The Amorous Mate: Royal Luna

"Do you understand, huh?" With all the might and courage God could give to someone, she carelessly grabbed the collar of a big man helplessly lying in her front. The man was laying his weak back on an old tree, serving as his support. He was breathing hard and slow, deep and painful, as his chest was in vulnerable pain whenever he tries to move. While she, the one who caused the man veering in that state, stared at him with hints of lustful mockery. She was proud from what she did. Her body was slightly leaned forward as she was showing how she chew her sweetened gum. She was holding the collar of his shirt, trying to look cool like an untypical badass. She swerved the cap she was wearing: the part where it is supposed to be in front was now shifted at the back. She clicked her tongue. "While I am here, no one can make any stupid move to my classmates. Do you understand?" The helpless man nervously moved his head up and down. Though he is weak and his gazes were pirouetting, he still had tiny bits of strength to nod and agree with what she has made clear. "I … I understand, Chelsea." The man stuttered. Satisfied, Chelsea relieved her garroting grip on the man’s collar. She spat her chewing gum near the tall grasses just behind the tree the man was laying his back which he was still using as his pitiful support. She looked at him again, and with a smug look added with an insulting smirk, she advised; "you need to go eat more rice and drink more milk. You've got big muscles but your balls are weak, dude." Biting her lip to suppress the convincing victory, she turned her back and proudly walked away from the scene. Her classmates—the audience of the fight she have had with the man—followed her with the same triumphant smile. Fascinated as always, they cheered for her victory. "Uhm, president Chelsea." Chelsea sternly stopped her walk, then she looked at her back to check who was calling her. She smiled when she saw that it was her classmate whom she made the biggest favor today. "Hey, Vinna, you okay?" she asked. "Uhm, I just want to thank you for helping me. If not for you, Fuego might have hurt me already. Worse, he might have … he might …" she stammered. She partially tried to hug her own body uncomfortably—a sign that she experienced unjust physical abuse. She sighed. "Awwe, Vinna, it's okay. Is that man I have just pulped named Fuego? That's a gross name. Next time, you've got to choose the best man in town if you have plans to get a boyfriend. Not that kind of man. That's why he deserved to be beaten." "I … I thought he was the best man for me. But I was mistaken," said Vinna. Her voice cracked along with hints of despair and remorse. Chelsea scoffed and stared at Vinna deliberately. "You know, before getting a boyfriend, you need to go get some 'taste-for-men' classes first because you surely have none. Women are never bound to be stupid. You change your views." It was not a suggestion, but a command. Chelsea was firm of her views especially when it concerns unjust rights and equality deserving for the oppressed. She again turned her back and started to head toward their classroom. She is Chelsea Grace. Everyone knows and remembers her name. She is—obviously—a woman that would never hesitate swinging her fist for a hooked punch, gashing a man, even if it is twice as big than her. She is a woman of pride, and a big icon of threat to the people who had plans or attempt to abuse anyone, most especially if it is about her classmates. She was elected as the block president in their class and with soaring pride, she took the position too seriously. Very, to add more . . . emphasis. But the way how she has been resolving the belching problems whenever some of it arises were pretty much unconventional. Just like what had happened to Vinna. That time, she was lone in their classroom, attempting to accomplish the math problem she forgot answering during their math class. Then, one of her classmates rushed to her and told her that Vinna (of course, a classmate of her too) was being abused by his boyfriend. Being the unsolicited protector of the class, she started stretching her body in a badass way, less was the music effect when kick-ass heroines does the same as her in movies. And then she ran towards the scene so that she can help and beat the man to a pulp. Everyone was always flustered and amazed whenever Chelsea goes into her raging mode. Everyone looks at her with both admiration and envy as she beat the bullies of their school. No one can touch her because aside from being the icon of threat, when teachers and the school were in her front, she becomes the icon of a good student as well. A two-faced wolf that can ace both of the scheming sides. ** "Bye Chelsea. See you tom." Chelsea nodded to her friend as a reply for the goodbye. Today's class ended peacefully (aside from what happened to Vinna's boyfriend). She was arranging the notes and books in her bag so that she could catch up some fresh air that was not tinted with tracing scent of school ink and papers. "You're not going out yet, Chelsea?" a man's deep voice suddenly billowed at her back, asking her a question. "Ah, I'm just arranging my things, Rage. You better get going now. I'm not joining you." "Got a work?" Chelsea nodded. "Alright then. Take care." The man named Rage calmly walked out of the room and probably would go home by now. Rage is Chelsea's bestfriend. They became friends when Rage became their neighbor. Since childhood, she and that man has been inseparable. Wherever one goes, the other would follow. Whatever one desires, the other would desire as well. But then, when the effects of puberty started hitting, it seemed that something has changed between them. Though they still consider each other as best friends, and most of the time, they spend time going home together, and they share lots of secrets to each other, both of them can say that something has changed: they were now not as close as how they used to be when they were still children. Rage became the subject of desire in their school. He became popular. Well, it was made justified by his handsome features, unleveled talent in music, and mysterious, cold actions. Chelsea on the other hand, became both the bullies' primary enemy and the school's top student. They have two different worlds. At first, it did not matter to them because they knew they have the