Princess of the boys

Chapter Five - Always Fighting

*Two years later*

I’m fourteen. The boys are eighteen. Life sucks.

I woke up to feel someone shifting in my bed. I opened my eyes and turned to see Zane sitting down. “Hey, Princess.” He whispered, softly moving the hair out of my face.

“Hey, Zane.” I mumbled, burying myself in the blankets.

“You have to get up now. Eliza wants you.”

“It’s my birthday. I don’t wanna.”

“Get up, Kalyla.” He whispered, lying down beside me.

“You get up.” I grumbled, rolling over.

He loosely wrapped an arm around me and hugged me, resting his head on my arm. “Get up.” He said again. “Or I will let Xeno and Milo in.”

“Go to hell. I want to sleep.”

He snorted softly and picked me up, making me mumble sleepily in protest. I curled up against his chest and gripped his shirt in my fingers in case he dropped me. He carried me to the window and sat me on top of my dresser. I yawned and opened my eyes to look at him again. “What?” I whined.

“Don’t whine. It’s annoying.” He growled.

Right, no whining.

I huffed and crossed my arms. “You know, you could at least make an effort not to hate me.” I said hotly.

“I don’t hate you. I just hate your tactics.”

“They work.” I shot back.

“Not on me.” He retorted, walking to lean against the wall opposite me.

So I guess I should explain what’s happened the past two years, huh? Honestly, not much has changed. The only difference is that Zane has gotten a lot more . . . . Intimidating than I remember. That and I refuse to hurt them anymore. I suppose that’s a huge thing, but to me it’s not just daily life. My relationship with my mother has gone south to the point of Antarctica, and we’re constantly fighting. I still don’t know what to think about boys, but I’m slowly learning that they’re really easy to be around.

And they always seem so much happier than my friends. My friends only talk about depressing things, while these eighteen year old devils can entertain themselves with just about anything. Like the other day Milo found a butterfly and for some reason wanted to keep it and name it Ralph. I said no. Then he started whining and I realized just how annoying it really is to people. No wonder people give in to it if nothing more than to just get the person to shut up.

Xeno is . . . er . . . violent as Hell. He still doesn’t like me. Can’t say I blame him, but a little effort would be nice . . . .

Zane . . . . Well . . . . Zane scares the crap outta me. Let’s just leave it at that. He’s a lot less violent then he used to be against me, but increasingly hostile to mother. He’s going to get himself killed one of these days.

Me? Well, my mother hates my guts just as much as she hates boys. I like the three of them, well, I don’t like Xeno. The feeling is mutual. I hate guns with a passion because mother decided last year on my thirteenth birthday that I needed—motivation. She shot me in the right leg. When I still didn’t listen, Zane took a bullet for me in the right shoulder. He saved my life, so I owe him one for sure. That’s the whole reason I don’t want to go out today. It’s my birthday. I can only imagine what she has planned for me this time.