5. P
5
P
NOW
I almost don't recognize the person looking back at me in the mirror. Time seems to be moving in a distorted way and all I can do is watch it pass me by. My all-black uniform suits my mood and the hollowness in my eyes makes my silver hair feel out of place as it frames my gaunt face.
I’ve always wondered why I was blessed with silver hair, a color that feels brighter, cheerful, and happy. Yet I'm here feeling none of those things.
Running my hands over the front of my blazer, I sigh, taking a step back from the mirror. There's no use worrying over things I can't change.
“Come on, P, otherwise we're going to be late,” S shouts from the doorway, and I roll my eyes. We're never late. We don't have that far to go. But that doesn't matter to her. She likes to be early. And despite my cooling attitude towards her, she still tries every morning.
I turn to her with a half attempt at a smile, one that makes her lips widen with hope, showing her teeth. Following her out the door, we make our way down the hallway, where the line is already forming for everyone to head to class.
I skipped breakfast today, I didn't want to eat. I don't want to eat most days. The impending doom of where my life is going leaves me helpless to the spiral that consumes me. Food is the last thing on my mind.
Sometimes I wish my mind worked differently. Sometimes I wish I was set on taking control of whatever meager remains of my life I can get my hands on. Like gorging on pizza or singing and dancing like I’m happy, but I can’t fight the inevitable that has taken root inside of me.
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me makes my spine stiffen, but I try to push past it and turn around to find the culprit at hand. T, with his megawatt smile back in place as he beams down at me and a flash of hope in his eyes.
I grit my teeth in a way that probably looks like a smile but feels anything but.
“Hey, P, what are you doing today on your break?” he asks, rocking back on his heels.
Dammit. Here we go again.
It seems now that T has made his way through the handful of girls of our age or in the year below us, he is circling back around to me.
No. Nope. No way.
I'm nowhere near interested, not even a little. He can take his ass and he can see himself out. I don't say that, though. I get the feeling that if I did, Mrs. Stephens would overhear me, and I'd somehow be the one in trouble. Instead, I roll my shoulders back and I meet him dead in the eyes.
“I’m already busy at break, T. I'll be busy for tomorrow’s break, the break after, and all the breaks until we’re done here. But thanks.” I turn around, my hair whipping around my shoulders as I do, but a hand curls around my upper arm, threatening to turn me back to him.
Thankfully, Mrs. Stephens comes into view, standing at the head of the group, looking down her nose through the glasses perched precariously at the end as she assesses everyone.
“Follow me,” she orders, leading the usual drill line to her classroom. The creak of the door as we pass over the threshold hasn't changed in at least eighteen months, but nobody seems to want to do anything about it. As I step into the room, I spot my usual seat that's been my home every day for almost eight years.
My steps waver under the weight of my reality, which grows thicker every day.
The end is coming, and nobody wants to talk about it.
The end is coming, and girls laugh beside me.
The end is coming, and guys like T still want to try and dip their tiny dicks in anything that they can. I guess that makes sense, if it's something you're into, but I don't really know how I want to spend the last of my days. All I know is I don't want to spend them near him.
As I take my seat, S taps on my shoulder, drawing my attention to my right, where she gives me a pointed look from her spot beside me.
“You didn't have to be so mean, P,” she whispers, her eyes trailing to where I know T sits. I hold back my eye roll this time, curling my fingers so my nails press into my palms, biting back the snark I want to give her, but she doesn't deserve my aggression. She doesn't deserve my irritation, either, but her lack of understanding always brings it to the surface.
“I wasn't being mean, I was just being me,” I grumble before turning toward the chalkboard. Instead of engaging in any further conversation with her, I focus on the pastel colors that swarm across the black background. I hear the usual sound of my bangles jingle against the desk as I link my fingers together in front of me. Instinctively, I want to dig into my pocket and pull out my coin, but I fight against it. I can’t pull it out here, and I can’t let anyone see how weak and vulnerable I can be. Not when I’ve worked so hard on being aloof and unfazed. There are some things that are just meant for me to know and others to never find out.
We’re under scrutiny here at all times. Everyone knows everything about everyone, and I refuse to be any more of a statistic than I already am.
I can sense S still looking at me. She’s always got more to say, but I have no interest in hearing it. Her boyfriend has remained at her side this entire time and is also best friends with T. That's not my issue. I don't want to be with the guy. It was nothing more than physical anyway.
Thankfully, I’m saved again by Mrs. Stephens, who makes her way from the door to the chalkboard, her high heels echoing on the wooden floor with every step she takes until she reaches her desk. I expect her to pull her seat and take her spot, as she always does with her fingers laced together on the desk, but this time, she doesn't. She pauses behind her chair, curling her fingers into the worn leather as she assesses everyone in the classroom.
I instantly feel the shift, the distance, the awkwardness that has never been here before. There is something in her eyes I haven’t seen either; something wicked, somewhat relieved, and possibly a hint of…shame? I can’t be sure, that's not something I’ve ever recognized on her face before.
Truthfully, I know if they ever made teachers in hell, that's exactly where she came from. She's cut-throat, she's fierce, she has no bend, she's strict, completely black and white, and we must fall into step or feel the blaze of her fury. I’ve felt the wrath from this woman one too many times, but I've never seen this side of her before.
A silence dances over the room as she passes her gaze around us a second time, and my palms begin to sweat as anticipation coils through my veins. Chancing a glance around the room, nobody else seems to be picking up on the weird vibe that's making the air so thick I can barely breathe.
