, and I especially like the dismal and caliginous maroon door. It was the shade of dried up blood.
"Dad, this is better than my mother's house. Thank you." I never made myself to express gratitude on a daily basis, but I suppose Toris would deserve it from time to time. He has made my life all the more bearable, and for that I am truly, undoubtedly, and surprisingly grateful. For now, in the very least.
"I'm glad you like it, Bells," Toris said with a flustered expression, a pink blush dusting his pale cheeks. He looked like an embarrassed school girl. Not that something like that would be surprising, considering his and my mother-figure's past kinks. I would not like to think of that anymore, though…
It only took me one trip to get all my stuff upstairs, but that may be from the fact that I hadn't much luggage to begin with anyway. Even though I really could not care in the least, I would like to note that I received the east bedroom, the one that faced out over our back yard. That meant that I was free from the sun, which, I suppose, is the only positive of having the west bedroom. The room was foreign; it had belonged to my older sister four years my junior, and I suppose it was passed down to me now that she is out of the house and living somewhere, her whereabouts unknown. Everything was worn out and a shade of yellow. I hated it. And, now I had to deal with it for the rest of my existence here, in this little sunny municipality, until I am finally out of both clutches of my parents.
Unfortunately, there was only one bathroom at the top of the stairs, meaning I will have to be sharing this with Toris. Hopefully, I don't have to if he knows what's best for him.
One of the worst things about Toris is that he pokes his head into my business frequently. Other than that, he is manageable. However, whilst I was unpacking my items, I found him staring at me inconspicuously from behind my new door, staring at me intently, and then flushing when he realized moments later that I knew of his annoying existence near my presence. So, then he left hastily, practically tripped along the way, and I resumed to my task in hand dutifully. Tomorrow was to be the bane of my entire life, so I had to prepare myself.
The school Toris registered me at was apparently called "Bordj Omar Driss High School," a logical yet uncreative name, I suppose. It is only a few minutes away from where I'm currently residing, which means I fortunately have the ability to walk there. I am not content with getting a ride to school in Toris's police car. That was just begging for attention, which, of course, I did not like.
Anyway, Bordj Omar Driss High School had a rather large population of only six hundred and sixty-five—now six hundred and sixty-six, thanks to me—students; back in my old school, there were only around one hundred or so people in the entire school, counting staff members. I would most definitely hate this school year, now, as everyone I knew back then were scared of me and never talked to me. That is because everyone grew up together at my old Russian school. Here, they don't know me. They don't know that I'm plotting to kill them. They just don't know. But hopefully, they will learn soon enough, or they will have to face the unfortunate consequences of being killed. I would say I pity them, but I do not like to lie.
I looked at the clothes in my suitcase and decided that I would be wearing the same clothes tomorrow—my dress, my ribbon, my boots. That would repel everyone, and I may be able to live through the entire year without being noticed, even despite the plethora of attention I would be gaining for being the new student.
I slipped under my pale yellow covers and stared, annoyed, at the light switch. Stupid light, bothering me every single moment of my life… I practically had to force myself to trudge out of bed and flick the switch down, making the light bulb die out and consuming the room in a forbidding velvet of ebony.
Content with the darkness, I returned to my bed, making an attempt to sleep as soon as my head fell onto the pillows. Today is the end of the winter, and come summer tomorrow—a painfully long, blazing, and insane summer.
I slept exceptionally well that night. When I woke up the next morning… that was a different matter altogether. I was absolutely petulant, my mouth foaming with seething poison, and Toris was obviously aware of the danger he would have to face when I came down for breakfast. So, when I sat down, he immediately retreated to the living room to avoid me for the rest of the day, or whenever my seemingly bad temper died down to a respectable nonchalant level.
Breakfast was nothing special, of course. Toris made some Lithuanian-inspired dish that I particularly did not care for, but I had to agree that it was actually somewhat tasty. I have never been a picky eater, though, so I just ate with no exact thoughts and feelings, looking around my surroundings like a just-born baby. The kitchen was organized, and from my seat I could see a little frame, of which inside was a picture of Toris and my mother-figure from when they were younger—from when they were actually happy with each other and never fought nor argued nor anything. Just kissed, and hugged, and all the other sentimental stuff as that. I never exactly liked dwelling on such a subject as romance, but I suppose that Toris and my mother-figure did make a rather flawless couple back then. The reasoning for their divorce was something I never really could understand, but I would never ask. No. It was not in my position to. Besides, Toris breaks down crying whenever someone is ignorant enough to bring up the subject of their divorce. I'd rather not have to deal with another bawling baby.
