Chapter 12: Free Week
1754 Words
Red:
I smiled as I unlocked my phone and crossed the street, glancing both ways before stepping off the curb. We’d agreed to go our separate ways this week — me, Cleo, and Cross. The school calls it Free Week, this weird tradition every first week of July where everyone gets to spend time apart from their partners or teammates.
It’s not that I’m happy Cleo isn’t around — okay, maybe a little — but come on, that girl acts like she’s allergic to makeup stores. I couldn’t even drag her to Watsons without hearing her complain about the smell of lip gloss.
So yes, I left the mansion early today. Our first class isn’t until 8 a.m., and I wanted some me-time — retail therapy edition.
The mall was already humming with morning chatter when I walked into Watsons. The smell of perfume, lotion, and too many testers hit me, but I didn’t care. I had money, mood, and freedom. Thank God for Zandro’s generosity — his “allowance” system meant I always had extra.
I sighed, happily.
“Is there anything you’re looking for, Ma’am?” one of the salesladies asked politely, flashing a bright smile.
I shook my head quickly. “It’s okay, Miss! I can handle it, thanks!”
She laughed, and I realized maybe I’d spoken a little too cheerfully. Oops.
Still, as I browsed through the aisles, my thoughts started wandering — mostly toward Cross. Part of me wanted to just come clean to her, to tell her the truth: that Cleo and I were only sticking close to her because her father told us to.
Knowing Cross, she’d hate that — the idea that she didn’t have a say in it. But what choice did we have? Zandro’s orders were absolute. If we went against him, we’d probably be the ones buried next.
I was in the middle of comparing two lip tints when it happened — I bumped into someone hard enough that I dropped my shopping basket. Everything clattered to the floor.
“Seriously?” I muttered, glaring up at the guy who caused it.
To his credit, he immediately crouched down and started picking everything up. Good, I thought. He should — he’s the reason they fell in the first place.
When he stood up and handed the basket back to me, recognition hit.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re Aubrey’s best friend,” he said dryly, as if remembering something mildly annoying.
Right. That voice, that face — what was his name again? Ty… Tyn... Tyrone? Oh! Tyler!
My eyes dropped to the items he was holding — eyebrow pencil, lipstick. I blinked. Wait… is he—?
Oh my god. He’s gay?! That’s tragic. Why are all the good-looking ones gay? What a waste! I mean, did his family know? His friends? Probably not — he dressed and moved like a straight guy.
“I’m not gay,” he said flatly, clearly reading my thoughts. “My best friend just asked me to buy some.”
My mouth fell open a little. Oh.
He sighed when I just kept staring at him. “Can you please help me instead?”
His tone was polite but strained — maybe a little irritated. I followed his gaze to the shelf in front of us. Foundation. He looked genuinely lost.
“Which one is the foundation?” he asked.
I picked one up and handed it to him without a word. He nodded in thanks, examining it like it was some foreign artifact.
And just like that, I forgot every silly thought I’d had earlier.
Up close, he was even more handsome — sharp features, calm eyes, a quiet confidence that made him different from the rest of his obnoxious friends. I’d met some of them before — Angelo, for instance. That guy had issues. Probably had a reason for being such a pain, but still, he made me want to stab him sometimes. Then there was the loud one, who could outtalk a radio host. The trio of lookalikes — clearly brothers, all equally full of themselves.
All handsome, yes. All annoying, double yes.
But Tyler… he was the odd one out. Not loud, not arrogant, not unreadable like Cross — but calm in a way that unsettled me.
I’m used to cold people; Cross and Cleo are basically walking freezers. So Angelo’s temper didn’t intrigue me much. But Tyler’s silence — that quiet, unfazed thing he had going — I couldn’t quite decide what I didn’t like about it.
Usually, I can spot something I dislike about someone right away. It’s a habit — a survival one, maybe. You look for the cracks before they can use them against you. But with him, I couldn’t find any.
He called my attention again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Where’s the concealer?”
I sighed, stepping closer to help him. “You really don’t know anything about this stuff, do you?”
He didn’t answer, just watched as I picked out the right one for him.
“Why’d you even agree to buy something you don’t understand?” I asked, half teasing.
