21. Zair
Zair
Accidentally in Deep
My morning nightblind classes pass in a blur as I try to focus on psychology without digging too deep into my own unraveling head.
Lunch has never been my favorite part of the day.
By the time I reach the cafeteria, an unease has taken root in my chest like a second skin.
I sit down next to Benson and Dylan. They’re my real friends, the ones who don’t need me to pretend, who don’t question the walls I built around myself.
I can’t say the same for the rest of the group.
They’re more like familiar faces; people I’ve tolerated over the years.
The table is alive with chatter, mostly revolving around the latest drama: who’s hooking up with who, which party had the best after-party, and which video game was trending. Typical stuff.
“Yo, Zair.” Marco slaps me on the back, his voice too loud. “You coming to the Delta Sigma Chi party on Saturday, right?”
I barely look up from my tray, pushing my food around distractedly.
I’d gotten used to going through the motions.
Parties were predictable: show up, grab a drink, maybe find a nightblind to take the edge off.
It’s different now. All I think about is Thea.
That smart mouth, the way she challenges me, the fire in her eyes when she fights.
And her touch. It fucking wrecked me. I had to jerk off this morning just to function, and even that didn’t help.
I tried thinking about someone else. But it didn’t matter.
No matter what I pictured, I kept seeing those green eyes.
She wore long sleeves afterwards. Does she not want to touch me again? Or is she just trying to respect my boundaries? Or is it just cold?
Why am I obsessing about why someone is wearing long sleeves?
I nod vaguely, not giving a damn about the party. Dylan leans over, bumping my shoulder. “You’ll be there. You always are.” Yes, because you drag me. Why am I even friends with a werewolf? Always tugging me to events and then dumping me there.
Benson, eating his pasta, glances at me with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that? You’ve been kind of MIA lately.”
“New girl?” someone asks. I try to focus on the conversation, but it shifts again to something about a siren scandal. My mind keeps drifting to Thea. First, she says she doesn’t like me, and then she jokes about liking banshees. What the hell does that mean? Does she know? Could she actually?
Banshees – at least what everyone thinks we are – are nothing but trouble. Cursed, shrieking creatures who rip the souls from the living. We’re associated with death. We don’t love, we wail. So how could anyone like something like that?
I’m just a monster hiding in my human skin.
Banshees don’t get to be loved. Not for who they really are.
Not for the parts that are broken, haunted, and kept locked away.
And I know Thea. She’s good. She’s warm, full of light.
Her soul has already been shredded once, the last thing she could ever truly want is someone like me.
I glance at Benson and Dylan, laughing at something Benson sketched on his napkin.
I almost want to talk to them. I’d ask Benson for advice, but he’s a goblin.
He wouldn’t understand. If I told him I might like Thea, he’d just tell me to figure it out.
If I told him I was a banshee… well, who knows.
That’s the problem. And Dylan. Well, he doesn’t bother with feelings because he thinks they’ll disappear as soon as he finds his mate.
I want to tell myself I’m overthinking it, that it’s just her usual teasing, nothing more. But deep down, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to let it go. Could she actually like me? But no, she doesn’t. It’s a stupid thought. But what if, just this once, someone actually accepted what I am?
Then, just as my thoughts start spiraling, the noise at the table shifts. Laughter dies down, like something better or worse is about to start.
Jack elbows me in the ribs. Hard enough to annoy, not hard enough to start a fight.
“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “You and the weak witch. That a thing now?”
I don’t answer right away.
Marco takes the opportunity. “Wait, you mean Adora?”
“Her name’s Thea,” I say. “And she’s not weak. She’s holding back. There’s a difference.”
Jack whistles low. “You’re really out here defending her. That’s cute.” He grins. “Helping her climb the ladder, huh? Good guy Zair, lifting up the less fortunate.”
“Didn’t think you liked witches. Isn’t that your whole thing?” someone further down the table mutters.
I keep my face smooth. Shrug like I don’t care. “I don’t date witches,” I say, same way I always do. Simple. Final.
Jack leans in again. “But this one’s different?” He taps his fingers on his temple. “Or are you just into fixer-uppers now?”
I give him a tight smile. “She doesn’t need fixing.”
“Oh, so you’re just hanging around her for the vibe?”
“Have you ever tried talking to her?” I ask. “You’d get it if you did.”
Disbelieving laughter rings out, but I don’t let it bother me.
“I’m with Zair on this one,” Bernard pipes up. “She not only roasted Ethan in Combat, but she verbally annihilated Wesley Dean last week. I don’t think he’s shown his face since.”
Despite myself, I smile. The way she didn’t raise her voice, took him apart, line by line, like she’d been waiting her whole life to shut someone like him up.