I wanted to be late for school today, but I knew I couldn't stay in the house for long as Toris had to leave soon anyway. I had no key to the house, so if he left, that meant I was stuck inside the house until he came back during the afternoon. Hopefully, I will get a key soon, or else I'll have to resort to making my own copy. I would do that if Toris forgets to give me one after a week or so.
When I stepped outside, I found my skin being burned under the sun. I sighed and began to walk towards the direction of the school, which, from where our house was, I could see perfectly clear off into the distance, stabbing the clear blue skies with a violent point haphazardly protruding from the roof. Walking there did not take as long as I thought it would; actually, it only really took five minutes at best, and I was not even trying to speed walk. Just walked with my usual pace, which fluctuates between quick to slow at times, but generally is an all-around leisurely pace.
The school itself wasn't too much of an awe-inspiring building, but it was exceptionally bigger than my old school, which was dismal and pathetically tiny and inferior compared to this castle-like structure. Nonetheless, I walked inside the huge school and made my way towards what I perceived as the front office, especially from the huge sign on it saying, "FRONT OFFICE".
Inside, it was brightly lit, just like what outside was. I sighed. It was a lot warmer, too, something of which I was definitely not used to having to live in a cold place such as Russia for the majority of my life. The office was small, with a waiting room consisting of a coffee table, a sofa, and a withering plant, about to give up life. I wish I was that plant. From the corner of my eye, I found a tall man with dirty blonde hair and abhorrently thick eyebrows staring at me with nonchalant patience. I returned his stare with a cruel glare.
The blonde man looked to the side, hiding himself from behind his computer. "H-hello. I am Mr. Allen Kirkland. How may I service you today?"
"New student. Need classes," I responded, still keeping up with my cold glare.
"What's your name?"
"Natalia Lorinaitis," I informed him carefully, and I could feel that he was expecting me from the interested he was now giving me. Of course, that much I should have expected—to be the topic of gossip, especially Toris just had to be the Chief police officer of this municipality. That meant I was the daughter of said Chief, come back home from a rather long absence, complete with a (proclaimed) cold and distant attitude to match the whereabouts of the place I grew up in. Something, I knew, people would not have expected in the very least.
"Oh, the Chief's daughter! Welcome back!" The newfound exuberance and excitement in the tone of his voice made me cringe. He began skimming through a precariously large stack of papers, and the he pulled out one particular page, of which had a picture of me from way back when. Probably just a few years back. I was not smiling.
"Here are your classes, and here's a map of the school, in case you get lost. This is a pretty big school, after all," he said, nodding his head. Then he assumed to explaining every single one of my classes in excruciating detail, as if I knew nothing of the classes I signed up for. He kept smiling at me, trying to convince me that, like Toris, I would grow to enjoy being here in Bordj Omar Driss. I frowned back as if to say he better keep on dreaming, for I would never in my life enjoy being here or anywhere as a matter of fact.
After he was done with his prolonged and not so-informational speech, I power-walked out of the office as soon as possible and began navigating the lengthy and jam-packed hallways to the best of my ability. Fortunately, my first class was only a few doors away from the main office, a rather convenient thing for me.
Once I walked inside, my head down low in guillotine fashion, because I really wanted to just die now, I found that the teacher was staring at me intently with scrutinizing wonder. He had dressy black locks that were gelled to perfection, burning orbs of never-ending enigmas, and a mole that stood out, right in the corner of his thin lips. Admittedly, he was handsome. Admittedly, he was intimidating. Admittedly, he was already glaring at me once he realized I was the Chief's daughter. And then he introduced himself as Mr. Edelstein, wringing my arm as a greeting.
