It's Not (Un)Living, If It's Not With You

Private Acts of Rebellion

     The first day back at Eastfield Academy is always the most difficult. A new wave of sixth graders who just got their fangs in, fresh faced and proud of their graduating class. A new group Seniors who have had them sharpened with years of experience and a new found sense of superiority. I fucking hate it. Even more now that I am part of that group of seniors. In the six years I've attended Eastfield- vampires start attending the academy in grade 6 and leave in grade 12, either to join the council (most legacies do) or to do shady underground vampire mafia bullshit (which is again, what most legacies do)- I've only managed to make one friend. This is a school for the kids of politicians and the bastards of rock stars and anyone else whose name has enough status. The whole system is elitist and backwards. Its not like I don't want friends, I just don't know how to properly make them and bastards don't seem like a good place to start learning. I don't know if Baci would've ever become my friend if we weren't stuck as roommates. When you first arrive at the academy you get a roommate and that's who you have to live with for as long as you are attending. Baci isn't a legacy but she aims to be in the council one day. The complete opposite of me. Baci was accepted because of her high social standing but she wants so much more than a pretty dress and a big house. She actually wants to make a difference one day. I am a legacy and yet I cant seem to find the motivation to make something of myself. She wants to change the world for the better and I just want the world to go away. 

     As the daughter of a council member of course I'm expected to join after academy but what's the point? To get married? Have some council kids and live in a big council mansion? A marriage that was based on politics whether than one based on someone I actually love and children who will be just as miserable as I am, expected to keep up a legacy. A mansion made off of blood money. The council and the mafia aren't that different despite being on two ends of the spectrum. They both benefit off of the despair, pain, and the labor of others. The only difference is the council didn't kill my mother. The mafia did.  Sometimes I just want to watch the whole vampire politic world burn- it's bound to be entertaining because vampires are extremely flammable.

     I arrive at the dorm three nights before classes officially start. That's when the student dorms open up for students who don't train for sports over the summers and that's when they're the emptiest. I am walking down the hallway when I see him. A tall man wearing a tweed vest and a collared shirt tucked into the most intricately patterned pants I've ever seen. Who the hell even leaves the house like that. It's too late when I realize I'm staring because this fashion disaster of a man is walking up to me and introducing myself. Its also too late to completely understand what hes telling me because then know exactly where I'm staring. And it looks wrong and morbid and absolutely perverse and perverted to the outside eye. I'm staring at his fucking pants. 

"Up here, love." a British accent tells me. Hes British. Of course he's British.

"What?" 

"My eyes, they're up here." I look up and see the most handsomely crafted face I've ever seen. Its one I've seen before but can't place. It looked like Michelangelo personally crafted his jawline. His eyes were like if Poseidon planted the ocean in them and his lips looked soft. What the fuck.

"My eyes, they're up here"

What the fuck

I am walking away

My heart can't stop beating and I feel like its going to pop out of my chest because and incredibly handsome stranger that I definitely know thinks that I was just staring at his penis. I don't stop until I get to my dorm. I decide immediately that I hate this inbred British bastard through no fault of his but because he probably thinks I'm some creep. I must've fallen asleep because when I wake up Baci is walking into the room and making her way to the bunk beds. I can see her through the thin light that projects from the hall way when she opens the door but when she closes it were encased in darkness once more. It doesn't matter because I know her movements. They're precise from years of ballet and other noble activities. She sleeps on the top bunk because heights scare me. Nothing scares me. But heights aren't nothing. She climbs the ladder like she has for six years and she must've plopped herself on her stomach because I can hear a muffled greeting. Something ending in "-lo". I think part of the reason Baci and I are such great friends is because we don't need words. She understands me perfectly fine with very few of them.