24. The Price Of Points
24
THE PRICE OF POINTS
~GWENIVERE~
" N ope. I set myself up for failure. Had to... because this has to be pure mockery."
"Aww look. He's fucking crazy and talks to himself now."
More soured milk splashes across my uniform as I sit in the cafeteria, attempting yet again to eat something.
I've been starving all day – they pulled the same shit during breakfast after classes started at six in the fucking morning. After the endless spell work to avoid losing fifty points for our team, I'm beyond hungry.
Hangry might be the better term.
I haven't managed a single bite before the torment begins again.
It's only the third day of this madness, yet it feels like an eternity. The first day wasn't even bad – I foolishly thought I could handle this. Being treated like garbage by anyone who thinks they can walk all over you, then going home to Cassius and Nikolai apologizing for their lack of involvement because they can't interfere without losing points.
That's a whole other issue that's pissing me off.
It's harder than expected to watch your newly bonded mates sit as far from you as possible, witnessing everything while maintaining cold shoulders.
They even add to the gossip, wondering aloud about the "new student who took down the trial" and placing bets on how long until he breaks.
At this rate, I won't last until the weekend.
Starving yourself only triggers migraines, and a grumpy, hungry, thirsty vampire hybrid isn't exactly known for impulse control.
Gritting my teeth, I abandon my food.
Soggy sandwiches aren't appetizing anyway.
My gaze sweeps the cafeteria, taking in the various paranormal males pretending they're not fascinated by the show.
Those who don't bother hiding it laugh openly, encouraging others by throwing their garbage my way. Yesterday, I had to test my vampire reflexes dodging a used condom – because getting an STD from random trash wasn't on my academic bucket list.
"Running away already?" Thaddeus asks, his smirk dripping with mock concern. "Not gonna tell us which kingdom you're from? Must be royal, right? Is that why you keep trying to get Nikolai's attention even though he won't look at you?"
His laughter spreads like a disease, others joining in with slurs meant to belittle my very existence. But the growing pang in my gut warns me I'm reaching my limit – blood hunger combined with regular starvation isn't a great mix.
The first wave of dizziness hits, accompanied by that familiar gnawing sensation that screams for blood. The real dilemma is how I, the newbie Wicked Academy student Gabriel, is supposed to get blood, when Cassius and Nikolai are across the cafeteria, pretending I don't exist.
Neither of them are getting coochie tonight. I don't care if I have to sleep on Mortimer's sofa.
Deep down, I know this situation is out of their hands. They warned me that outside our rooms, they'd have to be complete assholes to gain points. But knowing doesn't make it easier.
Nothing about this is easy.
The cafeteria's fluorescent lights seem too bright suddenly, making my head throb. The smell of food – even the disgusting offerings – becomes overwhelming as my senses sharpen with hunger.
I can hear every heartbeat, and smell every drop of blood pumping through the veins of my tormentors.
It would be so easy to just...
No.
I dig my nails into my palms, using the sharp pain to focus. I can't lose control here. Can't reveal that uncontrollable part of me that would love going on a rampage if it means getting a hint of payback against these fuckers.
I can't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
"What's wrong, pretty boy?" Thaddeus continues, encouraged by my silence. "Too good to talk to us common folk? Or maybe..." He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Maybe you're not royal at all. Just some peasant trying to play in the big leagues."
The irony of his taunts would be amusing if I wasn't fighting the urge to rip his throat out. If he only knew he was mocking an actual royal – though admittedly, one whose claim to the title is complicated at best.
It’s not like sharing my parents’ history would do much. Most of these peeps don’t seem to be as “old” as Cassius, Nikolai, and Mortimer in the mature department.
More students gather, drawn by the promise of entertainment. Their whispers and laughter blend into a cacophony that sets my teeth on edge. Every instinct screams to either fight or flee, but neither option helps our point situation.
This is what they want . A reaction. Any reaction.
Unless someone interferes, I’m a sitting duck, but I really don’t think I can last much longer.
