Marvel: A Dark College Romance
1
Emaline
My cheek is pressed against a cold, unforgiving surface, and theside I’ve been lying on aches. Even though I sense that I haven’t been asleep for long, I’m one hundred percent sure that this is not my bedroom either. A shiver snakes down my spine when the cold hits my senses, and I dazedly pat my face, searching for my glasses as it is so dark in here, and my eyes feel so gritty that I can’t tell if I have them on.
Panic surges when my hand touches soft, cold skin instead of hard glass, and my hand finds the stone floor and starts patting as my breath hastens for fear that they’re lost for good because I’m utterly useless without my glasses. Finally, my hand finds the familiar shape resting on the ground by my stomach, and I wonder if they fell off or were taken because what fool would leave an expensive vital pair of glasses on the bloody floor?
Breathing a sigh of relief as I fix the glasses to my face and peer in the dark for Rosie, I start trembling when reality hits, and the memories flood into my consciousness. She was by my side only moments ago…in the graveyard. Someone was calling my name, and then…the world went black. But not black, as in I was knocked out, but someone placed a black fabric bag over my head, and I was taken somewhere. I remember calling for Rosie and hearing her stressed cries growing fainter as I was dragged away.
I remember screaming Xavier’s name, and a gravelly voice scolded me. “Shut the fuck up!” he angered, roughly dragging me along. “Xavier can’t hear you.” There was a woman’s voice, too, and perhaps another man, but masks muffled their voices, or maybe it was another head covering, such as a balaclava that vandals and thieves wear.
I open my mouth to utter Rosie’s name, but my lips and throat are so dry that only a useless croak comes out. Swallowing over a lump in my throat, I try to hydrate my lips by licking them, only to find that it doesn’t work.
Rolling over onto my backside, I sit up stiffly and wince from the pain in my lower back, feeling the pinch of a sciatic nerve. Now upright and with my glasses on, I’m able to assess the scene a little more clearly and rationally, except for it being so damn dark.
The scent of old bones and candle wax invades my senses, and I cringe at the sickly combination that is overwhelmingly familiar. I’m not at all surprised that this is where they dumped us. I don’t know why. Why me? Why us?
I’m in a dark corner behind pillars, but there is a flickering light in the open space where the tombs lie and the infamous Butcher Block, casting long shadows along the stone walls. There are people here in this dungeon, speaking in hushed voices, yet I can’t quite pick where they are.
The sharp sound of a heavy door grating against stone is followed by quick and energetic trotting footsteps coming down the stairs, and the people nearby in the clearing drop their hushed conversation. Several beats of silence follow the tapping footsteps before a man, sounding annoyed, says, “What are you doing back so soon?”
“Lost her,” the second man answers.
The first man swears, and then I hear a loud bang as if he just kicked something, and the female consoles the first man.
“How the fuck did you lose them?” the first man hisses.
I didn’t hear a reply, so I can only guess that he shrugged his shoulders or made a nonverbal gesture.
“God, I hope she’s okay,” the female says, sounding eerily familiar. I know her, but I can’t quite connect the dots. And who are they talking about? Rosie? Oh no, don’t tell me something happened to Rosie.
“What should we do?” the second man asks, expecting advice from the first guy who must be the ringleader.
“Fuck knows,” he snaps irately.
“Did you know they were here?” the woman asks one of them.
One of the men grunts. “Stood out like a sore thumb even behind their masks.”
They’re talking about Rose and I. Jeez, and I thought we were doing an excellent job at being incognito wallflowers in the corner of the church. The lump in my throat enlarges, and I can’t get the taste of acid out of my mouth. I need water.
But wait. What do they mean that we fled? Maybe they don’t know I’m here. Perhaps someone else kidnapped us and laid me down here and Rosie somewhere else, hoping someone would save us. No, that doesn’t make sense either, and I’m not about to remind them that I’m here in case they have no idea.
Memories of the past couple of weeks shuffle quickly in my mind, and still so much doesn’t fit, yet I have received some answers, thanks to the Leroux brothers. Yes, and where are the infamous Leroux brothers? Partying in the broken church, I expect, growing drunker and in the mood to play about. Rosie was right; jocks can’t be trusted, especially jocks who command attention from drunk masked girls.
But the Leroux brothers are the least of my concerns right now. I feel a crick in my neck when I turn my head to the right, searching for a second exit so I don’t have to creep past the three people chatting about us.
Do tombs usually have two exits? Why would a skeleton of eroding bones need a second exit? No, of course not. Eroding bones don’t need an exit since they can’t get out of their stone coffins in the first place. Do shut up, head. Now is not the time to internally argue over old graves and their inhabitants.
I can make out in the dark that there is no second exit, but the space behind the pillars, where I lie, is entirely free of light. If I keep to the shadows behind the pillars, pressed against the stone walls, it will lead me to the corridor leading to the stairs. The only problem with that is the door makes a loud sound when it’s being opened, and since it’s as thick as a brick, I’m not sure if I can manage it myself. But there is only one way to find out.
I’m not the bravest or smartest person in the world, but lying here on this cold, hard surface, left to rot, is not how I plan to spend the coming holidays. Especially when this place smells bad and is giving me the OCD ick. Besides, I need to find out where Rosie is. If she is still in the graveyard or at the church surrounded by cheerleaders and football jocks, she’ll likely be in the midst of a panic attack.
Hopefully, she’s okay and not in danger. Hopefully, someone will notice me gone and search for me. But then, I sighed; they didn’t know we were here at this party in the first place.
Stretching my neck until it clicks, I roll over onto my hands and knees and start crawling towards the first pillar, ignoring the ache in my lower back and the chill gnawing at my kneecaps. I’m not built for physical adventures. Mental adventures in books and movies are far more enticing and less strenuous on my nerves.
Moving closer to the first pillar, I pause to cock my ear towards the three people noticing that it had gone quiet. I can’t even hear footsteps on the stone, yet I didn’t hear them leave.
Arriving at the pillar, I pause to hide behind it before peering towards the Butcher’s Block and not seeing anyone there. A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision urges me to turn behind me to find someone sitting on the floor, hugging their knees.
“Em?” I whisper, overwhelmed with relief. Even though she sees me, she doesn’t move and an icy shiver travels down my spine in fear that she’s been hurt or shocked into silence. They were rough and unkind with me, so they would’ve been the same with her, and regret bundles up in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t have brought her here. And now I’ve done this.
Crawling closer to her, under a sea of black, I stop at her sneakers, puzzled that she refuses to move or say anything. “Rosie?” I pat her shin and notice the masquerade mask on the floor next to her. The flickering candlelight momentarily catches my masquerade mask and shines. “Rosie, are you okay?”
When I move closer again, I take her hand in mine and discover that she is freezing cold, and I start rubbing her skin to warm her up.
A tiny whimper is released from her lips as she shakes my hand away, and my heart drops. She hates me. “I’m so sorry I brought you here.”
Strangely, she seems detached and aloof, as if on another planet. She makes a sign with her hand and points behind me.
Finding her behavior odd, I follow her pointed finger and gasp in fright as a shadow casts over us. I glance up at a face that I have seen several times before.