Likewise, the class was the least bit bearable. Just a bunch of reading. Thankfully, this was a multicultural school, and everyone had the ability to speak English more or less fluently, which is the only other language I know besides Russian and Belarusian. The teacher, of course, droned on in his trite and professional voice, the class seeming to go on forever.
When the bell rang, a shrill shriek that emitted a sense of panic, a really pretty girl with long, flowing brown locks and childish green eyes leaned across the aisle to talk to me, a small gracing her flawless features.
"You're Natalia Lorinaitis, right?" She looked like the friendly, talkative type of girl, the popular one with the perfect boyfriend and the large clique. The type that I did not care for.
"Bel," I corrected quietly, and she looked at me, her eyes glowing with wonder as if she was trying to ask why I would go by such a nickname of my name was Natalia. That, of course, is the product of a childhood memory. All I can say is that the nickname of "Bel" was something my beloved older brother gave me from when we were younger, and it just stuck. Now I will be forced to make it stuck in this annoying municipality.
When I didn't answer her unasked question, she smiled at me again and placed an arm (that I was going to dismantle) around my shoulders, tightening her grip around me in a friendly (and deadly) grip. "Where's your next class, Bel?" she asked.
I had a photographic memory, so I immediately answered with "history," which was, indeed, my next class. Her eyes lit up with amusement, and she began to laugh, idly playing with stray locks of her pretty hair.
"That's my next class, too! You're gonna love it!" She stared at me, her perpetual smile making me want to go suicidal… again. "I'm Elizaveta," she added as a second thought. "But call me Lizzy, 'kay?"
"Umm, okay…" I probably was not going to be conversing with her again anytime soon, or making an effort to memorize whatever her name was anyway, let alone her nickname.
"Alright! Let's go, Bel!" She started dragging me towards our next classroom, chattering incessantly whilst doing so, as if she couldn't live without speaking for even a second. When we finally made it towards the classroom, I sat down with what seemed like the Hungarian girl's little group of friends: a ditzy-looking brunette with a precarious curl sticking out from the rest of his smooth hair; a brawny blonde and blue-eyed boy that, from the looks of it, was the most serious person I've seen in my entire life; and a white-haired, red-eyed boy, who was talking right now, using a lot of expletives and referring to himself in third person. An arrogant narcissist. Great. Just what I need to complete my life.
They introduced themselves to me, but naturally I didn't listen and instead opted to blatantly ignore them. They didn't seem to realize that I was being a jerk to them, and they pulled me into their little group like it was meant to be.
From what I could tell, the ditzy brunette and the brawny blonde were a lovey-dovey couple. I mean, they only shared a few thousand pecks on the cheek here and there, but that's what I was able to assume. They were both boys though, which bothered me a little bit, but at the same time, I found it extremely… entertaining. The Hungarian girl sitting beside me probably thought that, too, for she was fawning all over them, a trickle of fresh blood flooding down from her nose.
The class went by pretty quickly, and before I knew it, it was already lunchtime. Lunchtime, in my book, is known as the period of time that will forever ruin my life. The apprehension and eminent I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was even encouraging my suspicions. But, before I could even escape the wrath of the premonitions of my abdominal region, the Hungarian girl and her little group of friends were already dragging me towards the direction of the cafeteria, forcing me to sit down on the table they claimed in a span of only a few seconds after the bell. They retrieved their lunches quickly from the line and returned to sit next to me, conversing with one another like a train wreck, as someone would say something and someone else would start another conversation on a totally unrelated subject. Of course, I was not listening to them at all. And, because of this, I began to look around the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom with the most bored expression ever, trying to drone out the unsuccessful attempts of initiated conversation from the four strangers I was sitting with, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, secluded, as far away from everyone else, yet they attracted the most special and awe-inspired kind of stares from everyone. There were five of them, and they were all of exceptional comely stature, their faces, however pale, giving off an aura of perpetual beauty. In front of them were numerous trays of untouched food, and even though I detested going along the crowed, I found myself staring at them, studying them to the point of obsession, as I pinpointed every exact detail to the fullest.
