Devil On My Shoulder — Faith Marie
Rory
Who needs to go to Hell when this assignment feels like torture already. I staired down the paper placed by the teacher as all the students began writing. Whoever thought that making students draw their family tree as an assignment was a good idea, should have a special place in Hell.
While we do our work, in the meantime, the teachers excuses herself from the room for private phone call.
My hand glides across the paper, easily writing my name, my sister's, my mother, and her side of the family. Wasting a good few minutes before I manage to make myself continue. But the moment I decide to write Lucifer, my pencil snaps in half.
I hadn't even noticed I was holding the pencil that hard until I finally see it broken and lying on my desk in bits and pieces. A grunt leaves my lips and push my chair back. At least the teacher always keeps spares on her desk.
Halfway across the classroom, I barely have time to register the random stretched foot ahead and I fall face first against the hard-cold concrete floor.
"What a klutz!" Someone says, followed by laughter from all of my classmates.
Immediately the familiar taste of iron floods my mouth. "Vicky," I hiss bitterly.
"I think someone needs glasses." Victoria, the red headed girl who leans against her chair while admiring her perfect manicure. "Don't you think, Mason?"
I pull myself up and storm for Vicky, but her boyfriend blocks my path.
"Move, Mason." I order through gritted teeth. I'm going to kill her.
Mason Phillip was the last person I wanted to deal with right now. Not to mention what happened last time we both didn't see eye to eye.
"Or what, Morningstar? You going to hit me again?" There it is again. The same provoking tone he uses on me to get his way. "You touch me again and you're out, remember?"
"Who said anything about touching?" I say without a second thought, and inhale, spitting right on his freckled face.
The way his face starts to morph into rage, makes me smile.
A gasp is made, and when we both turn our heads, the teacher is standing by the door.
Think see noticed that?
"You two are at it again. Honestly. There was a time where you were friends."
My arms are crossed as I sit next to Mason in the principal's office, hearing him give us a lecture.
He's not wrong. There was a time were me and Mason did get along. More than well. We were practically inseparable. Still can't believe I ever liked Mason and his stupid perfect freckles. That was one of the reasons I fell for him once upon a time. But that was two years ago.
The principal sighs and combs his slightly messy red hair with his hand. "This feud between the two of you needs to stop."
Mason and I exchange looks. "Done." Whatever it takes to get out of here.
Mr. Phillip eyes him with a stern look. "I mean it, boy." There was nothing gentle about his voice either. "No more of this nonsense."
"Yes, sir." He says with click of his tongue.
"Then you may go." His eyes glance at mine. "Not you."
Without another word Mason walks out of the office, leaving me alone with his asshole of a father. Great.
He begins pacing in front of his desk. "I've been too lenient with you, Rory. I know it has been nearly half a year since... that day." He glances at me, showing me clearly how uncomfortable he is at showing sympathy.
I fake a smile. "Six months and two weeks to exact but who's counting right?"
Principal Phillip chooses to ignore her comment. "It was a very difficult time for you, but now the time has come for you to pull yourself together, young lady. You've had your time to mourn, but now you need to get over it." He says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of his desk. "And I'm afraid that this incident cannot go without consequence. Therefore, I will have to inform your mother of your ill behavior."
The last thing I want is to have my mom dragged into this again. And as much as I miss Nana, I know Mom misses her more. On top of all the things going on at work, a future Aiden staying here and I giant bird after us, I didn't want to add more to Chloe's plate with my problems.
I give him a slight nod, but as I pull myself up, I catch a glimpse of the principal's neck. Interesting. "Can I go now?"
"Yes. You may." He sits behind the desk and starts typing something before grabbing his phone. Assumably to call Chloe.
I make my legs move to the door, but as my hand reaches the doorknob, a plan forms in my head before I realize I'm speaking. "Principal Phillip?"
He doesn't glance in my direction. "What is it?"
I force myself to remain unreadable. "How's Mrs. Phillip?" Even though I want nothing more to do than to grin.
That earns his attention and an odd stare from him. "She's...well. Why do you ask?"
I lean against the wall, folding my arms in front of her chest. I smile politely. "I was just wondering what she would think if she knew what her husband was up to in his spare time."
"What are you implying?" He says with a tight lip.
"Oh, nothing. Just..." My lip twitches as I start to enjoy this little game for once when I start showing him my trump card. "You do realize that your suit jacket is inside out?"
His gaze flies to his clothes at the comment. "It's supposed to look like that." Is his answer.
"Sure." I say. "Just like how your hair is supposed to look that messy. And just like your neck is supposed to be covered in pink lipstick."
"Aurora. Morningstar." He warns. "I'd be very careful if I were you. You don't want to start making up false rumors about me."