Reluctantly turning my attention back to Mrs. Stephens, I find her gaze set solely on me, like she is waiting to have my full attention before she opens her mouth.
“Good morning, class. Today is going to open and proceed a little differently than usual,” she starts, and the dread swirling in my stomach intensifies.
She's calm, way too calm. Her voice is almost melodic, as sweet as a lullaby, and I don't believe it for a second.
“Instead of coming to you today with our usual classes, we celebrate the eldest person in the class reaching their eighteenth birthday,” she states, her gaze turning to the quiet short girl in the back of the class. V. Her hair is jet black, her eyes even blacker.
She immediately recoils at the attention she gets from around the room, likely wishing everyone was looking anywhere but at her, and I can't help but acknowledge and understand that feeling. I've never spoken to V. She's owned her spot on the asphalt just as much as I’ve owned mine. We've never even exchanged a smile. But now, as I look at her, a sense of guilt consumes me as I consider the fact that I could have done more to make this person feel…better? But I quickly suppress it, because actually, that's not my job. No one's here to make me feel safe or comfortable. Well, maybe S, but I think that’s more for her savior complex and less to do with me.
The truth is, I can’t save anyone from the path we’re on. If I could, I would be helping myself first. “Everybody, please join me in wishing V a Happy Birthday.”
A chorus of Happy Birthdays murmur through the room, making V's cheeks burn bright with embarrassment before everyone turns back to Mrs. Stephens.
The crooked smile on her face only seems to amplify, making my concern grow stronger.
“Now that that’s over, the fifteen of you are all progressing together, as each of you will come across your significant birthday over the course of the next six months. I'm sure you've always wondered where everybody goes when they leave here, so I suppose it’s time you find out.” Her announcement descends over the room with the weight I can only assume she intended.
Panic now seeps into every cell in my body, clogging my throat, leaving me gasping for breath.
I was right. I don't want to know. I don't want to know. She needs to stop talking right now, please, right now.
My toes curl in my shoes, my nails slip back to my palms, so harsh I'm certain I’m going to break the skin.
“Mrs. Stephens, what do you mean?” The tremble in S’s voice is clear, but I can’t turn to look at her. It will only make my spiral deepen.
If Mrs. Stephens notices it, she pays me no mind. Instead, she beams, spreading her arms out wide as she proceeds with the speech she’s pieced together for us today. “Well, today is the day you finally get to figure out what progression looks like. Today is the day you leave this school.”
Gasps ring out around me, the panic I feel inside floods the room as others drown in it too, and this time, I know it's not just me. I've never been the only one worried about it, but they have always done a much better job at hiding it than me.
S reaches for my hand, bending her fingers tightly around mine, and I feel the tremble that I heard in her voice. I clench my eyes tightly shut for a brief second before I pry them open and turn to her. When our gazes collide, her fear is on full display.
“It’s nothing to fear. Really, you should be thankful for the new law that was enforced last year. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be enjoying this as much. I would be, but that’s out of my control,” Mrs. Stephens explains, a villainous snicker rattling from her lips. “Now, we must do what is deemed right, and that means your journey here has come to an end.”
I squeeze S’s hand right back, trying to swallow past the lump bulging in my throat, but it’s impossible.
“Mrs. Stephens, we can't go anywhere.”
“It's not time.”
“This can’t be possible!”
Students shout out around the room and I watch as the teacher's eyes darken.
“It's not time? Of course it is time,” she snaps, irritation flashing across her face, but the way the corner of her mouth tilts up confirms she loves any opportunity to raise her voice, and this is one of them.
“But we're supposed to be twenty-one, that’s when the blood kin curse changes,” T grunts, running his fingers through his hair as he sits stiff in his seat two rows in front of me.
“Ah, this is the part I enjoy,” Mrs. Stephens practically sings as she walks around her desk to perch against it. Her fingers curl around the wood as she gleams at each of us and the room falls into silence, waiting for whatever bomb she’s about to drop.
My bones tense as I gape at the woman holding everyone captive.
“What you must know about a blood kin, is that they are supernatural beings.”
My pulse thrums in my ears as I watch her lips move without understanding a single word that slips past them.
That's not possible.
Supernatural?
We’re not supernatural.
If we were, we wouldn’t be held captive. Would we?
“We’re not?—”
“But. You. Are,” she bites, snapping her fingers. Darkness fills the space as the classroom devolves into chaos. Horror burns through my limbs. She’s enjoying this control, this dominance, far too much. “Not only are you descendants of supernaturals, but you’re not the age you believe you are either.”
What the hell?
“The first two years you are here, you will not fully remember. Think about it now. Think about it clearly. Remind me of the first memories you have at the school. You see, it's all an illusion to keep you safe. Really, you should be thankful that we took the courtesy of keeping you calm as you edge closer to the almighty year of your life.” Standing, she runs her hands over her skirt, a light illuminating her from above so all I can see is her snarling face. “So, to be clear, it’s not V’s eighteenth birthday today, it’s her twentieth.”
“What? That's not possible,” someone calls out, but the darkness means I can’t pinpoint who.
“So, without further ado, let’s celebrate today as if it’s the day you leave and the day I finally get to see the back of you all.”
But where are we going? What are we doing?
“Thank you for giving me the pleasure of making you all comfortable for travel,” she states, and I shake my head in disbelief, finally finding my tongue.
“What does that even mean?” I blurt, and she snickers, baring her teeth as her head tilts back for a moment.
“It means sleep tight, my children, for you will have many challenges ahead of you.”