They didn't look anything alike, or at least from what I could tell from my distance. There were two boys, and of the two of them was a gentleman-like boy who sat with the upmost regal posture, sitting erect with hands in his lap. He had a tousled mess of blonde locks, his eyes a somber green that stung with perpetual pain, as if he was trying his hardest to keep himself from killing the entirety of this school, or rather, the world. I didn't blame him, and I actually would like to say I very much encouraged that thought. The other boy was something of a wonder, with a lighter shade of blonde locks, his eyes an alluring shade of blue, hidden behind a pair of glasses. He looked to be the smart one, the boyish one, the one whom of which I found myself staring at slightly longer than the rest. There was something about him, I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but he was definitely someone special—and that very fact, and also the fact that I'm proclaiming such a thing, made me punch myself mentally.
I moved on to the others in the immediate I found that I may be developing something for the boyish boy. The other three, whom of which were all girls, looked nothing alike, yet were similarly all beautiful, but in their own distinct way. The first one I noticed had her eyebrows furrowed midpoint, exhibiting choleric wrinkles, but even then she was such a beauty, one's self-esteem would definitely take a hard blow just by looking at her flawlessness. She had long, slightly wavy brown locks, slightly held back by a red headband, and a precarious curl was jutting out from her bangs, much like the curl that one boy had (one of the Hungarian girl's friends, if I could remember correctly; he was still sitting with me, I think). Her eyes were a shade of amber that were both full of enmity and disguised romance, the latter part directed towards the girl beside her. That one was slightly tanner than the rest. Overall, she was the tannest, but was almost as comely as the other girl—the angry-looking girl. This one was the very opposite of the angry-looking girl, for she was smiling all happily, as if there were no dangers and evils or worries in life. She had short blonde locks, and she had a matching red headband as the other beauty. Her eyes were a forest green, of which smiled like the radiant smiles she was exhibiting right now. And then finally the other girl, a small and pixie-like creature, who seemed to be as talkative and arrogant as that one albino whose name I'd forgotten. She too had short blonde locks, clipped back with red, triangular hair clips, and her eyes were an abysmal sea of hopeful blue. She clung onto the pained-looking boy for dear life, reassuring him with whispers that, from here, looked like she was biting his ear.
And, of course, even though they looked nothing alike, they were all exactly like, from their movements to their extremely pale (well, with the exception of the aforementioned tanned girl) composures. Paler than that one albino kid with the red eyes. And even though they had different eyes, they all seemed to glow with dark malice, dark shadows under those eyes—shadows that resembled corrupted bruises. It looked as if they were suffering from something mysterious, yet even with something as imperfect as that, they all still seemed to manage to be as beautiful as whatever is beautiful (I wouldn't know considering I think almost everything is ugly). All their features were straight, perfect, angular… perfect. Their beauty wasn't why I couldn't look away, though. No. There was something else.
I stared because I knew they weren't human, and I knew that they had to be some other kind of creature. No one could be paler than someone like that albino, and no group had all perfectly beautiful people. And no one—and I mean, no one—had sets of those carnivorously sharp cuspidate teeth, of which I quickly assumed they were vampires, in the very least. Why they would be in one of the sunniest places on earth is beyond me, though.
They were all looking away from each other, though—away from everyone else, into oblivion, into naught. As I stared on intently, still painfully scrutinizing all their features in detail, the small and pixie-like girl ascended with her tray—unopened coke, unbitten pizza—and trotted away with hasty, graceful steps that looked more like an alluring dance than a natural walk. Surprisingly, I was amazed, much like I was amazed with the entirety of the group, and I watched her glide back towards her original table with the quickness and stealth of a leopard. So unnatural, so surreal.
My eyes went back to my own table then, and I considered asking who in the world those people were. But I couldn't bring myself to, especially when the four strangers were already talking up a storm of incessant and unrelated stories.
Though, the Hungarian girl probably saw me staring at the inhumane group, and smiled at me, nudging me softly. "You're probably wondering who those five are, huh, Bel?"
Reluctantly, I nodded my head in agreement. Like I said, I don't like to lie, and I was pretty curious about the five inhumane and vampire-esque creatures.
As she looked up to look at the five people in question, suddenly he looked at her, the boyish one, the one with glasses, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a small nanosecond, and then his blue eyes flickered towards my direction, staying there for a long time. I turned my head to the side in a frantic daze. What was going on…?
