Guns and Roses

Purpose

Leo Saint Laurent

Most days, the cafeteria sounded like hell. Metal trays scraping, chairs dragging, fakeass laughter echoing off ugly beige walls. I never ate lunch. I didn’t need to. The hunger I had wasn’t the kind food could fix.

But that day, I walked in with purpose. Not to push pills, not to scope the teachers who turned blind eyes. No, I came for her.

Genevieve.

New girl. Pretty mouth. Sad, large-like-an-owl eyes. Something about the way she held her fork yesterday while we spoke about her drawings, all cautious and unsure, made something sick in me feel steady for once. I was sure by now she would have gotten cautionary tales about from like 70% of the school, but I didn’t care—Like if I could just look at her long enough, the buzzing in my skull would quiet down.

She was already sitting-corner seat, edge of the room, tray untouched. She was alone. Again.

I liked that. I thought to myself as I walked up to her.

But then, this punk with a Letterman jacket-Derek or Devin or something dumb made a move. I saw him spot her and change direction, tray in hand, stupid confidence in his step. He had that “I’ve pulled girls like her before” energy. I wanted to beat that confidence out of him and smack that aura out of his damn ass.

I moved before he got too close. Cut across the aisle like a shadow with a heartbeat.

“Hey, is this seat ta—” he started, but that’s as far as he got.

I didn’t say a word. Just looked at him.

That’s it. One look-filled with disgust and a look that clearly told him that he’d eating his lunch off the floor if he didn’t take off.

He froze. My face didn’t twitch, but the corner of my mouth might’ve moved, just enough to remind him who I was. The rumors weren’t rumors. People who smiled at me in the hallway did it with their eyes darting toward exits.

Derek or whatever swallowed hard. Then he turned. Walked away like I hadn’t just ripped his spine out with a stare.

I pulled the chair out, sat across from her.

She blinked at me.

“You gonna eat that or just stare at it till it gets cold?” I asked, voice calm, lazy like a blade before it cuts.

She hesitated. Then picked up her fork.

That was enough.

For now.

She picked up her fork and started poking at her food like it had done something to her. Quiet. Still. But not scared.

That made me stare.

Most people—hell, even the teachers—when I looked at them like that, they flinched. Pulled back. Like they could see what I’d done and what I’d do again if I had to. But her? She didn’t flinch. She just… kept eating.

Like she didn’t know who I was.

Or worse, like she didn’t care.

I watched her lips part around a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Slow. Thoughtful. And something inside me curled tight. Not lust. Not exactly. Obsession, maybe. Curiosity with a violent edge.

“What’s your name again?” I asked, even though I already knew it. I was trying to be annoying.

She looked up. “Genevieve.”

I nodded slowly, chewing the name in my head. Genevieve. Too soft for this place. Too breakable. She didn’t belong here. Not in this shithole town. Not in this school. Not at this table…with me.

I shouldn’t be this close to her.

I should be outside with the crew. Taking inventory. Counting cash. Swapping pills. But instead, I was watching the way her fingers tapped the side of her tray like she was nervous but trying to hide it.

“I don’t bite,” I said.

That was a lie. I do bite. I just hadn’t decided whether I wanted to bite her or protect her yet. She also didn’t sound very ecstatic about meeting like yesterday. I knew it. These people’s mouths move news faster than a f*****g comet.

She raised a brow, clearly not buying it. “You looked like you were about to rip that guy’s head off.” She said. Eyes searching. So I smiled then. First time in weeks. A real smile, ugly and sharp.

“Was just a look,” I said.

“But it worked,” she replied, still meeting my eyes. Brave or stupid. Or both.

We sat in silence for a beat. My fingers drummed on the table. She looked away first, back to her tray. I watched her like she was a ticking bomb. No, not a bomb. A thread. Something that, if I pulled it too hard, might unravel everything inside me.

“I’ve seen you do that before,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yesterday. You were staring.”

I leaned in, my voice dropping a shade colder. “Still am.”

She didn’t look away this time.

My heart thumped once. Just once. Hard enough that I almost reached for my chest.

God, what the hell was this?

She wasn’t just pretty. She was a problem. The kind that made me want to hurt people for even looking her way. The kind that made me want to cage her up just so I could be the only one to see her.

I hadn’t felt anything close to this in a long time.

Not since… well.

Not since her.

And we all know how that ended.

I glanced at her fingers again. Clean nails. No rings. No nervous picking. No scars. Not like mine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said suddenly, standing up. I didn’t wait for her answer.

If I stayed, I might’ve said something I couldn’t take back.

Or worse, done something I couldn’t undo.