You were never the type to frighten easily. Often, you stood your ground and faced your problems head on. But this wasn't the case today....
Transferring schools was never an easy thing for anyone, but for you it was a bit worse. You had an anti-social demeanor, and a temper that would flare when you were upset. You weren't a fool and knew when to swallow your pride...most of the time. It didn't help that your whole body screamed "Don't look; don't touch!" It wasn't that you weren't physically attractive, it was your clothes. It was a simple hoodie with jeans and a pair of plain tennis shoes. You avoided eye contact and kept your arms crossed when you "introduced" yourself to each class.
Which was how you found yourself here, in English II, standing in front of the class like a five year old. Your teacher, Mr. Kirkland, looked kind of like a loon. Very light blonde hair with blue eyes and a pink shirt and a darker pink vest, a tie to match his eyes and light brown slacks. It was like he lived in a fairytale land, and his accent drove the point home.
"Hello, dearies, I know we're all ready to begin, but first let me introduce the new student, Ms. ______."
You continued to look at the floor.
"Don't be shy, love! Take a look around! We're all friends here," he coaxed.
You looked up.
'Either this man his blind as a bat or he's on drugs,' you though. 'Probably both.'
One glance told you the exact opposite of what Mr. Kirkland had said. Everyone seemed uninterest at your presence, some even looked at you like they loathed it. All except one, dark haired boy in the back, who stared at you with a sick, twisted smile. You noticed a baseball bat sticking out of his book bag; there were nails in it.
"Oh! You're going to have the grandest day here, ______!" Mr. Kirkland cheered. "Please, take a seat in front of Alfred."
"Who?" you asked.
"Excuse me," he apologized. "Alfred, old boy, would you raise your hand?"
The dark haired kid's hand shot up and you wished you hadn't asked. Slowly, you trudged to your seat, half scared for your well being.
Upon closer inspection of him you noted that he kept red tinted glasses that matched his eyes on top of his head and that his skin was fairly tanned. You also saw red stains on his bat and began to feel uneasy.
You took your seat and pulled out a notebook from your bag. You hoped to catch up on what Mr. Kirkland had been previously teaching, but a whisper kept you from doing so.
"New girl is mine," it had said.
It hadn't come from behind you, like you had first though, but from your left. A boy, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes, twiddled a rose between his fingers. He glanced at you and grinned before whispering, "You know it's true."
The moment the bell rang for you to leave that school you were first out the door. The rest of you day hadn't gone much better. You had to sit with this quiet, albino kid at lunch named Gilbert. He rarely spoke and kept serious.
You walked down the street, heading towards the apartment building you stayed in, when a familiar voice called out.
"Going my way?" the French accent drawled.
You cringed. "If your heading to South Street, then yes."
"Looks like you have a walking buddy," he chuckled throwing an arm around you. "Name's Francis, by the way."
You walked with him a good ways, letting him ask you simple questions and after a while you relaxed.
'Maybe I misjudged him.'
Suddenly, he stopped.
"______, what's that?" he pointed down an alleyway.
"I don't see anything, Francis," you replied.
He grabbed you by the shoulders and stood you where he was at previously. "Down there. There's something shiny!"
"I still can't see anything," you said, squinting your eyes.
"Then let's get a closer look!"
He pushed you down through it, and it wasn't till you were a good ways down that you realized the sky had darken and rain was gently falling.
"Francis, I have no idea what you saw, but I need to get home."
"Right after I take what's rightfully mine," he crooned in a eerie tone.
That's when it hit you. The questions; the kindness; the fake shiny thing, it was all a ploy so you would drop you defenses.
And you had fell for it.
"Please, no, Francis," you pleaded, backing up against the wall. "This isn't right!"
"It doesn't have to be."
You tried to throw a punch but he caught it, you kicked him hard in the shins but it did no good.
He slapped you hard across the face.
"You're going to behave, no?"
You bit back a snarky remark and nodded.
He ran a hand up your thigh, slowly, making you shiver. His other hand traced your jaw line and cheek, causing a encouraging and unwanted blush to appear. Your body betrayed you as you groaned to his touch, by now the rain was falling so hard you couldn't heard if you screamed.
He nibbled at your collar bone and left trails of kisses up your neck. His eyes locked with yours and he muttered something in French.
This was it. He was going to take your everything just with a kiss. You could feel him closing in on you even though your eyes were shut tight. And right before his lips connected...
Francis let go of you and fell to the ground, limp. A puddle of blood surrounded his head. Your back slid down the wall as you shook trying to regain control. You hadn't realized it, but you had been sobbing. You pulled your knees up close and continued to. It felt bittersweet; as much as you hated to cry it felt like it was washing everything away.
"Hey," a gruff voice said. "You gonna sit there like a weeping willow all day or you wanna get outta here?"
You looked up to see the dark haired boy, Alfred, from English. He had his bat swung over his shoulder and blood dripping from it. He offered you a leather gloved hand and you took it.
As you walked out of the alley you wanted to thank him, but it came out a bit...differently.
"What are you?" you blurted.
He looked down at you and laughed a dark laugh. He pointed a thumb to himself. "Me?"
"I'm the bad guy."