Villainous

Chapter 5 | Hellas

Caspian's alarm clock is a fucking demon. It's not loud or intrusive or one of those silvery ones that beeps incessantly. It's pale pink and it plays harp music and it seems to rouse her. Until I lean over, still half asleep, grab the plug, and rip like my life depends on it. I hear the sizzle as the cord disconnects from the wall and then Caspian's loud moan.

Being the decent roomie I've decided to be, I lean over a little farther and secure a clumsy grip on her shoulder. She fell asleep last night on the middle of the bed, and I was too tired to argue, so I'd unrolled my sleeping bag on the floor and crashed out real quick.

For one of those prissy popular types, she wasn't hesitant to sleep in nothing but the dark blue sheets. I heard her mutter right before she fell asleep, "Never been in blue before... wonder about green and purple and all the other colours... fucking hate hate hate pink..."

How bad must her life be, that dark blue sheets are the best thing to ever happen to her, the most she's ever experience? In my head I paint a picture of a girl in an uptight family who's never left home embarking into the unknown. A brave voyager to the world of colours and people and buildings that are nothing like the mansion she likely grew up in.

I've rounded each and every corner of abuse, I've spent most of my life being beaten down by foster families looking for their monthly check and group homes who need another nuisance like myself to fill their quota, but I've gone places. I've been all over the country, I've lived with the rich god-fearing folk, I've lived with the families whose dinner came from the trash can down the street. And Caspian's probably never left her home city.

I look over at her and smile at the loopy grin and relaxed cheeks and blank eyes. "Who knew Miss Perfect isn't a morning person?" I see the wheels turning in her eyes. When she processes the statement, her eyes narrow.

And just like that, she's an icicle. Frozen and cold and harder than diamonds. Her body stiffens next to me. I shrug, roll over, and push up onto my feet. She relaxes slowly, braving an easy grin that I can tell is fake. The sheet still wrapped around the body I've already sworn up and down to not stare at, she swings her feet off the side and stands up.

I look down casually, give a chuckle at the pale pink pedicure that makes her seem that much more innocent. I decide right then and there that my voyager theory must be wrong. Tough as nails adventurers, like the type I want Caspian Storm to be, don't have pink pedicures.

My eyes meet hers then, and I realize that my tongue has attached itself to the roof of my mouth and she's going to half to be the first one to speak. She is. "Um... Hellas... can I call you Hellas?" I nod, though I can feel my brow furrowing in confusion. What else would she call me? "Could... could you please let me... let me through?" A pause. "So... so I can get dressed?" I can tell it's not meant to be a question, but she makes it one.

I step silently out of her way, ignoring the part of my brain suggesting I offer to help her get dressed. "'Course, Casper. Be my guest." I give her a comfortable, lingering smile. She rustles and hustles past me. I could have turned around so she could drop the damn sheet instead of dragging it half way across the room, but I don't.

She holds up the sheet and changes quickly beneath it as best as she can. I can't help but laugh at the way she's so desperate to not let me get a glimpse of her back. When she finally balls up the sheet in her hand and prances those pastel pink pumps over to the bed, she's wearing another pink businesswoman ensemble. I look down on myself.