Glamour [Book 1] (Completed)

Chapter 6 | Poison Bound

Chapter 6

                  

I had three days. Three days to choose between the three boys that stand before me: the conniving, the quiet, and the adventurous; the three musketeers that seem completely out of their minds. Each of them had the look of a man who has no definition but a lot of strength, along with lanky legs. The conniving one had on a classic black long-sleeved polo shirt. The quiet, but calm, man stood with his shoulders back and his eyes downcast to his straight jeans, and white V-neck. The last, adventurous man, was wearing a light jean jacket, white slim-fit shirt, and ripped blue jeans.

Each of them stood before me with hazel/brown eyes, and arms either inside pockets, leaning against the side wall, or ankles crossed with arms wrapped around their stomach, each of them held themselves differently from the next, and came from a different family linage. I did not have to worry about the bloodline of my family being a problem. Because of the matching process, my family has not stepped passed the likes of Witch and Warlock. This means I am standing in front of three young and powerful men; each forced to get to know me in the next couple of days.

My mother and my Noni left me alone to go out on a walk. I knew they just wanted me to be home alone so I would get "attached" to one of them. Do I really look like some sort of mating animal to them?

Conniving, also introduced to me as Nick, uncrosses his arms and pushes himself off of my closed bedroom doorway. "I'm betting a part of my salary that you, miss 'I like dark pastel'" he mumbles to himself and regains his composure as he takes in one of my bed pillows, "that you are being forced to do this as well."

I shrug, trying to occupy myself with my desk- where I have stored a couple pencils and notebooks.

"You too?" Adventure boy, Ron, takes the pillow from Nick and he places it neatly where I had it. They share a look.

"Well, looks like we all hate the idea of being forced into love." Nick scoffs off Ron, swerving around him to a picture on my nightstand. He holds it up, fingering the framework. "What a lovely picture. You and a bestie I suppose?" Again, Ron takes it from him and sets it down.

"It is a lovely picture, Eris." Another glare.

I was getting ready to toss them out of my room and deny them altogether when Quiet boy gets up from the end of my bed, and comes toward me. His hand was outstretched to me; his forearms were much tanner underneath than what they looked like at the top of his arm. Just as I was backing away, finally processing that I was being confronted, he lightly presses his fingertips to my cheek.

"You're sick." He states, the hazel depths of his eyes glossing over. "You are very sick."

"Sick minded? I can deal with a freak." Nick laughs to himself, "Especially in-" he was cut off with a large grunt and a wheeze.

"So many, so many men and woman... you have been poisoned."

My mouth could not form words, was this boy for real? He comes into my home and he should impress me- but instead he seems to be doing much worse than Nick is doing. I brush away his hand, but his face stays the same way: staring and stationary.

"Do not drink the white poison. It will bring none other than death. It will develop the sickness you have been carrying with you for so long. Do not let it consume you; do not give in to your own power. Greed can come in many forms, and inviting it in will only bring you chaos."

The monotone was dropped. His face reddened and once more I could no longer see his face: for it was downcast to my bedroom floor.

"Do you think this is some sort of game? The Hell is wrong with you?" Ron has Quiet Boy by the cuff of his V-neck, and even then he doesn't cringe or back away. As Ron lifts a hand to wallop Quiet Boy I have to put myself between them.

"No violence in my bedroom." I state, and Ron lets Quiet Boy go. I turn to Nick, who was still patting around my bed, and I am forced to open my arms toward my bedroom door: as if the boys needed to be shown the exit like I were a waving two bright flashing lights to guide thee large dumb planes. "I think it would be best if you go now." Then I motion for Ron and Nick to leave first.

Once I was alone with Quiet Boy, I kneel down and look up at him. His thin bleached-white hair was shagged across his head. It was not dangling down his forehead but more in an up-do: like snow-covered grass on his head.

"Thank you." I urge him to leave as well and when he exits I close the door behind him, and climb into bed. I can smell the boy's scent on my pillow- making a note to wash it tomorrow before my own mother can smell it.

As I drift to the first stages of sleep, I can hear to squeals of tires on asphalt as (I was betting) Nick drove away: "Men." I whine, not even remembering that my window was still cracked open the entire night.