The second installment (the sequel) to Ace of Spades is now out.
Read 'The Hanged Man' once you've finished this one.
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A rascal with a penchant for making friends with the wrong people, you were often regarded as a troublemaker by...
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You tapped your pencil on the surface of your table rhythmically as you avoided the scathing stares directed your way.
You couldn't blame them, even if they were starting to get on your nerves. Your need to constantly move around was a habit to keep your mind off the horrible thoughts. Be that as it may, you couldn't do anything about it.
After that nightmare at Kid's several days ago, you couldn't focus on anything other than it and that was starting to affect your schoolwork. It didn't help that your friends were treating you like a child either, which was something you had wanted to avoid. After years of these nightmares, you were used to them, even if your friends were not; but the shittiest thing had to have been the lack of a certain presence--that being Ace. You couldn't get out the possibility that he might have been steering clear of you.
Had you angered him at the party? You honestly couldn't think of anything you had done wrong.
'Maybe someone peed in his drink or something.'
With a sigh, you laid your head back on the desk, relishing the coolness of it as your teacher monotonously droned on about the lecture.
As much as you hated to admit it, the lack of his presence was annoying. It was as if those eight years separated had all but disappeared. It wasn't like you were attached to the goofy ravenette, but you were starting to crave the warmness he seemed to exude. It was intoxicating, especially when you wanted to escape the gloom of your night terrors. He had this warmth that no one else seemed to have. It was all-consuming, completely encompassing you with a blanket of comfort--or maybe that was just his idiotic tendencies brainwashing you...
You did what little you could during your class and slipped out with the rest of the students as soon as it finished. Once the hallways cleared out, you loitered around the front of the lecture hall as you awaited the gloomy ravenette's response.
As Trafalgar had promised, he was to tutor you in your classes to help you raise your grades. Even if you were reluctant to attend them, you knew you needed to.
What was more important? Your grades or your social life, as non-existent as it was.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, promptly breaking you out of your thoughts.
