Firestorm | ✎

12. wake up call

     Isla's confession shook him.

     Elias was used to the fiery redhead calling him names like daft, tosser, bell-end... well, the list goes on. But this time, her words that day in the gymnasium had struck a chord. 

     It was the way she had said them. Spitting the phrases like poison in her lips. It wasn't clouded by foul words or blatant screaming matches, and it helped that the irrational rage blinding both of them started to simmer down—because now, she could speak her thoughts clearly, and in turn he could hear her with clarity.

     I was labelled. 

     I was easy. 

     I was a slut.

    He remembered the slight shakiness of her voice, like she was on the verge between tearing up and shouting. Her hazel eyes, fixed on an empty spot like an old film was playing only she could see. The girl who carried a wild and consuming hatred towards him... suddenly fell apart.

     He hadn't been able to do anything except stare at her.

     I have none of your privileges, Elias. I'm no Sabatier. 

     Because you're you. And I'm me.

     I'm never going to leave.

     He wanted to go up to her and just shake answers out of her. Or maybe shake the sudden guilt —strong and uninvited—festering inside of him.

     Elias declared that he had lost his fucking mind.

    "Allô? Are you still there?"

    "Yes, mother."

     Elias was laid out on his bed, his white dress shirt wrinkled and navy tie loosened after another day of cleaning duties. He'd just arrived in his dormitory house when his mother's name popped up on his phone. It was standard protocol for the parents to be informed on their child's misdemeanours, but usually his mother—who lived with his father in the neighbouring region of Belfort Academy—sent a warning message. 

     She must be royally pissed off.

    "You still haven't told me what this is all about." 

    "I've told you everything you need to know," he grumbled.

     The feuds, the fights in dining halls, the house arrest. It was overwhelming enough for a mother. He didn't want to add the... the complexity of Isla into the situation. For one, Elias knew his mother would psychoanalyse him to a frightening degree. And second—well, he wasn't sure what the second point was. Just that anytime Isla was involved in something, it was bound to go to hell.

    "Manners, young man." He heard her mother shift. "Is there a reason why this is all happening at the start of your last year in the Academy? I've gone accustomed to your antics, chérie, but not of this magnitude and consistency. Something's the cause of all of it."

    "Someone."

    "What was that?"

     Elias pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's someone," he cleared his throat. He didn't know why, but his head burned. Neck. Hell, his whole body. "They're in Sixth Form, but a year below me. I don't... fare quite well with them. So that's why we've always been... clashing."

     More like been in war.

     His mother's silent response didn't help his nerves.

    "Is it a girl?"