Loner for Luna

Chapter 4

Prue

I opened my locker and switched out my textbooks like a robotic ATM – books in, books out, on autopilot. The routine felt endless. Numbing. My fingers worked mechanically, but my mind was already far away, floating somewhere above this fluorescent-lit hallway.

A shout pierced through the white noise of slamming lockers and teenage chatter.

“f***k you!” A girl’s voice, sharp as glass.

“Last I remember, I fu.cked you!” came the equally crude reply from a guy’s voice – low, biting. “I know you are eager to get a repeat of my d***k but you’re just too big of a sl.ut for me to ever go back for seconds.”

My eyes flicked toward the sound on instinct. A tall guy with black hair – senior, probably, but we didn’t share classes – was marching down the hallway with a storm on his face.

“Oh really?” the blonde girl shot back, walking beside him. “Well, I clearly recall you enjoying me plenty of times while moaning, ‘You’re so good, so good, I’m gonna come real fast.’”

He flushed crimson, as their faces came into view while they kept moving in my direction. I snorted. Not because I endorsed the fight, but because...ouch. That one cut deep. I liked her comeback. Though her s****l résumé was probably a bit too colorful for her age. Still, she clearly wasn’t short on things to say.

“Shut up, b*tch!” he spat, rage barely contained. “You’re just like a pair of socks – warm and nice at first, then disgusting and disposable after a few hours.”

“You are the one who keeps on crawling back with – more, let's have more. Besides, it’s never been a few hours, just four to five minutes, and you know it.” She folded her arms, fire in her eyes.

I let out a laugh I couldn’t hold back. That “four to five minutes” jab hit too close to the truth for most teenage boys. They both turned to look at me, mid-stride, just now registering my presence a few lockers down.

"Never come near me again," he said, his voice low and clipped, every word packed with restrained anger. He glared at me too and stormed off. She, on the other hand, walked straight to a locker just five down from mine. Huh. So we were neighbors.

She glanced at me, brushing hair from her flushed face.

“Aren’t all guys just di.cks?” she said, lowering her voice. “First they act like Prince Charming, sweet-talking you into bed. Then suddenly, you’re a sl.ut. Like...excuse me?”

Her bitterness wasn’t just about him. It was older than that. Familiar, ingrained.

“Did you sleep with other guys after him?” I asked bluntly, while streams of students kept flowing past in both directions, already forgetting the drama that unfolded here just seconds ago. Typical.

She didn’t flinch.

“Obviously. He’s not the only fish in the sea. And definitely not the longest or best swimmer – if you know what I mean.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but I noticed the sadness underneath. I always did.

“Bet that bruised his ego. Narcissists can’t handle being passed over.”

She chuckled, half-heartedly.

“Totally.”

There it was – the weariness behind the bite. I'd seen her hanging out with the "party girls." Same short skirts, same too-loud laughs. But she was different. She had the saddest eyes in that whole glittery mess. Girls like her weren’t lost causes – they were lost hearts. I get the psychology behind such a promiscuous behavior – the need, the patterns – but emotionally, it’s always felt like a foreign language to me. Why on earth would I let a bunch of grimy teenage hands – and other questionable parts – touch my sacred temple of a body? Nope. Not happening. Ever.

“Prue,” I said, stepping closer to her with an extended hand.

“Tes,” she said, shaking my hand lightly and smiling softly.

“Ever thought about not giving guys anything until they put a ring on your finger?”

I threw in, testing the grounds. She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me instead.

“Why? And miss out on all the fun? Girls have hormones too, you know?”

“Sure, I get it.” I shrugged. “Okay, new approach – why not stick with the guy who was best in bed?”

She sighed dramatically.

“He moved to another state.”

That sucked.

“Second runner-up?”

I wiggle my eyebrows, earning a small smile from her as she rolls her eyes in playful mockery.

“He’s on-and-off with my good friend.” She sighed.

“So… you're not heartless.”

“I might be a little promiscuous, but I’m not a monster.” She grinned despite herself.

“Fair. But aren’t you tired of the letdown after half-hearted teenage hookups feeling void?” I asked softly. “Of giving your body away and still feeling alone? I mean, most teenage boys finish in three minutes, barely warms you up, leaves you hanging and wide awake. Making a grocery list in your mind is more fun than that.”

I asked, tilting my head slightly. She absorbed my words in silence. Then she blinked. That one hit. She narrowed her eyes.

“What are you, a therapist?”

There it was – the defense wall. Classic move, I saw it coming. I think, as I watch her squint and catch the tiniest flickers in her expression.

“Nope.” I popped the ‘p’ with a playful smirk.

She slammed her locker and was about to storm off. I caught her middle in a smooth move, as she tried to walk past me, startling her.

“But I can be someone who listens to your bleeding heart.” I whispered near her ear, then stepped back before she could swing at me.

She stared at me, blinking.

“Yeah... thanks, no.”

And with that, she was gone, walking off to her classroom like the conversation never happened. But her heart rate said otherwise.

I smirked to myself.

That’s always how it starts.

I’d turned one se.x-addicted girl last year into a self-aware, therapy-going introvert who now started a school club on emotional self-respect. It has become an addiction since then. Helping girls realize they deserved more than three-minute boys and shame games.

And the best part? The fuming, red-faced teenage boys who couldn’t handle the shift in power. Beautiful chaos.

This school didn’t know it yet, but I was on a quiet mission. One conversion at a time.

We will meet again, Tessa, I thought, smirking as I started moving toward my next class when the bell rang.

The hallway buzzed with the usual chaos – laughter, slamming lockers, and the shuffle of hundreds of students trying to make it on time. I kept walking, but my mind was still tangled in that brief exchange. There was something about Tessa – her fierce attitude, the sadness behind her eyes – that stuck with me. She wasn’t just another girl playing the part; there was a story there. I was curious, and maybe a little invested. Not that I needed more drama, but sometimes people like her pulled me in, like a puzzle I wanted to solve.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Fifty minutes of English, then lunch, and another marathon of boring classes until I could escape back to my room and unpack all the mental clutter swirling around. Maybe I’d think about Tessa again, maybe not. Either way, I had to keep my guard up. High school was nothing if not a battlefield disguised as a social scene – and I wasn’t about to lose this round.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and pushed forward, determined not to get caught in anyone else’s mess today. Just kidding – I loved to perk up my wolfen ears and dive right into everyone’s business! I chuckled to myself, just as a snippet of conversation drifted across the hall: “Did you hear…?” More fun for me, I rubbed my hands – in my mind, of course – already picturing the juicy gossip about to unravel. High school drama was my favorite kind of entertainment, and today’s episode was just getting started.

With a sly grin, I slunk into the crowd, ready to eavesdrop like a pro. Whatever secrets they thought were safe? Not on my watch.