He gave a small shrug. “Because she asked.”
Simple. No hesitation. Just that.
And somehow, that answer — quiet, steady, almost too honest — stuck with me.
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Cleo:
The library was nearly empty when I arrived — just the faint hum of air-conditioning and the whisper of pages turning somewhere far down the hall. The light spilled softly through the tall windows, pale and golden, like dust trying to remember warmth.
I exhaled quietly as the door shut behind me. No Red. No Cross. Finally, silence.
Red had left before sunrise, humming something about “treating herself.” The school called it Free Week, as if that gave her an excuse to vanish into the city and buy more unnecessary makeup. Cross, on the other hand, had gone missing right after breakfast — which, in her language, meant trouble was just around the corner.
But me? I preferred the quiet. I always had.
I slipped into my usual corner by the farthest window — the one where no one ever sat because the light didn’t quite reach. I liked it there. Shadows were honest; they didn’t pretend to care. I set my book down, opened it to the page I’d left off, and let the world fade.
For a few precious minutes, it was just me and the soft rustle of paper.
I wasn’t always this way. I used to laugh. I used to have people. But when your entire family dies and you survive it, something inside you doesn’t grow back right. The parts of you that used to want—warmth, touch, noise—they rot quietly, and what’s left just wants to keep breathing.
Now, I didn’t chase comfort. I chased control.
And control lived here, in silence.
“Hi! Cleo, right?”
I didn’t even sigh — I just froze, mid-sentence, before glancing up.
A guy stood in front of me, wearing the school uniform like it was designed for him. His shirt perfectly pressed, his hair tousled in a way that was far too intentional. He had that lazy smile — the kind that had probably gotten him out of more trouble than it should’ve.
Tyrone. One of Angelo's friends.
He was the type who liked attention, who thought the world bent around his grin.
I didn’t answer.
He leaned on the shelf beside me, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve always intrigued me,” he said, his voice dropping into that rehearsed, playful tone boys used when they wanted to sound dangerous.
I stared at him, unblinking.
If he wanted mystery, fine. I could be one.
He waited for a reaction, but I just looked back at my book. My patience was thinner than the paper I was reading.
“I’m talking to you, you know,” he tried again.
“You’re wasting your breath.”
He chuckled, leaning closer. “And you’re wasting that pretty face being this cold.”
My gaze flicked up just long enough to meet his. “Do you want to see how cold I can really get?”
He blinked. Then smiled again — slower this time, maybe realizing I wasn’t joking.
Before he could test his luck further, another voice cut through the air.
“Tyrone.”
We both turned. A girl stood near the aisle, clutching a notebook to her chest. Wide-eyed. Hopeful. Foolish.
Tyrone exhaled dramatically. “Dian, I’m kinda busy right now. Can’t you see I’m with my girlfriend?”
My head snapped toward him. Girlfriend?
The girl’s jaw dropped. “S-she’s your girlfriend?”
“Yes,” he said easily, smiling like the word belonged to him.
The silence that followed was sharp. I didn’t even need to speak for him to know I was seconds away from making him regret it.
The girl left quickly, clearly embarrassed.
When she was gone, I turned the page of my book with unnecessary calm. “I should kill you for that,” I said, softly.
Tyrone laughed nervously. “Hey, relax. It worked, didn’t it?”
I finally looked at him, my tone flat. “Next time, I won’t be your cover story. Find another girl to feed your ego.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”
“That’s the point.”
He smirked again but backed away, realizing he wouldn’t get anywhere. “You’re a mystery, Cleo. I like that.”
“Don’t.”
He left with a grin, and I waited until the sound of his footsteps faded completely before I allowed my mask to slip — just a fraction.
The quiet came back, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence as before.
It felt… heavier.
I closed my book and looked toward the reflection in the glass window beside me.
Something in the back of my head wouldn’t stop replaying last night — the Underground ring, the blood, the moment that man stepped out of the shadows after everyone had fallen. The way he grabbed me before disappearing again.
Questions keeps bugging me, demanding answers.
I stared harder at the reflection, scanning every inch of the empty aisle behind me. Nothing. No movement.
I opened my book once more, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the third time without reading a single word.
What exactly is he there for?
- Writer
