Born to burn

10. HIGH SCHOOL HELL II. _______________________

PHOENIX POV

•

Silverton High. Tuesday.

•

Next day?

I woke up actually feeling all right. So much so, I dared to look in the mirror. And… what the f***k? Almost all the bruises are gone! The swelling is nowhere… like, what is this?! Cheekbones smooth and sharp. Lip almost healed. My skin’s still a little puffy, but the puffy that could pass for bad sleep. Not violence. I blink. My eyes? Kinda f.ucking pretty today. For once, I don’t look like a walking caution tape. Just… tired. It's a nice change. So, yeah. I swipe on a little mascara and I don’t even recognise the girl staring back at me in the mirror. F.ucking h.ell.

Am I feeling happy or what is this? Did the whole night's sleep do this or is something in the air here?

It’s so strange, but for the first time in a while, I don’t look like a corpse… So I decided to go right today. Not invisible. Whatever the f***k that means. Jeans again. Grey and tight around my a.ss. I like it. Tight black long-sleeved t-shirt that hugs you in the right places. Hoodie black, oversized, sleeves stretched from pulling them over my fists. My faded black backpack, cause I don't have anything else… And to top it off, cause I might actually smile today. My lovely old, but good, black platform Dr Martens. Nice, it's the end of March. The kind of weather that tricks you into thinking everything is fine. Alright, today? I take the f.ucking bus, and let me tell you, nothing is quite like climbing onto a school bus full of strangers, headphones on, hoodie up, and giving the entire world the silent middle finger. The seat’s sticky, air smells like bleach, cheap perfume, and bubblegum, but I like it as the bus drives and the streets blur into that deep forest behind the window. It's somehow peaceful…

What the f***k is wrong with me? Or is it this place? Do I actually like it here?

I think to myself as I chew the inside of my cheek and for some reason replay yesterday’s hallway slam like it’s a movie scene. One of them had that stare… mischievous, but also curious. The other? Cold, but pulling…Even tho, that s.hit he pulled in class? What a d.ick… but his scent. Black pepper. Cedarwood. Still clinging to the back of my throat like some disease... I hated how I didn’t hate it. f***k. What a weird a.ss j.erks… Anyway, the bus doors hiss open and I step out with my hoodie up and the beat pounding in my ears, I tug the straps of my backpack higher and walk through the front gates.

•

Silverton High again. The same stale f.ucking play as yesterday. Locker chatter. Fluorescent lights flickering.

First period? Boring. World History. The teacher looks like he’s been dead since Nixon resigned. I sit in the back. Hoodie still on. We’re covering revolutions today. How poetic. A girl two rows up whispers something and snickers. I catch the word stripper paired with Goodwill Barbie. How creative.

Second period? Advanced chemistry. I scribble nothing and just watch the others doing their typical teen stuff I guess. I don't f.ucking know, never had the luxury of being a kid… Then the door opens. Late. Confident. And f***k me, of course it’s him. The other twin. Not cold white buzzcut rage-machine. The other one. Dark hair. Jaw sinfully sharp. The one who didn’t slam me yesterday, but watched with a smirk, as he enjoyed it. He strolls, with his hoodie half-unzipped. Tank top clinging to a body that was probably carved by the devil. f***k he's definitely hot, I’ll give him that. Silver chain swings at his throat and those eyes? Obsidian black. Sharp. Bright. Alive. They scan the class till they land on me, of course they do and he smiles looking away.

„Sorry, I’m late.” His voice is slick. The kind of voice that slides under your skin and stays there. Mr Cranwell waves him in.

„Oh, look. Dorian blessed us with his presence? What a lucky day. Take a seat, Mr Thorne.” He nods, walks past two open chairs and drops into the seat right next to mine. Of course he f.ucking does. Is this a joke? I feel angry for a second, but then again, that heat. That energy. Like static building under my skin.

„You always smell this sweet, or is that just for me?” He murmurs. His breath hits the curve of my neck and I swear to god, another scent slams into me like a memory I never had. Rosemary. Sandalwood. Thick. Hot. Spicy and intoxicating. It clings to the back of my throat just like yesterday, but this scent is different. Not so strong and choking, but warmer, sweeter, and again, I’m not sure I hate it. f***k… My head snaps toward him fast.

„Didn’t think you’d come back after yesterday. Most girls don’t like hitting the floor before the first period.” My jaw tightens as I narrow my eyes at him.

„Most boys don’t need backup to knock a girl down.” I shoot back, voice dry, but his smile widens. Is this guy for real? He pisses me off so f.ucking much just by being…

„I just enjoyed the view. Nothing wrong with that…” I don’t look away.

„You're always this charming, or am I just that blessed?” I ask, so f.ucking annoyed it's dripping from every word.

„Only for you, sweetheart.” He leans in. Closer. His shoulder brushes mine like it’s an accident. It isn’t. Oh f***k no. My pulse skips. I hate how his scent is already crawling into my throat and staying there. What’s with their scents? This is so f.ucking weird. I want to slap him! No… I want to lick the words off his mouth and spit his scent back to where it came from… but breathe it in at the same time. What's wrong with me?!

„What do you want?” I ask flatly. He tilts his head and pretends to think.

„To know what kind of girl walks through wolves like she’s already survived the worst.” Wolves?! What the f***k is this again? I think to myself, but don't say a word. He laughs. A real laugh. Low. Rich.

„That’s what I thought.” And then he leans back in his chair like he didn’t just rearrange my f.ucking nerves. This boy? This boy is so annoying… And on top of that, every time I inhale, it feels like a warm hand is sliding up my thighs and curling around my throat. And my body is f.ucking reacting, like a traitor.