same vibes and clicks in life. They attempted to continue their relation as the bestest friends. But then, when Chelsea started to develop feelings toward him, his best friend, she decided to put a little bit of distance away from him. She does not want him to know that she developed extreme attachment to him because she's afraid it would cause their friendship ruined. By keeping her distance, the foundation of their friendship may have softened, but at least it wasn’t crumbled. She sighed when Rage was finally gone from her sight. When she was done putting her notes in her bag, she languidly checked through her phone. "s**t!" Her eyes widened when she realized that she was already five minutes late to her work. Today, she took a part-time job on a convenience store near her school. She had no choice but to find a decent-paying part time job because even though her life as a student seemed nice, her life outside is miserable. Dire. Her mother never supported her studies. Instead of wishing her goodluck and all the best in her academic career, she would ignore her and would only focus on her two younger sisters. She felt no love from her. Her father has been dead for five years already. She does not know the reason why her mother was mistreating her. Once, she was said to be an adopted child, but being stubborn, she refused to believe the shame. "I am f*****g late, oh s**t!” She ran down the busy street as she worries that the store manager she is working at, would get mad at her for being late. Fully decided that she balefully needs to go to her work—as quick as possible—she took the path where it will pave her cut-short time in reaching the store. It was a shortcut—an alley made from the walls of two huge buildings standing side by side. At the end of the alley is the street where the store she is to work, could be dredged. "I am late, I am late! s**t, I am late!" she repeatedly chanted, raging. As she ran fast through the alley, she did not notice that there were a group of men that is constantly, patiently waiting for her. Hiding in the dark portion of the building's walls, they bide their toes. They waited for her passing. Just as Chelsea passed from the group of men who have been secretly waiting for her, a searing line of pain burned at her back. The attack was so sudden that she did not quickly realize she was now having her toughest tries to breath. She fell to the ground caused by the pain that erupted on her back. She was at first confused from what was happening. But then, as she courageously touched the arcing pain coming from her back, she realized it was something direr. When she looked at her hand, she saw grim group of blood staining her palm. "Is this the Chelsea everyone's so afraid about?" Despite her gaze spinning and blurry, she saw a huge man standing in front of her now vulnerable self. The man was tightly holding a knife, looking at her with his nasty-drawn smirk. Chelsea realized that the cause of the searing pain in her back was the knife that the man is holding. She has been stabbed. Still then, Chelsea showed a mocking smirk. “You guys can't fight me head-on? Instead, you resorted to this kind of cheating? Seriously, were your balls intended to be cooked as soft-boiled eggs?” A hint of irritation lined through the face of the man who was holding the knife. He was affected by the way how initiating the mock of Chelsea has been. "You’re to die, and that's what still running in your foul mouth? Do you want me to slice up the edges of your lips until you looked like a clown?" The irritated man asked. Then, the other men at his back started to laugh and cheered him. "Oh go on then. Make me a clown because I somehow sympathize with you guys for being a clown even just by doing nothing," Chelsea, still courageous, remarked. Perhaps Chelsea's courage was too much because it did not save him from the hands of these men. Instead, it cost her something more. Because she was helplessly weak, she did not realize that the man was already at her front. The knife he was holding was gravely buried at her chest. She even felt how the man twisted that sharp knife, grinding her flesh because of utter grudge and anger. "This . . . is what happens to anyone who makes fun of us, poor woman. Go get me a fan sign from Satan and enjoy the hell, Chelsea." The man slowly whispered beside Chelsea’s ears. Chelsea knew that she was going to die. She had no idea why this has happened to her. All she did her entire life is to be the best person she could be. She worked hard for herself. She became strong and fearless not just for herself but for the sake of others. She became the best woman she could ever be. But then, was this the consequence of her doing the things she knew was right? What pains her more was . . . before she closed her eyes and meet the chaperone of death, she saw Rage—her best friend and her man of dreams—was among the group of men watching her as she pitifully falls into the pit of her death. "Rage," she whispered. Tears fell from her eyes. She could not accept what she had seen. Why her best friend would let this happen to her? Why would he let her die? She asked herself. Sadly, because she only had few seconds left in her life, she did not get any kinds of answer she deserves. Until everything faded into nothing. ** "Princess Demeter, Duchess of the house of Saxton, you only have a minute to get out from your bed, or else I will pour you a bucket of cold water!" A woman frantically rose from an elaborately-designed bed. She gasped and chased for air. Even though she had come from sleeping, still, she was as beautiful as the pearl of the orient sea. She had a copper-shining wave of hair, and her complexion shimmers as the morning sun hit her skin. "Wh-where am I? Where are those guys? Rage! Where is Rage?!" the woman cried. She looked at the other woman standing beside her bed, wearing a seemingly maid's dress—but more extravagant. That woman in a maid's dress was looking at her with draws of judgment all over her face. "You must have been still in the world of dreams, Princess Demeter. There is no one named Rage in the castle. Such a peculiar name would that be!" The woman shook her head in confusion. Sure, she knew she was not—never—in the world of dreams. And, her name is not Princess Demeter. The last time she checked her certificate of birth, she saw her name spelled as Chelsea. Not Demeter.