The Hungarian girl giggled in embarrassment, looking at the tale again, and then pointing to each one respectively as she explained me to them. "That's Eduard and Emma Grullon, and Rosella and Gasper Fale, but their real names are Romana and Arthur Fale respectively. Romana goes by Rosella because of Emma. She keeps calling Romana that, so I guess it stuck, but nobody knows why. I guess because she's really pretty like a rose, but she's really mean… like its thorns. And Gasper? As weird as it sounds, he randomly starts gasping, like he's in pain or something. It's weird, so everyone started calling him Gasper," she said in a matter-of-fact manner, as if she had an instruction manual for all these details. "The really short and midget one is Alicia Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his, uhh, wife." She said this under her breathe, like she was reciting some evil and sinful statements, or as if she was hiding some secret she most definitely didn't want to tell me. I guess she was.
I glanced towards the direction of that beautiful boy whose name is apparently Eduard—a name that's somewhat popular nowadays for some unknown reason. He was crushing a scrumptious piece of confectionary with one hand, his lips movement but only slightly. The other four looked away, but even then, it seemed like they were all communicating with each other somehow.
After a few minutes of surreal daze, I suddenly remembered the Hungarian girls' name: Elizaveta, or, as she wanted to be called, "Lizzy". And, though I didn't care much… Okay, I just really didn't care.
"They are… very pretty," I found myself saying, struggling with commenting people like that, even if it was a huge understatement.
"Totally!" Lizzy agreed with another annoying giggle, which reminded me so much of my mother-figure. I wouldn't be surprised if they were blood-related, or at least in the same family. Though, that would mean I would be somewhat related to the Hungarian, which is something I can only find in a nightmare. "They're all… together though, if you know what I mean." She gave an ominous look towards their direction, and then redirected her attention at me. "Emma and Rosella… I know they're both girls, but they are way too close for comfort sometimes, even though Rosella doesn't exactly show it. And then there's Gasper and Alicia. And they all live together, as in they're family. Incest much, right?" Her voice held feigned disgust, but deep inside, there was something inside her that was awed at the beauty of possibly incestuous relationships. I began coughing at that moment, pushing away thoughts of my beloved older brother.
"Which ones are the Grullons?" I asked despite myself, because those five inhumane creatures just made me so uncharacteristically curious. Especially… especially… "They don't look related. At all."
"Oh, they're not, I think. Err, at least, I heard from secret sources. Dr. Cullen is really young, even if he does look a little… uh… young, y'know? You'll get it when you see him. But I'm pretty sure he's in his twenties or early thirties at most. The Fales are related though, brother and sister. You know, Rosella and Gasper? The really scary ones, and they're foster children. Kinda cool, but I feel bad for them sometimes." Sometimes, Lizzy talked too much for her own good. But, even then, even when I was annoyed with her incessant talking, I began to absorb all this information much like a sponge, my curiosity rising to the brink of overload.
"They look too old. To be foster children. I mean."
"Well, only Emma is; she's eighteen. But she's—well, they've all been—living with Mrs. Grullon for so long, since they were like, three or something. Mrs. Grullon is their aunt, or, well, her 'aunt'." Again, her voice was wearily soft, her inconspicuous tone returning, and my suspicions heightening, but I pushed them aside. "I don't think Mrs. Grullon," she said empathetically, staring at the inhumane creatures with a sorrowful and pitiful expression, "can have any children. That's why she has a bunch of foster children. At least, that's what I've been hearing. Oh, and they used to live in somewhere in Arizona. Yuma, I think. Then they moved down here."
"Why do you know so much about them?" I asked, earning a flushed and flustered and very embarrassed look from the Hungarian girl, as if she just realized she had her period and she was, unfortunately, wearing white and almost-to-the-point-of-translucency clothes. And, in fact, she was. "Do you… stalk them?"
"No," she said, but I could see the denial in her eyes. I didn't respond after that, mainly because the bell finally rang, and also because I already knew she stalked them, what, from her plethora of knowledge. It wasn't as if stalking was anything bad though. I honestly do not see why people have such a negative attitude towards stalking, as if it is a crime of some sort. I would not say it is a crime until you get the restraining orders, and I haven't gotten any yet.
