"I am good at two things. Murder and sex."
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Xavier Visconti expected one thing on December 3rd. And that was getting his money back from a spineless woman he had taken pity on. What he didn't expect, though, was to meet his damsel-in-distress.
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"Give it back."
She froze, staring blankly at her locker. Blue. Like the shirt she'd seen on sale the other day for Emma. By next week she would have saved enough to purchase it.
"Are you listening to me, Lyds?" The boy behind her yanked her by the elbow. She relaxed and let him turn her around. She was good at that.
Being stiff made people angry. And if she didn't want to get hurt, she had to play by their rules. Their laws.
No sound escaped her mouth. And that irked the boy in front of her. It always did. Why was she not saying something? Anything. They were alone. Everyone had gone away for Christmas. Well, mostly everyone. There were still people like her who stayed back to revise for the exams after the holiday break. And people like him who stayed back to torment her.
"I see you still wear it," he teased a lock of her hair that had escaped the sloppy bun before tucking it behind her ear. It seemed like she no longer cared about her appearance. "I gave it to you in school, didn't I? I suppose anyone else would feel honored that you've kept a piece of plastic in such good care. Too bad I know how much of a whore you are."
She cocked her head before looking down. Everything seemed hazy these days to her. Was this actually happening or had she accidentally gone to sleep again?
Maybe she was hallucinating.
Still, she unclipped the clip from her hair and handed it to the person who towered over her. The green rhinestones winked at her as he snatched it from her hand, putting it in his coat pocket. Nostalgia gnawed at her soul as she hiked up her backpack, looking in her locker once more to make sure nothing important was left behind.
The clip was the only fancy thing she owned. Well, he had gifted it to her. She always wore it during December. Emma had it the rest of the year. Nevertheless, it was gone now. It was funny how that made her heart clench when the person who'd given it to her was someone she feared the most.
"Are you spending Christmas with me this year?"
She didn't answer for a few seconds, looking down at the floor. Was he being genuine? Or was he mocking her?
She couldn't take her chances. Ergo, she got out her battered diary — reserved for asking necessary questions. She was always told of how dumb she was when it came to social interactions but the diary begged to differ. She didn't ask many questions. That was a sign she wasn't as dumb as people thought her to be, right?
Taking out a pen from her bag, she prayed to whoever was above that it worked. Stationary was expensive and she didn't want to earn the money only to buy a pen when she could buy something for Emma instead.
Like the blue shirt.
She shook her head before scribbling down on a fresh page.