„You always that sharp with your tongue, sweetheart?” I don’t answer and keep my eyes forward, but he leans closer.

„Bet you bite when you’re bored.”

F.uck. I feel the heat crawl up my neck. I don’t look at him, but my fist tightens on the pen so hard it might snap. He chuckles, dark and pleased. Then… the bell rings.

Saved by the bell?

What a f.ucking cliché. I shoot out of my seat and bolt into the hallway, but of course he f.ucking follows me.

„Hey, hey, slow down.” His voice is that same honey-slicked one.

„What?” I spin around just enough to glare. He grins. That same crooked, lazy smile that says he likes this. The chase. Thrives on it.

„Just wondering what it’ll take to get a name outta you that isn’t laced with poison.”

„Try not breathing.” I snap. He laughs again and then he f.ucking moves. One hand slams against the locker beside my head, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat of him crawl under my skin.

„Gods, you’re fun.” His voice dips.

„Do you always talk like this?” I roll my eyes. He’s so corny.

„You’re in my space, sugar boy.” My voice is acid.

„Back the f***k up before I mistake you for a mosquito.” His smile grows.

„So you do bite.”

„Only when something’s too dumb to get in my space.” I say it slowly. Cruel. His smile slowly fades.

„What’s the matter? Does this usually work for you?” I tilt my head.

„Cute.” That does something to him. His jaw flexes. His eyes narrow, not with anger, but with interest.

„You’re different, princess.” He murmurs, still not moving.

„Good.” I say, but then it hits me. That chill, that pressure. The back of my neck goes tight and in my head I know exactly why. The other one… Victor is here. Somewhere to the left, across the hallway. His eyes and his f.ucking presence. I don’t even need to look to know he’s watching, but I do look. Because of course I f.ucking do. And there he is… standing still as death. Staring at Dorian like he wants to rip the skin off his bones. That stare? It slides over me like lightning. Heavy, hot and cold… And this Dorian? He f.ucking laughs as if he’s doing this on purpose. Not scared. Not sorry. Just amused. He leans in a breath closer, just to twist the knife even deeper.

„You always make the wolves this jealous, sweetheart?” Wolves? What f.ucking game is this?! And how the f***k did I feel him without even knowing he's here? This is so weird…

„You’re both insane.” I mutter, straightening up. I shoved him away and my backpack higher. My body’s still buzzing, but my mind is f.ucking done.

„This town is twisted. You’re both weird. And if either of you thinks I’m intimidated or impressed? Think the f***k again.” I shoulder past him. But even as I walk away, I can still feel it.

The burn of Dorian’s smirk on my back. The weight of Victor’s eyes like a brand across my spine.

What the f***k is this? What kind of place is this? What kind of people are they? And why the hell am I still shivering?

This is so strange, but I’m not f.ucking doing this. I don’t flirt, I don't chase and I sure as hell don’t play nice with petty boys who think I’m gonna fall for their intimidating orders and cheap lines. Anyway, the rest of the day was unbothered. Boring, even. Classes blurred into each other, teachers droned, students whispered and papers passed. I didn’t see either of them again. They were gone, but they weren’t and it was the worst kind of haunting I've ever felt.

•

The final bell rings like a mercy kill. I don’t wait and head straight for the front gates, headphones on, hoodie up, backpack slung low. My boots scuff against the pavement as I settle onto the rusted bench at the bus stop. It’s warm. Breezy. Too f.ucking peaceful. So, of course it has to end. I think to myself right before I feel them. I don't even need to look around to know it's them. Again. Standing across the street like I have a f.ucking twin radar. Buzzcut menace. Dark-haired sin. Just… watching. And me? I sit there like I don’t know what they want. The point is… I don't f.ucking wanna know and I don't f.ucking care. I close my eyes and lean back against the bench. Let the sun hit my face. Let the music drown everything else. Let the tension stretch…until a shadow breaks across the light. And a hand, soft and intentional… gently slides one side of my headphones down. I blink up, ready to snarl. But it’s him. Fez. Brown curls. Golden eyes. Coat that costs more than rent and a smile that could sell you back your own secrets. The sight of him is surprising and refreshing at the same time. Nice.

„Hello, little dove…” He says, voice smooth and warm.

„Dangerous business dealer boy… what if I stabbed you in the neck for getting this close unannounced?” I smirk and he chuckles.

„I guess we’ll never know.” He holds out a hand. Not to touch me. Just to offer. One chance. One moment. This is the part in the story where most girls would say no. Would pull back. Would get suspicious. Would run. But me? I’m not like most girls.

„Are we going somewhere?” He doesn’t blink.

„Anywhere but here.” He says.

And that? Yeah… that’s the right f.ucking answer, so I smile widely, but as I do, out of the corner of my eye, I see it. Victor. Standing stone-f.ucking-still across the street. His fists clenched. Eyes locked on me like I just committed treason. And beside him? Dorian is smiling. Tight. Forced. Polished. But his jaw ticks. And Fez? Fez sees it. Of course he f.ucking does. He tilts his head, amused, golden eyes glinting with something cruel.

„Are those your boyfriends, little dove?” He purrs.

„Those two? One wants to kill me, the other wants to f***k me. Can’t decide which is more annoying.” Fez’s smile curves wickedly.

„Sounds exhausting.”

„It is.” I hum, sliding into the leather seat.

„Good thing you showed up before they started marking territory or something.” He raises an eyebrow, engine idling as smoothly as his voice.

„I don’t think they liked that you got in.”