I began to examine them. The seemingly youngest, one of the Grullons, looked up and met my gaze, meeting vulnerable violet with abysmal blue. There was what seemed like a very curious expression on his face, as if he wanted to know who I was. Frankly enough, I wanted to know who he was too, so the feeling was mutual. Not sentimental, but the same, at least. I knew his name though.
"That's Eduard," the Hungarian girl said, as if she could read half of my mind. Obviously, I already knew his name, but I didn't make myself correct her. That would just cause too much confusion with an idiot like her. "He's amazing and gorgeous, and smart too, but don't get your hopes up. He doesn't date. None of the girls are good enough for him. People are saying he's gay or something, which is kinda hot. I hope he is." She blinked. "I mean—I mean…! Err, forget I said that." She looked around like a paranoid murderer, and I wondered if she was speaking the whole truth and nothing but it, or a devastating and gossip-controlled lie.
I bit my lip to draw out some blood, wondering if maybe I could kill myself slowly by losing blood through my punctured lip, because I absolutely did not enjoy the fact that I was smiling at Eduard. Apparently, he looked away, but I saw his cheek twitching, fluctuating in motion, as if he was trying his hardest to stop smiling.
After a few more minutes of silence between, altogether, in simultaneous grace, their departure noticeably elegant and timed to perfect rhythm. It was a spectacular sight, something you couldn't stop staring from. However, the one… the one named Eduard didn't look at me again, and I stopped myself from staring at him a moment too soon.
I continued to sit at the table with Lizzy and her friends a bit longer before standing up and rushing towards my next class. It wasn't as if I was particularly anxious about getting to my next class, but I just needed to take a breath of fresh air, away from the cafeteria, away from the very place I saw them, just away from everyone. It was only my first day of school, and I found myself having more excitement than I originally thought. I would have expected my first day to be boring, just learning and droning out the teacher's tedious lecturing, every single day, but something I had not expected were meeting those vampires. I know for sure they are vampires. It's too hard not to realize that, what, from all of their strange and unnatural qualities. Though, them being in such a sunny place still bothered me, forcing me to forget about my suspicions. What in the world would vampires be doing in a place such as Bordj Omar Driss, of all places?
Nodding my head, erasing those thoughts from my head, I began to realize that there was a girl that was walking beside me. One of my new acquaintances, I presumed; how could I have missed her? She considerately kept reminding me of her name, which was Madeline—Madeline Williams, a tentative girl who I had Biology with for the next hour. We walked to class together in a sensitive and serene silence. She was shy, too. Or, in the very least, not as talkative as the rest of the school's population.
When we entered the room together, Madeline rushed towards a black-topped lab table, next to that albino (whose name, if I remember correctly, was Gilbert or Gilbo—something strange like that), and they began to openly flirt with each other. Obviously, she already had a designated neighbor, much like everyone else. Except, surprisingly, for one. That one table was in the middle of the aisle, and lo and behold, the lone person sitting at that half-empty table was none other than the person I definitely did not want to see: Eduard Grullon. Fate can be humorous sometimes, giving me such an unwanted circumstance such as this.
I apprehensively began walking down the aisle, weary of the stares everyone was giving me, and tentatively sat next to Eduard, who, though unmoved, stared at me from the corner of his deep-set blue eyes. But, despite the possibility he was smiling at me earlier on the day, during lunchtime, his expression upon the immediate I sat down turned rigid, hostile, full of rancor and enmity. I looked away in shock, wondering why he suddenly had a change of heart for me. Naturally, I would not care for such things, especially considering he is but a stranger for me… But…
The biology teacher, Mr. Marcello Vargas, a man from the Principality of Seborga (that's what he wrote on his whiteboard, along with other useless "fun facts" about him and his lifestyle and his children; or rather, child nowadays, which would have stabbed my with pity if I wasn't raised in the harsh cold of Russia) handed me a book, took one quick glance at me, then smiled softly, letting no words come out from his mouth, unlike what most teachers did earlier the day, giving me a full-out lecture on the course, much like how Allen Kirkland did. I looked down and saw there was a list of instructions atop the book. He then, through proper and clear gesticulations and no verbal interaction whatsoever, told me that I would be sitting in this same exact spot for the rest of the semester, unless I somehow got a schedule change, which we both doubted. Unfortunately, Eduard seemed to figure out what Mr. Vargas was telling me, as his angered expression got ten times worse, if that was even possible.