Marco raises a brow. “That’s just a rumor. I’ll believe that when I see it.”
I kick his chair just enough to jolt him, and he laughs like I proved his point.
I fake a laugh and go quiet, letting them think whatever they want.
She can take them. I hope I’m there to see it.
I notice a real smile creep up as I pack up my things and head to potions.
The butterflies in my stomach are definitely because I ate something funny.
The classroom is filled with a familiar mix of herbs, bubbling cauldrons, and the low murmur of students already finding their seats.
Since our regular teacher, Professor Smith, got back, Potions has been uneventful.
She seems to like Thea and doesn’t give her a hard time like Sinclair did.
I don’t even bother pretending that I’m debating where to sit and head straight to the empty seat I’ve taken every class since we met.
Lillian tries to block my path but I simply sidestep her.
It’s like some weird, unspoken competition between the girls to see who can get closest. My refusal to date witches has only made me a bigger target.
Like I’m some kind of trophy, and that’s about as appealing as being the last piece of meat on a butcher’s counter.
I’ll never sleep with one of them. Not unless I’m drunk enough to forget. But I’m Irish and can hold my liquor. But Thea… she’s different. She’s the only one who even makes me consider dating a witch. Something about her doesn’t feel like all the others.
Unfortunately she doesn’t see me that way.
Or maybe herself. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
Last night, while I was just trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m sitting there pining for this girl who may have a boyfriend, she somehow took my silence as proof that I think no one could love her.
Hell, she thinks I only flirt with her because she’s unlovable.
What the hell has happened to this girl?
When I plop down beside her, she keeps writing her notes. Like I don’t matter.
“Still hate me?” she asks, without looking up.
“Why would I?” Then, remembering this morning. “Actually, yes. That was the most undignified I’ve ever looked.”
“I’m sure your O-face is less dignified,” she jokes, and I can’t help the snort and smile that spreads across my face.
“Wanna see? You know, to compare,” I joke back, and the brief exchange leaves a warmth spreading through me. At first I liked that she didn’t fall for my charm. Now I’m wishing she knew it was always real. Accidental, honest.
“As long as I get it on video,” she plays along. Because she thinks that we’re playing. “And you’ll have to recreate the coffee snort. Scientific purposes, of course.”
Our banter continues effortlessly until class begins, and we dive into the task at hand. Today’s potion allows you to relive a specific moment, replaying it in your dreams as though it’s happening in real time, every sight and sound vivid and sharp.
Thea seems especially invested. At the end of class, when it’s time to finish up I start packing up my things.
“You can have mine too,” I offer without much thought. “If you tell me what you’re itching to see.”
“Just my time in jail.” Her lips curling into a smirk.
But there’s something about the way she says it, almost too casually that makes me wonder if she’s not joking.
Her eyes shine a little too brightly, her voice a touch too eager, as though she’s relishing the idea of replaying that moment, no matter how flippant she sounds.
“Well, as long as it isn’t to review past notes,” I say, handing it over with a shrug. “Or to remember that time you got the perfectly sharpened pencil.”
“Ah, the perfectly sharpened pencil, what dreams are made of.”
We head out of the classroom, making our way down the corridor to Spiritborne History. Halfway there, Mavrik falls into step beside us.
“How was Runes?” Thea asks him.
Mavrik’s usual smirk creeps onto his face. “I read that Spiritborne History is going to be the most boring class today.”
Thea cocks an eyebrow. “Calculus this morning was like watching paint dry. I saw you pull your cuddly little shadows around you and nap through the whole thing.”
Mavrik laughs. “And here I thought I’d been sneaky,” he says, clearly unrepentant.
I can’t help but notice how much Mavrik relaxes when he’s with Thea.
It’s like he’s a completely different person.
Most people look at his magic like it’s cursed; something dangerous.
But Thea doesn’t see the shadows as twisted or unnatural.
When they’re together, I’ve noticed the shadows clinging to her too and she never seems bothered.
Hell, she even calls them ‘cuddly little shadows.’ The way she accepts Mavrik’s shadows, I wonder…
could she accept me being a banshee? What would she call my wail?
My dreamy wails, my screaming serenade. I nearly laugh aloud at the idea.
I glance at Mavrik, something stirring inside me: a brief, odd sense of empathy.
I know what it’s like to be harassed, to be sought after for all the wrong reasons.
But Mavrik has it worse. No one wants a thing to do with him, and that loneliness seems to follow him everywhere.
I can’t help but think that if anyone knew I was a banshee, my fate would mirror his.
As much as I hate the superficial attention I get, I don’t think I could handle being an outsider like he is.
We enter the class and Mavrik takes a seat beside her. I look to my usual seat, then sit on her other side.