Outcasts

Prologue

Luce

Alex ambles into the room quietly in a futile attempt to avoid my notice. Immediately, I call him.

"You're late."

He knows this and turns to face me, only to reveal a bloody nose and split lip. His usual nonchalant grin is pasted on his face.

"One of those days, huh?" I ask, disapproval apparent on my face.

Alex only shrugs and walks past me to settle on one of the couches. He practically throws himself down. He rests his head on a throw pillow, leaving a seat next to his head. Sighing, I seat myself next to him.

"What happened this time?" I ask, running my hand through damp emerald locks. I wonder internally if its due to sweat or work of the rain I hear gently pattering against the window.

He snorts unceremoniously.

"The usual. One of the jocks separated from his little pack to ruff me up a little. And I reacted like always do so his lap dogs attacked me."

He ends with silence, having nothing more to say. I look at him and cant help but grimace at the stark contrast of the scarlet blood against his pale skin. He looks dishevelled and his black clothes are filthy, from being thrown around, no doubt. The mud on his boots seems inevitable.

After the pause, I ask finally, "Did he pay for it?"

The grin slips on his face again and his eyes glitter as he puts his hands behind head and answers, "Of course he did. They all did. They all do. No one fucks with me. You know that."

I nod.

It's true. But it doesn't stop me from worrying. I am glad to hear this. With that knowledge I remove myself from his side and walk away.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

As if he actually cares. He doesn't. I know this. But I cant help but pretend.

I put a fake smile on my face and answer, "To get some supplies to clean you up." Then I make my way to the next room.

"You don't need to. Its nothing serious."

I hear him call behind me, but I don't reply. He has no idea how much I need to do this. Promptly, I'm back with bandages, gauzes and all sorts of medical supplies. Quickly, I help him remove his jacket and what clothes are in the way in order to tend to his injuries. Once I've bandaged him up, I, at last, turn my attention to his face. He watches curiously, having nothing better to do, as I moisten a cloth in warm water and clean away the blood and dirt.

I work deliberately slow. I like it this way. It gives me an excuse gaze at his face. I take in the contours of his face and the soft glow of his pale blue eyes looking up at me. Faint colour to his cheeks makes him look more vulnerable than he is. Another glance at that cerulean gaze and I could tell what he is thinking. He can do this himself. He knows this. But he doesn't stop me. Maybe he knows I like to take care of him like this. Or perhaps he is more tired than he lets on, though I suppose he could just be using me. I prefer the former. I am just about finished when he grabs my wrist.

"Lucinda." he says softly.

I flinch and pull away immediately. I am not used to hearing my name from his lips. I never will be. His eyes are glazed over has if he is in a haze.