How to Steal a Heart

~ Chapter 2 ~

"Back from what?"

She's being very dramatic.

"Rumor has it, his parents sent him to some military school because he's been in gang-related activity." I looked a little harder at the boy she gestured at.

What she said was probably not true. Not that I think she meant to lie, I just think you have to take every rumor with a grain of salt. As well as I just don't care what these boys are into. It has nothing to do with me.

I'd be lying if I said the boy wasn't attractive. He very much was. I don't know if it was the light gray eyes or those sharp feature of his, but something about him was so...enticing.

As if he felt my gaze his eyes turned and met mine. His face had no expression, yet he still held eye contact.

I was-

Drawn

-to him

For the lack of a better expression.

The worst part is I can't tell what he's feeling. I decided to look away first, which was not something I'm accustomed to. I'm no stranger to flirting with boys and rule #1 is never look away first.

This time, however, I felt if I didn't look away we'd just continue to start at each other. Even though I couldn't read his expression I knew he didn't seem like the type to back down.

I shot Olivia a look to stop staring. I didn't want to embarrass myself more than I had already. We look down at our books as the librarian and Ms. Boucher talked. Loudly, may I add. I tried not to be nosy, I really did. They just made it so easy to hear.

"You're going to have to take these heathens."

Damn, heathens? Tell us how you really feel.

While I'm nose deep in the french textbook that I can't even understand. I felt more eyes on me. I didn't dare look back up at them. Ignoring them was the best possible plan right now.

"Where am I going to put them, Darcy?" That was Ms. Boucher's first name.

"Not my problem, the detention room is being occupied at the moment but these boys cannot get out of their punishment." Darcy goes on a rant, "Lord knows they'll just do it again."

They were going to do it again anyway, ma'am, whatever it is they did. Yelling at them and putting them in a room for three hours has zero effect on their behavioral issues. 

"No."

"I wasn't asking."

That was the last thing Ms. Boucher said before storming out of the room. There was a moment of complete silence. I finally look up from my textbook to share a look with Olivia. Her eyes saying that she was thinking the same thing I was thinking.

What. The. Fuck.

"Sit in the corner boys." The librarian sighed, "Just wait until the hours are done and be quiet."

I felt bad for my librarian friend. It was a hard time for anyone who wanted to go against Ms. Boucher. I don't even know why they still have her around. I haven't seen anyone have an 'A' in her class. Even the students that are fluent in French have a hard time in her class.

I let curiosity get the best of me as I turned to face the pair of eyes that were on me.

Axel Stone

Only this time, a prominent smirk sat on his lips. I took the time to look at his clothing. He didn't seem like a bad boy, not just by look at his clothing at least. It was his aura that presented him as trouble. The way he carried himself, I couldn't think straight.

"Should we leave?" Olivia asked I turn back around. I thought about it.

"Are you done?"

She nods.

"Then yeah, let's head out." 

I gather my belongings, going very slowly as I still felt his eyes on me. They made me shiver. I didn't like it. What was special about him? What's the difference between him and any other guy I've had an attraction to?

Before making my way to the door, I looked back at him with a sigh. He wasn't directly staring at me this time, but best believe as soon as I looked at him his eyes were back on mine. This time his head was tilted in curiosity. 

I give him a once over, then a light smile. 

<3

I pull into my driveway and just sit. I don't want to go in.

I was just enjoying my life; it seems like I have two now. The Victoria at school and the Victoria at home are completely different people. I get out of my car, locking the door.

"Hello?" I yell into the large house.

My father is usually working late when I come home from school. Today I was home a little later because of the library. Not that he would care.

"You're home later than usual." His voice rang through the kitchen as soon as I walked in; startling me.

"I was at the library," I state, my tone dead.

"You say that every time, Victoria." My father's voice was stern, as it always is when he speaks to me.

I love my father and I know he still loves me

"And I'm there every time, Father." I hold an urge to roll my eyes, I'm not stupid. "I thought you were working late on the campaign tonight. You said you were last weekend."

He took a sip of his drink before returning his eyes to his computer, "I'm not."

I nod silently, ending the conversation there. There was honestly no point in trying to talk to him anymore. He was playing a character for his job and I was a part of the play. We all were. I'm supposed to be the perfect daughter and he's supposed to be a loving father.

As you can see he doesn't play his character very well

I take myself upstairs. He calls me again.

"I'm taking your mother to dinner tonight, we won't be back for a while."

Ah, my mother

At this point, I couldn't even be resentful towards her anymore. She and my father, I believe, have never been in love. They dated in high school, my mother got pregnant, and in a small southern town like this one. You face up to your mistakes and get married. I guess that's one of the reasons why I'm an only child.

I lock my bedroom door. Sighing as I sit by my window. I like doing this. It's the only thing I enjoy really. It's my own form of symbolism you could say.

I often sneak out to go to a park from my childhood. That neighborhood is abandoned now so no one goes there.

My home life hasn't always been so bland. My parents use to get along, tolerate each other. This hidden tension began once my father started his campaign. Specifically the affair with his campaign manager.

It's disgusting how he doesn't even try to hide it. He comes home smelling of expensive perfume and sex. The lipstick stains on his collar seem as if he's parading them around.

My mom is a closeted alcoholic, but at least she doesn't drink in front of me. She tries to hide it. In my sixteen years of living, I've seen more liquor bottles in that woman's closet than in my entire life.

I shake my head, there's no need to dwell on the things I can't control. I'll get out of here one day.

Just wait