I couldn't even pat any attention during Mr. Vargas's lecture, for the only thing I could concentrate on was Eduard and the fact that he was showing too-obvious animosity towards me, someone whom of which he barely even knows. And, even though I am very much a hypocrite for saying this, for I instantly hate certain people too, I just can't exactly fathom that sudden change of mood. If he had not smiled earlier, if he had not stared at me earlier with such a beautiful expression… I may have no minded at all. But it wasn't as if his hateful expression was filled with the extremities of loathe. I could see a bit of restrained… something… in his eyes, like he was a rabid and crazy caged animal yearning to be free. There was a voice in my head, some voice I've never in my life heard before, that was telling me I should be that one person to set the animal free. I'm not sure if I could if, for the first time of my life, I found myself actually being scared of someone. Somehow, who, at first glance, could have very well been mistaken for a fragile little nerd. Too bad he wasn't; he was practically the opposite, but at the same time still seemingly smart (he was doing our entire assignment himself, face fixed, his hands and arms the only parts of his body moving).
My head was down the entire time. That was, until, I curiously peeked my head over my book, but I immediately regretted that when I saw Eduard's burning gaze on mine. If looks could kill, I most definitely did want that, just so I wouldn't be able to suffer through all this torture anymore. Too bad looks really couldn't kill.
At that moment, the bell rang, and Eduard was already out of the classroom in the swiftest and unforeseen manners. I was practically gawking at how fast he was, which had me completely paralyzed in my seat, blinking stupidly whilst I watched people passing by in a blur of chromatic colors.
I started gathering up all my belongings and assumed a nonchalant expression, but deep inside, I was on the brink of crazed despair. It was weird. Never in my life have I felt such emotion, and never have I ever felt such ardent emotion directed at me. I was angry—fuming—and whenever I'm mad, I usually kill, a consequential tendency if not executed in the correct mannerisms. And from the foggy cloud in my head, I knew for sure I wouldn't be able to.
Suddenly, I heard a voice from my right. "Aren't you Natalia Lorinaitis?" His voice was something of a gruff tenor, husky and low. He was pretty handsome, with a sharp mess of blonde hair that stuck up in a fashion that defied all the very laws of gravity, smiling at me with a toothy grin, all friendly-like. A nice change from Eduard's hostility; I never thought I'd actually say something like this.
"Bel," I corrected him, with a slight pout, my eyes half-lidded in worry and despair.
"I'm Mark."
"Hi, Mark."
"Do you need help finding her next class or something? 'Cause, you know, I can take you there, and maybe show you around sometime later." He winked at me, and I scrunched up my nose, because I found it really pathetic that he would think I enjoyed his subtle flirting.
"I already know where the gym is."
"Oh, gym?" His eyes brightened up at that, his toothy smile becoming even more toothy and white and giant. "That's my next class, too! What a coincidence!"
I am now officially proclaiming the very fact that fate indeed does exhibit a sort of hatred and spite towards me for reasons unbeknownst to everyone else. Maybe it's because I'm practically a murderer, but it can't be as sinful as some other stuff people indulge themselves with the upmost enjoyment. Like chess. Who plays chess anymore?
Nonetheless, I walked with Mark to our next class together; he talked a lot, like the rest of the people I've met during the course of my first day at Bordj Omar Driss High School. Naturally, I didn't really listen to him, but I did learn that he was born somewhere in Denmark. That was all I learned, and I completely forgot his name for a second, until I realized that his name was Mark and he was born in Denmark. The irony is so inconvenient, I wanted to stab him in the back with the sheath I had under my dress. Yes. I had one. Under my dress. He seemed nice, though, if he wasn't talking about other people behind their backs, particularly this one boy with an Icelandic-sounding name.
