The Domus Paranormal Academy

Monday Class

Monday. Literature came again, the class that, unfortunately, I shared with Viktor.

I saw him as soon as I entered the classroom, already seated at our table. I wondered what he would think of saying that day: that I was attempting his integrity. That I was threatening his life? That I had stuck him with a contaminated syringe under the table?

I put my backpack on the floor and sat down on my seat. Then I caught a whiff of chocolate and saw that the silly was chopping up a bar under the table to eat it slowly, clearly ignoring the sign next to the blackboard that said: no eating in the classroom.

The anarchist Lycan, of course.

The teacher arrived a couple of minutes later, and after saying unimportant things, she stood in front of the class and began the topic of the day.

“There are four literary genres here," she said, pointing to what she had written a few seconds earlier on the board in blue marker. Science fiction, thriller, romance, and fantasy. Choose one. Then we'll listen to your classmates' choices and the whys and wherefores, and at the end, each pair will have to agree and choose a genre.

The teacher went from table to table asking questions. In part, it was boring because everyone chose the same genres: romance and science fiction.

No one had to try to convince themselves of anything.

When she got to our table, I was the first to speak:

“Thriller “I chose, very enthusiastic.

“Fantasy," Viktor chose.

I was not surprised that he differed. It was already obvious that our perspectives clashed. And, for heaven's sake, could I stop chewing?

“Why fantasy, Mr. Lycan? “And why didn't you call him out to eat in class?

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of simplicity.

“I like battles, dragons, and things like that," he replied without further explanation.

It seemed like a stupid reason to me.

“Why the thriller, Miss Shadow? “the teacher asked me.

I settled back in my chair, ready to answer masterfully.

“It's a very real genre, and besides, the intrigue keeps the reader interested, it's outside of the conventional, and clichés can take unexpected turns," I argued, inspired, and then with a sly little smile I added, "But if I must answer as simply as my partner, I'll say I like murder.

There was a little chuckle somewhere. This time he wasn't going to let me down. On my “doubtful” honor I would not.

The teacher nodded. I was going to continue with the following table, but then Viktor snorted/ laughed in derision at my answer as if it had been ridiculous. Again, he got all the attention.

“Very real? “he repeated my words. Then he shook his head, "Reading is an adventure, escape, entertainment, infinity. Reality is harsh, crude, suffocating, closed, and limiting. Why look for reality in a book if we already deal with it every day? It is there, dictating that something blue must only be blue, demanding that something round must only be round. What if I want the color to be green or the shape to be triangular, or what if I don't want there to be any color or shape at all? No, nothing is interesting in real life. If I read, it is because I want to forget for a while about this boring, square reality.

After the last word, a couple of girls bit their lips, enraptured. The boys, on the other hand, nodded in reflexive agreement, as if they had never heard anything truer. Even the teacher seemed pleased.

And me? Well, my face expressed a big: what the hell...?

This slimy brainwasher can say that books are edible and all these puny creatures with half a brain cell would be lining up to eat pages.

“An interesting opinion," said Lauris, approving of Viktor, "I suppose, if Miss Shadow always reads the same thing, she should give her partner's type of reading a chance. We'll leave fantasy as this group's genre.

I could have broken my pen in half if I had been holding it in my hand and not in the notebook. Again. Again! But what the hell was it about Viktor that trumped everything in this damn class?

The teacher continued and spoke in a general way:

“Discuss which book of your chosen genre you would like to read while I write the final quote of the day on the board.

I reluctantly opened the notebook and began to write down the quote. I didn't suggest any books. I stayed silent for the rest of the class because I didn't feel like being a collaborative partner. I wasn't used to being outclassed, because that is something I felt I had mastered.

When the hour was up, I grabbed my backpack and got up to leave, but before I took a step, Viktor asked me as he put away his notebook:

“What book are we going to read?

“I don't know, aren't you the fantasy expert? “I replied, not wanting to sound nice.

“I can recommend a few. “He shrugged his shoulders. That is if you'd rather read than get angry.

“I'm not angry," I defended myself, frowning. Although I was, I didn't want to prove him right. Everyone in the class was already giving it to him. That was enough.

I turned my back to him and walked past his chair while mentally repeating to myself, "Go away, you mustn't say anything you shouldn't. Go away, Marise, you can't say anything you shouldn't. You mustn't say anything you shouldn't. Go away, Marise, you can't say anything you shouldn't say. Go away, ...".

“You just need to pull out your fingernails to scratch my face," he said suddenly.

Damn it.

I stopped. As soon as I turned around, I saw his right corner slightly raised in a sly little smile. But what did he think he was, the literature god just because the teacher liked him? The mysterious dark kid couldn't be ignored because, even though he seemed to have no intention of looking cool, he looked obnoxiously cool. Well, I thought I was the girl who didn't have to keep quiet about the glare. And...with little anger control.

“Are you comparing me to your kind? You're the ones with claws, not me," I asked her in a challenging tone.

“Still, even here I see you bristling," he added, slanging his backpack over one shoulder.

I squinted.

“Careful what you say to me because I think you're everything the others won't admit," I chuckled.

“And you're more credulous to me than it's reasonable to bear," he replied without getting upset at all.

I didn't hold my tongue.

“Imbecile.

“What little wit for insults," he mocked shamelessly.

“I have more, but I'll use that one so I don't look worse than your brother made me look in front of everyone," I corrected him in a calm tone.

Viktor nodded as if he finally understood something. His smile took on a bitter air.

“Oh, right, Lucian shits and I get the s**t splattered on me," he sighed. It's fair enough that's why you detest me. Yes.

He assumed I hated him. The sensible part of me invited me to calm down a bit to stop conveying hatred with such obviousness. In the end, he was not Lucian, at whom I wanted to direct all my merciless anger. I had to hold back and not give in to provocations. That was giving an advantage.

“What books do you have? “I decided to give in, though not very happily, to put away the idea that I "hated them.

“I'll leave them with you and you choose. “He shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay," I agreed. My jaw was tense. Building F, floor five, apartment two.

Viktor gave a slight nod and stepped around me to move between the row of tables. I wanted to let him leave first, but he turned away as if he'd forgotten to tell me something. And he told me, looking at me fixedly and coldly with his intimidating eyes:

“You'd better get your feet on the ground, Marise Shadow. You're flying dangerously high.