|A family of pumpkins now live in my room.|
So as you know holidays mean I've done nothing or nothing interesting to talk about. But I did write something this week and I'm thinking of maybe using it as the basis of my NaNoWriMo novel. Not sure though yet, I shall think about as well as figuring out what my costume going to be this year. Vampire is tempting as always, maybe I just be a heart broke ghost. We're see...
Working Title: Blood Chest (Silent Beauty)
I bite my lip, I stare at the front of the class not at all listening to what the teacher is saying. I begin to bite harder and keep adding pressure till I taste the blood drip into my mouth. I lesser the pressure, but keep my teeth where they are, keeping the wound wet. I eventually let go when the bell rings. The blood begins to heavily flow now my chin. I ignore it. I pack up the paper and the book of the month into my bag, being carefully with neither. I walk up and go to leave with everyone when the teacher says my name.
I don’t remember his name; I’ve been referring to him as Mr English in my head since the start of the year. I actually think he’s too young to be married, but master for whatever reason went out style for boys over the age of twelve. I turn around leaving my face bank. The blood drips now on to my chest at this point. I still don’t whip it away.
He stares at me shocked. Has he never saw blood before?
“Your lip is bleeding.” He’s says dumbly.
“I know,” I say only moving my lips in response. He’s clearly confounded by my lack of action. The blood continues to drip down. He follows red drop from my chin to my chest, where continues down under my top. He jumps a little when he realise where he looking at. He was only doing out of instinct to follow movement. He’s not a prev like Mr Music.
“What was it you’re wanted to talk to be about?” I ask blandly. He jumps again; I fight the urge to smirk. I don’t why, but I can unnerve teacher petty easily and for whatever realise I get a small pleasure from it. I know that’s bad thing, but I can’t help who I am.
“It’s about your essay.” Oh, yeah that. I now notice it in his hands.
“It’s very good. However,” O, big word uni boy. Is “but” too good for ya? I’m tempt to say this but don’t for obvious reasons. “You can’t just write on whatever book you want. It’s important that you stick to the class book, you need to practice for your exam…” This is where I stop listening, I hear exam and I switch off.
He’s stopped and waiting for a response. I just look at him and bite my lip, restarting the now dry wound.
I scape my teeth across my lip before letting go; the blood starts down my chin again.
“Here,” He says holding out a tissue to me. I just shake my head at it. “Please.”
“It won’t happen again, I just felt writing about something more interesting in comparison to book I’ve already read six times”
“You’re only need to read it twice.”
“How many times have you read it?” I ask doing my best to keep my voice toneless. He shakes his head at me.
“That’s not really the point.” We stand, him awkwardly, in silence.
“May I go now, sir?” I drag the sir out.
“Yes, no,” he says muddily. “You’re a good thinker, but a horrible student…”
“Oh please,” I say interrupting. “You’re not going to do the cliché inspiring English teacher thing, are you?” He looks shocked. “Here how it’s going to work, you leave me alone and I’ll get an A in my exam.”
He looks annoyed now.
“I’m your teacher…”
“I’m just a candidate. No one actually cares as long as I don’t drag the school down with me. It’s your job to prevent me from doing this; if I ain’t failing then you have nothing to worry about. Now if you’re done, I have a lunch to read through.”
I walk out the room without waiting for a response. I know there’s a good chance that I might get into serious trouble. I don’t really care. I knew I was asking for trouble with that essay but he gave us that same question three times already. I wrote it to amuse myself and never did the real one. So I just handed it in. I suppose, I could have told him I handed in the wrong essay the next day…I just didn’t care that much.
I feel eyes at the back of me as I rush down the hall. I snap back to see a boy staring at me.
“What are you looking at?” Original I know. He looks me up and down.
“A vampire by the looks of it,” he says smugly. I glare at him before continuing my path outside. I bang out the door. There only few people about, I run around to behind the building before anyone can fake interest to why my face is covered in blood.
