Legends of Mirandis Academy

Chapter 40: Guy Talk

 It felt like there was nothing left.

Kelam sat on the metal bench in the men's locker room. He wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up there—something about a hasty excuse to the other members of the senior student council, a blind journey through the halls. It was Tuesday. The word felt blank, without meaning. It represented a day which didn't exist. Not much did anymore.

The fluorescent lights above him were buzzing. He could see his hands, resting open on his knees. Empty. The bench was hard, and Kelam could distantly feel the ache traveling up his back. He continued to sit.

He couldn't think about it.

But it was truly delusion, the way she had looked at him; the way she held her breath when he drew near. All of the signs were there, and he, a madman, had drawn the arrows from them and pointed all of it towards himself. He had taken what was not his to take. As punishment, the world had shut him out, closed its doors, but kept the windows open so that he could see exactly how wrong he was, exactly what he desired twisted until it was exactly what could hurt him.

He shut his eyes. Why had she left him like this?

With a squeal, the door to the locker room swung open. Loud conversation and laughter struck Kelam, and he flinched. But he was unable to will his limbs to move. He remained on the bench as some sports team or another entered the room, clearly galvanized after their practice. Judging by the average body type, it was a contact sport. Kelam's nose twitched as he caught a whiff of poorly concealed body odor.

"Ayo! Hugo!" One of the boys, now shirtless, clapped a freshman on the shoulder. "Hugo! You got something on your uniform. Right there."

He pointed at a spot just below Hugo's chin. When the freshman glanced downwards, he brought his hand up and smacked him in the face. Hugo staggered back, unhurt but disoriented, while the other boy guffawed. "I got you, man!"

"Congratulations, Irvine," said a third boy. He aimed a towel at Irvine's backside and cracked it so expertly that Kelam, lost in his emotions, still winced. Irvine clutched the offended region and swore, while his attacker smirked. "You win the Jackass Award for the fifth practice in a row."

"You think I can put that on my CV?" Irvine asked, with mock seriousness. "I gotta apply to college next year."

The freshman, Hugo, nodded at someone behind Kelam. "Hey! Those were some serious holds you were doing. Do you think you could teach me sometime?"

"Uhh..." Kelam heard a familiar low tone. "I can try? I don't know how to explain it, though. Oh," Duran said, surprised, "hello, Kelam. What are you doing here?"

And just like that, he was noticed. Being talked around but never talked to—it made him sorrowfully sick how quickly his mind went to her—felt like what he only imagined Iridia felt like before the altercation with the Clef brothers. She would be there in a room but no one would know it, never acknowledged or addressed. The difference was that she liked it that way.

"Oh! Yes, hello Duran." He breathily laughed, trying to bring any surface level composure back. "I was in need of some time to think, that's all."

Duran sat down beside him. Kelam scooted away a little bit, but made sure his expression relayed that it was solely for smell reasons, not distaste to character.

"What's got you so down, man?" Irvine said, hanging over the door of a bottom locker.

How could he so simply put it? What way would give him an answer, yet not enough of one to mean anything?

He shrugged. "A girl."

Immediately, the whole room—sans Duran—filled with boos and distasteful exclamations. "You're letting some girl get you down that bad?" Another wrestler shouted.