Emperor of Annihilation

TWENTY TWO

she cried that day. her angelic cheeks were soaken with tear drops that tasted like nothing when hitting her pursed lips.

🦢

Every time I needed a reminder Ezekiel Ambrose isn't and will never be mine, I hop onto my trusty phone and scroll through his instagram page for updates, until I land on his story.

Right now I'm staring at a picture of what appears to be his hand on a thigh of a girl.

I felt my heart plummet into the ground from where I'm standing in the hallway, in front of my locker. I look over at his and find it completely void of any human touch.

Whose thigh was that? It wasn't like I had the right to know considering our situation. But I couldn't stop the jealousy from rising in my body. This feeling.. was like a bad rash that wouldn't go away. I hated it. I hated feeling this way for someone who despises me like cats despise water.

It isn't fair. None of this was.

The grip I had on my phone tighten when I felt the unfamiliar sensation of a pair of hands on both shoulders. The faint hairs on my arms stood to alert as a breeze of danger passes.

The world seemed to shift into slow motion, which did absolutely nothing to soothe the nerves building in my body. In fact, my blood ran cold and my heart stilled against my chest, like I was pronounced dead. I felt a sense of dread creeping over me. For the first time in my life, I felt like the main character in a horror flick. I thought I knew fear, but turns out I didn't.

And then his voice came. A whisper.

"Clemmy," his voice whispered against my skin, his warm breath tickling my earlobe as his lips brushed against it. Kenzo. I immediately pushed his hands off my shoulder. The grip he had on my sensitive skin tightened as a sinister smile works it way to his lips. No wonder I felt so exposed. It was because of him. Because my body sensed danger before my mind did. "Running away so soon?"

Shaking my head, refusing to give him a vocal rejection, I inch away from his hold by taking a step forward. However, I didn't make it far before his arms slithered around my waist like a snake.

As his arms wrapped around my waist, fear surged through me like an electric shock. My body tensed, and a shiver ran down my spine. My heart raced, pounding loudly in my chest, and I could feel my pulse quickening in my temples. My face paled, and my eyes widened with a mix of surprise and anxiety. My breath caught in my throat, and I struggled to find my voice, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

I was alone in the halls with Kenzo Morozov. They call him a madman because of his psychotic tenancies. I call him a madman because that's what he is. Crazy, sadistic and mean. It's why I tend to avoid him a lot, because I know whenever I'm left alone with him, I'm vulnerable and I hate being vulnerable.

Being vulnerable gives you a reason to be afraid. I'm afraid. Afraid that no matter what I do, or what I can do, I'll always be vulnerable no matter what. And that scares me more than anything, or anyone.