I dump myself on the brick wall that doubles as a bench. I exhale my frustration into the empty air around me. I take in one more breath before I take out the book I’m currently reading out of my bag. I’m soon lost in the life or death problems of the protagonist. It’s actually kinda of shallow compared to the last in the series. The romance is such a major feature in this one. I easily bore of romances in books or any media; at least it isn’t a triangle.
I realise there someone near me when I smell cigarette smoke. I look up at the future cancer patient. It’s vamp boy. He is leaning against the building staring at me, puffing smoke in my direction.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” He says smugly. His whole appearance said smug. His clothes were dark, but proper and expensive. Not something he cared much about if his battered converses were anything to go by. I scuff my fake ones against the wall. His face was that brand type of handsome, that he had tried to disguise with a lip piercing and obviously fake black hair. Going by the fag in his mouth he was rebelling against his proper and rich parents.
“Go away Emo,” I say meaning it as an insult. He ignores me and sits next to be on the wall. I begin to cough. The only thing that sets off my asthma is smoke. Besides that I only have weaken lungs from childhood infection.
“Want a puff?” he asks smirking, putting the fag in front of my face.
“Sure,” I say grabbing it, throwing on the ground and use my boot to grind it against the tarmark.
“It okay, you can have the rest of it.” I give him a death glare before returning to my book. He begins to read it at my shoulder. He actually has the nerve to put his head on me. I hit him with the book, it’s a shame it’s only a paper back, before getting up.
I’m tempted to just leave, but this is my place and this prev had followed me here. I wasn’t fleeing my territory.
“Do you normally stalk girls?”
“Only the petty vamp ones.”
“Why, do you do have a deathwish?”
“You know most girls would take the compliment?”
“Of being called mythical monster?”
“No, of being called pretty.” I didn’t. Petty or “beautiful” always seemed like an insult to me. My mother was always telling me how pretty I was if only I would make an affect or her and others would say it when something had gone wrong. I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I didn’t really see why it matter either way. To me it was being clever (in some way) that mattered. I didn’t like this boy at all.
“Well, the girls you know ain’t that great.” I say sitting farer down the wall from him and begin to read again.
“So is there a reason why you’re walking around as though you’ve bite someone?” He asked after a while. I put my earphones in and put my music loud enough for him to hear also. He keeps talking. I ignored his words and his eyes for the rest of lunch.
I get up as soon as the bell rings. I have to walk past him to get to my next class. As I do so, he grabs me around my hips. I hit with the book and push him off. Didn’t he understand personal space? He pulls my earphones out.
“I said can tell me where Mrs Smiths’ room is.” It’s an acceptable question to ask if he’s new, which I realise he obviously is if he spends his lunch annoying strangers. I really don’t know anyone in school so I would have no clue.
“What’s the number?” I only knew the heads by their names, everyone else was room number and subject.
“113” he says not sounding smug for the first time. Damn that my classroom.
“Just play stalker,” I say as I turned around and leave him on the wall. He doesn’t follow me at first and then I hear his steps. Once he catches up with me, he starts asking stupid questions like what’s my name and I am seriously going to class like that. He informs me his name Alexander Laviat. Only then do I respond with
“Why should I care?” I say trying to make it clear that he’s wasting his time. He smiles at me.
“Because I’m a vampire hunter.” I’m tempted to hit him again, but I just roll my eyes. He probably piss himself if he ever meets a vampire. Trust me, I’ve met several. They’re never “nice” to mortals of any kind.
I try to lose him in the correct hall and slip into Room 113 without him.
“Lila, what happened to your petty face?” Mrs History exclaims upon seeing me. I ignore her and go to my place in the back. She continues to fuss about the blood, but I just my shake head at her. Refusing to say a word, I’ve already said too many today. She only stops when a confused, but somehow still smug Alexander wanders into the room. He sees me and smirks. Mrs History finally goes and fusses with him.
When he sits next to me, I kick him hard under the table so he knows his mistake. He just continues to smirk.