Of Life and Death: [A Dark Academia Paranormal Romance]

Chapter 25

RYLAN

_

"Quiet," I say when Emma starts to speak behindme.

Absently, my brows rise in surprise when she does. I fit akey into the lock, opening the door to my room.

We both walk in and I catch my gaze flitting around,wondering what she'll think about my space. I hear the quiet thud of her baghitting the floor. She is dressed in black, her blonde hair standing out like abeacon. Her heavily-lined eyes look around and her footfalls sound as she goesto my bookcase. A finger trails along the spines of my books.

When she chuckles, I scowl, feeling an odd emotion slitherthrough me. What's so funny?

She starts, "You know, I'd kind of thought that youwere some kind of control freak. But seeing this..."

An unfamiliar feeling whips through me. I discover it's selfconsciousness.

"Seeing what?" I ask, my skin knotting.

She starts to point. "Your skate boards have the sameamount of space between them, so do the trophies on your desk. I can't findeven a speck of dust on your shelf, your books are in mint condition--no signof a single crease. And your trash can's empty."

"What's wrong with my trash can being empty."

"No one's trash can is ever fully empty. My guess isthat you empty it every day."

My silence tells her all she needs to know.

Genuine curiosity sparks her gaze. "How do you livelike this?"

"It's like waking up every morning to see that face inthe mirror. You have no choice than to live with it."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Rylan." She looks around."Can I sit?" she asks gently, motioning to the cushions.

I'm struck by how much it pleases me she'd asked. Mostpeople, after learning of my condition, proceeded to treat it like somethingabsurd. "Yeah. Make yourself at home," I mutter.

She settles down. "Careful. Might just do. Your room'slovely, by the way, if you like a cold decor. Seriously, ever heard ofcolour?"

"No, can't believe I have," I say.

"Kindness?"

"No."

"A smile?"

"Are you teasing me?"

"Can't believe I am."

"So what do you and Ezra talk about?" I just hadto go and say something stupid.

"Curious about me, sir?"

"Can't believe I am." Wish I could take thequestion back.

After a while, she says, "We really just talk about howto use my po--"

"Save it. Not interested."

When hurt flashes across her face, irritation at myselfrises. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I continue searching my closet.Finally I come across what I've been looking for.

Her voice sounds shocked behind me. "What the f*ck isthat?"

"A practice dummy," I say, hefting the heavy metalout of the closet. It's built like a scarecrow, but bigger, more buff.

"And you casually have one lying in your closet?"

"Every student does, depending on your abilities. Thepractice dummies are tailored to resist the effects of our powers. Though Ihave no idea if it's proof against dark matter." Curiosity grips me. Justwhat are the extent of her powers?

I'd only seen it used once in my vision. That too againsthurtling jhars. I don't know if it can rot a larger scale ofstuff.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Eighteen."

"You haven't experienced any random bursts ofpower...?"

"Same thing Ezra asked. And I have, actually." Shetucks her hair behind her ear, suddenly anxious. "I destroyed schoolproperty."

"What?"

"It was just a chair at our homeroom. Ezra took care ofit."

"Yeah? And how did he take care of it?" Iask snidely.

"He set it on fire, destroyed the evidence."

A scornful laugh tears out of me. "He's even morestupid than I thought. You destroyed school property, and he destroyed it even further.What's worse--with fire. Don't you know smoke alarms exist?"

The first spark of anger lights her expression. "Okay,Sherlock, you could have handled it so much better, noted."

A wayward smirk crooks my lips, and knowing how infuriatingshe'll find it causes me to oddly smile more. "Watch that tone if youstill want a teacher," I drawl.

A disbelieving scoff.

We head out of my room. She waits while I turn the lock.When she starts heading down the hall, I grab her hand just in time. "Thisway."

Our footsteps trail down the opposite end of the hall,disappearing down a staircase dug to the side of the hall. Rushes of dust driftup as we pound down. I curve an arm around my nose, squinting in irritation.Emmaline coughs behind me and when she laughs, I whip around. I raise a brow ather. She shakes her head, continuing to laugh.

Weirdo.

But I find my eyes lingering on her flushed cheeks.

Soon we break into the cold night. "Come on."

She trails close behind, figs crunching beneath her bootsthe farther we walk into the forest. Finally we come across a clearing and Isettle the practice dummy on the ground, then I turn around. My breath stops.

Her hands are tucked in the front pockets of her coat, blueeyes watching expectantly. Moonlight washes over the pale strands of her hairalmost lovingly, her ruby red pursed in a way I found strangely endearing...

I scrub a hand over my face. What the f*ck is happening tome.

"What is it?" she asks, confused."Are--"

"Nothing," I snap. "Let's get started."

But neither of us move. A heavy current of tension comes tosettle in the air. After a few beats of Emma quietly shifting her weight fromside to side, she lets out a small breath.

"Knock knock?" she asks suddenly.

I raise a brow. "Who's there?"

"Roger. He died eating forty cans of tomatopaste."

I lift my eyes heavenward. This is going to be a long night.