Sang knew going against her step-mother was useless. It would only bring more punishments- more bruises to hide and more questions from those who seen them. But still, she can't see the old Sang Sorenson that looks back at her through the mirror any...
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Academy series (Ghost Bird or Scarab Beetle) All rights go to C.L. Stone.
RATING: K+ for language and violent themes. Mentions of abuse and drug addiction
WARNING: May contain triggers for some readers- read at your own risk. Nonagon-ic relationships between Sang and her nine boys (Owen Blackbourne, Dr. Sean Green, Nathan Griffin, Dakota 'Kota' Lee, Gabriel Coleman, Lucian 'Luke' Taylor, North Taylor, Silas Korba, and Victor Morgan)
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Before-
I tightened my grip on my bookbag. My head raced and I rung my lip harder as I tried to think of something to say. "I've got... class." I rolled my hand in the direction of the school. I couldn't look at his face as the lie rolled off my lips. It felt wrong... like I was physically repulsed by lying to them. I cleared my throat, stuffed down those feelings, and started for the school.
I didn't pay much attention to my surroundings as I walked. My pace was fast and I was used to weaving through crowds to get places undetected, so it was easy enough to get through the front doors without being stopped by anyone.
Now-
~~
I ignored Luke and North in Homeroom, giving them quick, short answers when they tried to ask me questions that I hadn't really heard in the first place. After the first few tries, they seemed to back off and continued with their work.
I lost myself in my head, thinking about how I was going to deal with any other questions they had about my family and home life. But by Mr. Blackbourne's class, I wasn't still wasn't sure what to do and kept avoiding any conversations the boys tried to include me in in class. I was grateful for the time to think, but without anyone trying to ask me about this morning, I had no idea how to react.
Until Mr. Blackbourne found me in the library, hunched over the Learn To Speak French text book. I didn't even notice him at first, so focused on pronouncing bouilloire- the word for 'kettle'- that I didn't hear him sit down across from me until I spotted his hand reach for my book.
I flinched back, chair scraping across the carpets showing primary backing with a screech of wood on plastic. I forgot where I was, thinking my mother was the one reaching for me until I realized it was Mr. Blackbourne that had taken the seat across from mine. My head snapped up just as the brief look of shock drop from his face before a wall of steel dropped back over his eyes, looking just as hard as they did yesterday.
"M-Mr. Blackbourne," I lifted a hand to rest on my hip, just above my pants waist and the bruise that my mother had inflicted the night before. It had just started to turn a dark purple, it wasn't nearly as painful as some of the others I had experienced, but it was the size of her size six and very visible if my shirt came up at all.
