This Isn't About Reya

Chapter Thirteen

The following days passed in a blur. 

Svetlana's mind was blazed with torment and confusion. She found herself struggling to keep up with her school studies, and it was even more difficult to train with her father after school. The drills of personal defense and then the hours studying military strategy - time she would have normally enjoyed, time she had enjoyed just a few days ago - were meaningless and hollow; she retained no knowledge afterwards, and her father scowled in disappointment when he was forced to review the previous day's work just so she knew what was happening that day.

And her world collapsed on Friday morning when she turned away from her locker in school.

There he stood, alone, with a paper in his left hand. His eyebrows were furrowed together as he inspected whatever he was holding. His light blond hair, almost white, was swept up and to the side in a great thick wave. A thick jacket hung around his broad shoulders, his school uniform shirt un-tucked but buttoned partway up. His pants were tucked into heavy military boots, and Svetlana noticed a glitter in his left ear.

She stared, awestruck for a moment.

He was even hotter than when he left.

Then the rush of fury and disdain flooded over her body, dousing her in a jittery hatred.

She wanted to stomp up to him, freshly re-painted red nails curled into claws, and slap him across the face. She wanted to draw blood and watch it drip down his hardened jaw while he stared at her, too shocked and injured to say anything. She wanted him to see her and miss her and despise her all in the span of one moment. 

But her military training kicked in, telling her to calm down enough to evaluate the situation. Be level-headed, be logical. Hatred is a powerful tool in the heat of battle, but the time before the battle must be used for logical preparation. Emotions are too unrefined to be utilized effectively during an evaluation.

At least her father's mentoring had taught her something useful outside of the Metel'. 

She breathed in heavily. Okay, so he moved back here. He's looking for his locker or his class or something. Nobody's around him, which means nobody else has seen him yet, or else nobody likes him anymore. Probably the former. Is he going to notice me? If I keep standing here, probably. Do I want him to notice me? Or would it be best for me to fade away? Would he pretend he never knew me or would he try to talk to me again and play me just like last time?

She felt like a little girl again, overcome by a crush on a boy who would never treat her the way she deserved to be treated. She was a pure, God damn it! Her forefathers had fought to control the entire hypernation. They had build a thousand-year empire out of a frozen wasteland on Earth, and here she was, their legacy, too afraid of and concerned with a boy to be able to put together a coherent action plan.

He'll notice me eventually, she thought. There's no way to escape or hide. That means I need to strike first and gain the upper hand while I have the opportunity. Rend his heart with pure fear. Make him aware of the suffering I've endured, and let him know that he'll be receiving suffering in kind.

She nodded to herself. She'd slap the shit out of him.

She stomped up to him, her boots clapping into the floor as loudly as she could manage. Just as she was about to reach him, he looked up from his paper and into her eyes. His were a startling pale green. 

A grin broke out across his face. "Svet!" he yelled, his arms opening wide for a hug.

Oh my God his teeth are perfect, she thought. She stomped up to him, her mouth upturned in the most intimidating scowl she could muster, her dark eyebrows plastered low and together. She imagined her eyes looked like blue bolts of lightning. She stopped in front of his wide chest and glared into his face. He stared back, obliviously goofy, his arms still wide in expectation.