Maybe if I head to the blood bank on-site that would be a good enough excuse to not be deducted points. Give me a chance to punch this fucker in the nose and maybe break it so he stops breathing permanently…
My gaze drifts to where Cassius sits, his shadows perfectly still around him as he maintains his mask of indifference. Nikolai lounges nearby, golden aura carefully contained as he pretends to be absorbed in conversation with other students who are obviously gloating to be around him.
I could tell on the first day of school, that the two are like night and day with their personalities. Nikolai is the typical popular boy. If there were sports, he’d be the captain of something, idolized by everyone.
Cassius on the other hand would be the quiet one who’d mind his own business and get perfect grades to take him to medical school or something brilliant. Even if he was a loner due to his “Duskwalker” status, he could sit at a table of other Duskwalkers and they seemed completely content in the obvious silence compared to the buzzing chaos happening around their table that’s literally at the edge of the corner.
And here I am in the middle of the chaos, being tormented for just breathing, all because I showed my “flashy” skills during that trial that has us mere points from entering Year 2.
The reason why we hadn’t secured it after the trial was that a full 24 hours had to pass by with the point rank for it to be officialized.
Damien left at the 23rd mark.
It almost feels deliberate now that I think about it while dealing with this scrutiny, and how it ignites a thrum of anger at the seductive vampire that I thought would have been a loyal member of whatever our dynamic is.
The bond marks pulse gently in their designated spots, offering comfort they can't show publicly. It helps, but not enough to dull the growing hunger or ease the ache of their forced rejection.
"Maybe he's mute," someone suggests, tossing what smells like week-old yogurt at my head. I dodge without thinking, vampire reflexes taking over, because I can’t have more sour nonsense on me.
I already have to change out of these damn clothes. No wonder the laundry service is always busy 24/7.
"Ooh, he's got moves!" Another voice calls. "Bet that's how he survived the trial. Just dodged everything like a little bitch."
The laughter grows louder, more students join in. The cafeteria has become an arena, and I'm today's entertainment.
Just afternoon classes and I’ll get to be back in the sanctuary of our place, shielded from this constant ridicule, and can cry in the shower like I have been the last two days.
If the dark circles weren’t emphasizing how little sleep I was getting, it’s the puffiness that was clearly giving me away this morning to which Nikolai had asked me if I was okay when I walked into the kitchen at 5:45, a complete zombie who didn’t get an ounce of sleep thanks to the magnitude of nightmares I’ve been experiencing.
Yeah…those.
Maybe I didn’t experience it when I arrived because the first night I’d slept with Cassius and the second night before the start of the chaos was with Nikolai.
I must have been too tired from the sex to dare dream, but I’m not acknowledging that right now.
Either way, this constant bullying is triggering my PTSD a lot harder than I would have expected, and that’s never good.
God…I’ll start summoning ghosts. Heck, let me summon the dead that can bitch slap this Thaddeus fucker.
Just about three hours and this all will be done for another day.
But three hours feels like an eternity when your body is screaming for blood, your bond mates are forced to ignore you, and every asshole with something to prove wants to test your limits.
"Come on, Gabriel," Thaddeus taunts, drawing my name out like it's something dirty. "Show us what you've got. Prove you deserve to be here."
If they only knew.
The thought almost makes me laugh. Here they are, testing my worth, when I've already done what none of them could – survived a trial that hadn't been conquered in fifty years, which is a big fucking deal in my books.
I take pride in being able to release those souls, even if they don’t understand or grasp that part.
Like they would even give a hoot.
But of course, they can't accept that. Can't handle the idea that someone they've deemed inferior might actually be stronger than they are.
Another wave of dizziness hits, stronger this time. The hunger is becoming impossible to ignore, a burning need that threatens to overwhelm my carefully maintained control.
I need to leave.
Need to find blood before this situation becomes dangerous.
But standing now, retreating under their mockery, will only make tomorrow worse.
This game has no winning moves.
The bond marks pulse again, more urgently this time. They can sense my deteriorating condition, even if they can't acknowledge it publicly.
I risk another glance at them, catching the barely perceptible tension in Cassius's shoulders, the way Nikolai's fingers grip his water glass just a little too tightly.
They're suffering too . Watching this, unable to intervene, probably feels like torture to them.
The thought should provide some comfort, but it only adds to my frustration. What kind of system forces bonds to pretend they don't exist? Forces protectors to watch their mate suffer?