I can't help but smirk. "Of course not." I add the last blow. "But the smell of sex in the room is kind of thick." I've been in this office for barely ten minutes and that was more than enough to spot the clues. That, and the sound of someone trying to be super quiet in his closet. No doubt his secretary.
His eyes widen at my blunt words, right before his nostrils flair in anger. "You don't- "
"I think my mother would appreciate it if you didn't trouble her today. Or any other day from now on." I glance at him over my shoulder before I turn to leave. "Have a nice day, sir."
When I get out of principle Phillip's office, I'm immediately paralyzed to the spot.
Leaning against the hallway wall with tensely crossed arms and a deadly serious expression marked on his face that would put any serial killer to shame, is Donnie.
He has this mad look on his face like his about to punch a brick wall right before he murders someone. I rarely see him get angry. Except for the times I really-REALLY-fuck up, but even then, he's pretty lenient with me.
"Come on," he says by way of greeting. "I'll drive you home."
Oh shit.
Did Mr. Phillip still call my mom? And I thought we had an understanding. "Why are you here?" I ask as I keep my pace with him as we leave the school and approach his car.
"Souline called." He says just as we get in the car, and he pulls us out of the parking lot and onto the driveway. "Told me you got into a fight again and got sent to the principal's office."
"Please don't tell Mom."
A long pause before he answers. "As long I get a chance to a have a nice conversation with Mason, I won't."
"Don't. I'm fine. Really."
"Rory, you have never had this many problems with school."
"Fine. He's a real piece work, but I have a feeling he's not about cause anything for a while. Trust me." Mason's dad will probably ground him for a year, or worse, send him to a private boy school.
"That doesn't excuse him from picking on you."
I'm so tired of talking about this. "He's not your problem okay, but mine. Stop trying to fight my battles, so just give it a rest."
He makes a right turn before continuing. "Well, you shouldn't have to—" Something red and hot snaps inside me before I cut him off.
"You're not my father!" I snap. Regretting the sentences as soon as it leaves my mouth, but its too late.
The cars slam to a halt. Conveniently it's a red light too.
Donnie's knuckles visibly turn a few shades whiter as he grips the steering wheel, and despite his angry demeanor, a moment later and I'm met with a very calm pair of green eyes. And yet, what he says is as sharp as a blade. "Then stop acting like you need one."
I'm speechless and the burning sensations in my eyes doesn't help the situation.
Stop acting.
I have no idea how to answer him without crying in front of him. I hate this feeling and I hate this space I'm in. I just want run. But I don't. I stuck with this shitty tense feeling until the light turns green and we start finally driving. We both don't speak a word after that.
Stop acting like you need a father, Rory.
It's just daddy issues. That's it.
By the time we reach home, I'm finally brave enough to look at him and realize what he is wearing. He has his flight uniform. Which means...
Suddenly feeling worse than I did I few minutes ago. My fight at school made him come pick me up instead of going to work. Not only did I manage to piss him off, I also prevented him from going on the flight he was supposes to go on this afternoon.
I barely register Donnie getting out of the driver's seat when the anger I was consumed by over him depletes fast and morphs into shame.
I get out of the car and head toward the front door just as he unlocks it with his key. He opens it to let me inside. Awkward silence only greeting us as I enter.
He turns to leave, but before he closes the door, I quickly manage backtrack and say. "Fly safe."
He pauses before opening the door just a little so I can see the small smile. Showing me regretted the argument in the car as much as I did. "Always do, and always will."
After Donnie leaves, I debate over how I should apologize the next time I see him. I was too harsh, it's just that everything seems to get under my skin, and I don't know what else to do but...
Explode.
I find my way to my room and kneel down beside my bed. My arm stretches out to grab onto the instrument I've been neglecting for months and pull it out. Leaning back, I gross my legs and place the brown guitar in my lap.
While I wait for Mom to come home from work, I could finally do the thing I've been wanting to do for a while.
My fingers glide across the perfectly engraved words on it. "May music be the calm in your storm." – from M D. A gift from Mom and Donnie for my eleventh birthday. Lately I haven't really played on it enough as I should've.
I let my fingers gently strum the cords as I search for a tune to play by. Once I find one, I can't help but relax the more I play. The act of playing and hearing one's own melody, whatever it may be, is as soothing as it is entertaining.
I begin to like the way the music builds, but soon freeze when the sound of a cord brakes. Scratch that, two, no, three strings are broken. And not by accident either. I turn my hand, and my heart starts beating rapidly when the sight of long blank talons form where my nails should be.
I stand, forgetting the guitar on the floor and inspect both my hands. Not only are all my nails turned long and dark, but so is my skin beginning to turn into something reminding me of a rash. Although, I'm pretty sure it's not just a rash that is slowly crawling up my arms.
And when I turn to my desk where a mirror resides, I'm met with a deadly pair of red burning eyes.