Then, he had to ask something that really made me want to kill him at the spot: "So, did you stab Eduard Grullon with a machete or your bra or something? He was so fuckin' angry today! He's usually a quiet and emotionless dude…"
A flinched, taken aback. I wasn't expecting other people to realize that Eduard was being uncharacteristically hostile towards me, and the fact that he apparently wasn't usually like that made me twitch slightly. I decided to be quiet for the rest of that awkward moment, and he seemed to realize that I didn't want to talk about it at all. Except, he decided to talk about Eduard himself. (It seems like there must be a documentary about the Grullons, as everyone apparently knows every single detail about their lives.)
"He's really… different." Mark lingered next to me instead of changing out. Before he could say anymore, I walked into the girl's changing room, somewhere where he couldn't hover over me like an idiotic loser. Bordj Omar Driss was already my personal hellish world, and everyone in this school just further proved that fact.
The sport we were playing today was some foreign corruption of football, of which I had no idea of the rules. So, naturally, I stumbled and failed and made my team lose, who surprisingly wasn't as angered as I thought they would be. Rather, they seemed to pity me, and I just wanted to claw their pathetic expressions from their faces. I restrained myself as best as I could, though. No need to bring more attention to myself, and as a delinquent nonetheless.
And, when I seemingly finally lost all control over myself, the final bell rang at least and I rushed to go change immediately, wanting to go home as soon as possible. But I needed to go to the office first. I wouldn't be able to stand sitting next to Eduard for the rest of the semester, even if it was only one class; if he couldn't stand me, I couldn't stand him, and changing classes would benefit both of us. But, of course, I just had to see him—Eduard Grullon—standing at the desk in front of me. He seemed oblivious to my entrance, and I tried to keep it that way to avoid a possibly deadly confrontation I definitely did not need after grueling school hours.
He was arguing with the receptionist, Allen Kirkland, in a low voice of hushed whispers, demanding a change in his schedule concerning his biology class—the only class I have with him. That couldn't have been mere coincidence. I knew for sure that he only wanted to change that particular class because of me; it seemed the only logical explanation, as he managed to survive the first few months of biology just fine until I came along.
Suddenly, the door opened, and a wind rushed inside, causing the papers to rustle alongside the faint winds. A girl walked in, shyly, and I realized it was Madeline Williams from my biology class. She quickly placed a note in the wired basket, stared tentatively at everyone else in the room, and scurried out of the office frantically, as if she could sense the inevitable danger that would be shared between me and Eduard.
That's exactly what happened. At least, in my eyes, for Eduard's entire body began to tense, have small spasms here and there. He then glared at me intently, his sharp teeth showing, an almost-inaudible growl being emitted from the depths of his throat. I felt threatened for my life, that very same feeling of apprehension returning to taunt me. Of course, this only lasted for a few more minutes, but that was only when he turned his back on me and continued his unsuccessful argument with the receptionist.
"Just forget it," he deadpanned angrily, his voice smoother than caramel. "I suppose I will abide by the rules and change when the semester is over. Thank you for your help." His choice of words, though seemingly pleasant and very gentleman-like, his voice was seething with venom that seeped into my skin, giving me just the amount to possibly bring me to bed for months, maybe even years.
He walked out of the door hastily and almost frantically, just like how Madeline did, and I walked up towards Allen, who gave me a reassuring smile. "How was your first day?" Allen asked warmly in an attempt to comfort me. It didn't work.
"Like hell," I said, my voice meek and trite. I was tired of everything already. I could only imagine what the rest of the school year would be like.
I went outside immediately after Allen gave me another small smile, telepathically trying to tell me it would all be better tomorrow, or maybe the next day after that, or maybe the next day after that, and so on and so forth. Obviously, that would be a never-ending cycle. Nothing can get better after all this.
Outside—still bright and sunny, all warm that gave a sense of home. Inside—a destructive volcano that was on the verge of eruption, angered by anger, confused by everything. At least, that was what was happening inside of me. I walked all the way back to Toris's house with my head down low, my movements slow and unhurried and feeling very heavy. I fought the sporadic urges to stalk Eduard home and kill him in his sleep. If he was gone, then maybe I wouldn't suffer that much. If he was gone, then maybe—just maybe—I wouldn't be asking myself why in the world that, despite his rancor towards me, I still find myself having the slightest bit of interesting in him.
Damn it.