A wicked one . Hence the name.
Then again, that’s why there’s no females here.
No way would a female last with this torment. I’m barely lasting after three days. Does this even count as three? Two and a half…ugh. My head hurts so bad.
More food flies my way – apparently, my prolonged silence has inspired them to try harder for a reaction. I dodge most of it, but some lands on my already stained uniform.
The smell of spoiled food mingles with the thundering heartbeats around me, creating a nauseating symphony that makes my stomach roll. Blood hunger combined with regular hunger is bad enough – add in the growing migraine and it's a recipe for disaster.
I have to get out of here. Now.
But as I start to rise, Thaddeus's hand lands heavily on my shoulder, forcing me back down.
"Leaving so soon?" he asks, voice dripping with false concern. "But we're just getting started."
The contact sends a jolt through me, every instinct screaming to break his arm.
"I gotta piss," I declare dryly, fixing Thaddeus with a glare. "Want me to do it in your mouth? Since I know you like it nice and deep down your throat."
Gasps ripples through the cafeteria at my audacity.
Thaddeus curses, face reddening. "How dare you spout that bullshit! I'm not gay like you!"
"You have to be," I counter, "considering you can't get off without tormenting me. Got a crush?" I smirk. "I can fix that. Unlike you, I'm not afraid to admit I bend both ways."
Everyone gawks while Thaddeus's face contorts with disgust. I stand, ready to leave, when something cold drenches me from above. I freeze mid-step, watching yellow liquid drip from my uniform.
The cafeteria falls silent, hundreds of eyes fixed on the scene. Slowly, I look up, meeting those familiar crimson eyes – only now they're cold and merciless.
"Since you're going to piss," Damien announces clearly, smugness radiating from every pore, "figured being drenched would remind you where you belong when it comes to meals."
His smile is sharp enough to cut.
"Hybrids don't belong in the cafeteria, period. Take this as a warning, or next time I'll make sure the piss is boiling hot so you can feel what it's like to be the complete waste you are."
I wait for someone – anyone – to intervene.
Instead, laughter erupts like a wave, filling the cafeteria with mockery. Camera shutters click rapidly, preserving this moment of humiliation for posterity.
Our eyes meet, and in that moment, all pretense drops. I stare at him with pure murderous intent, imagining exactly how his jugular would feel beneath my fangs. The hunger pulses stronger, urging me to act on these violent impulses.
"Get lost, little dog," he says loudly before dropping his voice so only I can hear. "Go back to being that little moany bitch behind closed doors. That's the only thing you're good at."
I force myself to move, even as I feel that last thread of control starting to snap.
The bond marks burn against my skin, responding to the surge of rage and humiliation coursing through me. Every vampire instinct screams for blood, while my witch side conjures a hundred creative ways to make him suffer.
The yellow liquid – please let it be fake – continues to drip from my uniform, each drop hitting the floor with a sound that seems amplified by my heightened senses. The smell is overwhelming, making my already churning stomach worse.
But it's not the physical discomfort that threatens to break me.
It's the laughter.
It fills the cafeteria like a living thing, pressing in from all sides. Hundreds of faces blur together, all wearing the same expression of cruel amusement. Some have their phones out, recording my humiliation for future entertainment.
Through it all, I can sense Nikolai and Cassius. Their bond marks pulse with barely contained fury, matching the rage building in my own chest. But they can't move, can't help, can't even acknowledge what's happening.
All of this is bullshit.
Damien stands there, basking in his moment of triumph, surrounded by his newfound allies. The vampire prince who couldn't handle rejection, now determined to make my life hell.
The hunger pangs intensify, my vision sharpening with predatory focus. I could end this right now. Show him exactly what happens when you push a hybrid too far. My fangs ache to extend, magic crackling beneath my skin.
One move. That's all it would take.
But that's exactly what he wants – for me to snap, to prove hybrids don't belong here.
To give him an excuse to escalate this war he's started.
The cafeteria continues to record every moment of my humiliation, their laughter a soundtrack to my restraint. Some have started chanting "hybrid trash" under their breath, the sound growing louder with each iteration.
