THE FETISH CLUB

2.2

2.2

[ludus]

"Do you think those  were your parents?" Said Xu.

Yesterday's highlight. It's there, the back of my head feels all itchy, it's still there. Even after nineteen hours, four minutes. Fascinating how people get under your skin.

"The pop quiz was when," I tiredly stretch my arms and basked in fatigue — for several seconds. I was with Saylor, whose back was turned on me as she scribbled numbers over board. "I think it's today."

"Damn," I answer.

Saylor's down. "I was at Penny's. She said Silas may or may not take it cause it's Silas, most unreliable..."

"You think?"

"Ari said this time he's definitely gonna be chewing our backs," she continues monotonously.

I gulp. "W-what was Charlie's reaction?" I know what you're thinking. Comparison almost never helps. But — "he said fuck it..." See!

"And studied hard anyway."

I can't believe I'm gonna have a loser streak at the weekly quiz.

I'm so stupid.

This is not a teen movie. In fact, this is a video game. Only the best can make it. The sooner your recovery, the easier you'd graduate, in my case — I'd be label less. A label less nobody. Successful nobody. Nobody who feels like somebody in front of her roommate's gang — pathetic how?

I learnt to accept Saylor's & Casian's absences. Sometimes, I appreciated Charlie's & Xu's input too. Right now as I'm doodling and humming and feeling a bundle of nerves are causing me anxiety — one thing is clear — I'm the only one who cares, has cared, cares a frigging lot.

Everyone else is meh. Silas has his weak points; gentle eyes of a teacher better suited to special eds, an infectious laughing habit, lastly he cares too much too — I wasn't imaging things when he paid me a sick visit. Not only that, he reoriented me with the missed out course as well — he's a shine. However, Monet is the house of wolves. Feral, impulse driven, egoistic, power obsessed, reckless wolves. "Only a woman like Xu can make it here," I say. Look what I ended up doodling. Wryly smiling, I flutter back towards my initial task — the equations.

Later, that day, as I'm sauntering down the staircase I'm made aware of what a surreal day it has been. "I'll take the quiz," said Silas assuming an authoritative stance. He wore a tiniest bit of smile, a hint of cupcakes following him through the medium of air, alongside a white, full sleeved shirt that appeared button-less, pebbles grey hugging around his waist and legs in form of pants, a defining belt and a charcoal blazer hung behind—adorning his muscular frame, wide shoulders.

"We are going on a trip!"

He's met with gasping, blinking, open mouthed smiles, amazement.

"Remember the trip that got cancelled last year?"

I wasn't there so meh.

"It's in two weeks!"

A freckled, curly haired brunette voiced out. "Is it for everyone?"

"It's only for the Richie Riches around here...- of course it's for everyone! Can't you tell —" oh Silas —"I'm smiling...? "

Loud cheers heaped. Silas and us conversed back and forth — enthusiastically — as if he's our pied piper and wherever he'd take us, we'd be okay.