Damien's smirk widens, seeing my internal struggle. He thinks he's won this round, thinks he's broken me.
If he only knew what he's actually poking.
Yellow liquid drips into my eyes, making them burn. The smell is overwhelming, the hunger maddening and every instinct I possess demands violence.
I will not let this entitled, rejected vampire prince break me.
Even if it kills me to walk away.
The hunger burns brighter, my control slipping with each passing second. I have to leave now, before the careful facade I've built thus far crumbles instantaneously.
Because if I lose control here, it won't just be Damien who bleeds.
It will be everyone.
My resolve remains as I bite my bottom lip, knowing damn well no one is coming to save the day. To stand in my steed.
That’s not how the game works.
That’s not how this school works…
Suddenly I feel stupid.
So fucking stupid, it doesn’t matter if I’m a male amid this room full of mocking laughter.
I want to cry.
To acknowledge that this dude who barely knows me actually gathered a bucket of pee from who knows fucking wear to spill on me as some sort of joke.
It proves that they all don’t know me.
Don’t care about what I’ve dealt with and overcome.
Cassius…Nikolai…outside those dorm doors, I’m just the male disguised student at Wicked Academy, and how that makes me feel like an oblivious fool.
That I was fine with letting these men touch me…fucking bond with me when they can’t go against the rules for two seconds and show their fraternity with me?
I’m so stupid.
He used to call me that.
Stupid little bitch…
Pouring that shit on me and laughing with those friends he allowed to do whatever they wanted…
It takes everything to fight those memories threatening to surface, despite burying them for so fucking long.
I go fucking manic at their reminder as a female, so what the fuck would happen now.
Here.
Where they can all see and further ridicule me.
No.
That’s enough of all this bullshit.
They don’t deserve to see me at my weakest.
Only two have seen me to the pits of the lows.
One laughed in glee and pride…and the other embraced me as if he knew my light would flicker out at any second.
Neither of these men can give me comfort…
So I don’t need them...I won't need them.
Not for this.
Sometimes survival means knowing when to walk away.
Even if every step feels like surrender.
So when I silently spin around and begin to walk away, the spike in laughter and cheers of victory are nothing but hollow echoes that chase for my attention.
Only, I can no longer have the tolerance to acknowledge their existence. Not when it feels like everything is spiraling apart.
My world is crashing down, leaving me to question why the fuck did I go along with this. Fall down this rabbit hole like some sort of hero that was going to save all those trapped in this cycle of wickedness like it’ll protect my honor.
Like it would reward me with honors I never dreamed of.
This is what always leads me down paths that level scars upon my flesh, which seems rather ironic because I just made some sort of blood covenant with two men that said they’ll never allow another to leave a scar on my flesh again.
Yet, doesn’t this count as a scar?
Does it have to be one made with the tip of a knife and an endless flow of blood streaming from the opened wound to be deemed scar-worthy?
I’m walking and thinking about how my life keeps bringing me into instances like this.
Falling hard in love with the typical “bad boy” only to be humiliated and tortured like an object that deserves to be ruined for not meeting the part…as a submissive girlfriend.
Now here I go again, walking down a path that should have led me in and out of a situation, but there I go again. Trying to be a hero instead of a fucking villain.
And now look at this pathetic end I get to face.
The laughing stock who saved those souls for what?
They would have joined in on these theatrics. Joined in laughing and mocking me. In witnessing and documenting someone actually pouring urine on me.
What would stop them from doing feces?
What would taunt them from doing something more extensive like acid?
It’s not like I haven’t seen it happen.
The aftermath of victims’ deformed faces and how the world simply looks at them with pity and nothing more because it could never be them.
It wouldn’t be punishable in the slightest.
No. Not here. It would simply be deemed a “wicked” gesture that I’m worthy of carrying.
More golden stars to claim — to collect — like a reward worth flaunting the world.
This world of testosterone where I don’t belong…
I never belonged in this equation, to begin with…
So it’s time to exit.
Or else I’ll be the next victim to fizzle away…carrying burdens of regret I won’t be able to fix.
Grudges that won’t be avenged.
As I walk out of that box of laughter, I accept one thing.
My list of grudges has increased, and I know who’s second on the list.