AUBREY

four

[Aubrey's POV]

"Naturally, my dad will buy me any of the collection, but I told him that he hasn't even bought the 2019 edition of the Kors' collection, so what's the point, you know?"

As usual, my friends are stuck in a mindless cycle of conversation, their words never quite dipping deep enough into a real topic.

"Aubrey! It's like you never listen to what I have to say!" Tina exclaims, slight annoyance edging into her words.

I stand up coolly, grabbing my bag and plastering a smile across my face. "That's because I never do."

As I start to walk out of the room, the familiar sense of loneliness touches me in the heart: a soft, stabbing pain poking at the corners of my heart where it's untouched and dark. Admittedly, a certain pink-eyed brat has been found in those corners, too.

I storm into an empty room, my legs pacing fast in a running-like manner and I sigh aloud.
"You're crazy, Aubrey, for actually sticking with soulless minions and bratty teens - crazy!"

Incessant words roll out of my mouth as I slump behind a desk, shaking my head in disbelief at the current state of my life.

"Speaking to yourself is a sign of schizophrenia," a low voice murmurs out from behind me, belonging to none other than the same pink-eyed brat.

"Incredible, absolutely incredible," I scoff to myself, remembering the civil agreement to be friends. But it means nothing when my heart and brain are disputing over him, causing me to rage.

Unable to retort anything back to him because of the rising anger, I huff and turn away.

"Woah, I thought we were friends now, angel."

I spin my head so fast that I think I have whiplash. "Angel? Say that again and I'll-"

But he's no longer behind me, instead he stalks menacingly and slowly towards me, until he's in front of the desk. "You'll do what?"

No words escape me. Millions of insults whirl inside of me, but nothing comes out. I internally damn my mouth but all I do is silently sit.

Slamming his hands down in front of me, he traps me in a cage, his face inching closer, until we're burning a hole into the other's soul. "Cat got your tongue, angel?"

The confusion of his effect of me combined with the raging growth of my loneliness explodes through my body, my mouth spitting out the words before I can even stop them, "Angel? That's so unoriginal. 'Princess' is warming and cliché , sure, but it's got so much meaning. Angel ie boring and downright hilarious, obviously, because you're messing with me: because of my middle name, you think you're capable of producing a name that will annoy me to no wit's end? You're wrong. I'm not annoyed. I'm unphased."

His face morphs from all types of expressions as he listens to my whine, ending with a resounding comical look. "That's cute."

"Cute? I did not say that to hear that-"

"Aubrey and Cain, an unlikely pair nonetheless, but still engaged in inappropriate behaviour. No PDA allowed, and for that, considering school ended five minutes, ago, you can stay here as detention. Apart. At all times," a member of staff intervenes, disgust written all over them.

As soon as they leave for a few minutes, Cain let's out a laugh, "Aubrey Thorne having a detention? How unbelievable."

"Did you just laugh? You actually have an emotion apart from brooding?"

As quick as the laughter appeared, his smile vanishes, his eyes smouldering into mine. "Hallucinations are also part of being schizophrenic."

"Ha-ha," I mutter, getting up, reeling from a detention, but still coming to a halt at the proximity of our bodies. I decide I don't want to entertain his stupid game anymore, and ignore him, getting up without looking at his body. Or his toned figure. Or his attractive face.

Having a detention, me? The likelihood of it being very slim, but not slim enough, apparently.

As the teacher walks back in and I make my way as far as possible from the jerk. My first detention with him? A long, long ride.

_________

[Cain's POV]

Thirty minutes in and the ice princess has cracked: her fingers drum angrily against the desk as her face sits between anger and shock.

"Do you mind?"
"No, I don't."
"You're being loud and annoying. More than you usually are."

She doesn't reply back; the icy gaze of hers lands on my fresh wound on my knuckles and despite her best effort to hide it, her eyebrows knit in concern.

"You not gonna offer me an antiseptic wipe? No bandage? No first aid kid at the ready?" I taunt, amused.

Aubrey diverts her gaze away hastily, shaking her head in defiant silence. This charade of hers is real scary, and not at all cute.
Although she shook her head, her fingers dip into her bag, retrieving a fresh bandage - which she tosses at me with impeccable aim without looking at me.

Rolling it around my fist, I can't help but stare at her mindlessly. Although grey skies darken the bleak outside, the brightness of the lights inside cast a glow above her, making her even more beautiful if possible.

Beautiful but annoying; demanding but icy; angelic but shallow.

Her gaze finds its way back to me, the cold gleam in her eyes softening as she searches every corner of my face, eventually settling on my eyes: pink on blue, softness on solitude. Making her way to my desk in a cutious manner, our gazes don't break, the intensity building up heavily.
"You're doing it wrong," she murmurs, leaning down to tuck in the bandage, the softness of her skin creating a spark everytime she brushes against my hand.

"This is pretty close, angel."

Even after she finishes perfecting the bandage, the lightness of her touch against mine lingers, neither of us moving or speaking, so that the only audible sound is our light breathing. I force myself to look up, piercing into her eyes, looking past the icy facade, our breathing slowing down. Seeing her close up with her icy glory, the works in my head start spinning at the effect she has on me. A stuck up princess making her mark on the lone wolf like everything else; perhaps it's true - nothing in this world will be left unscathed by shallow beauty and perfection.

"Aubrey?" I ask, feeling myself inch closer to her as she makes no effort to back away.

"Yes?" Her voice trembles but remains consistent, the waver of her words only noticeable because of the proximity.

"We only just decided to be friends - to be civil - are you starting to like me?"

Her eyes widen in protest and she snaps out of her body's frozen pose, backing away to her desk, flipping me off in the most elegant of ways. "Never, Villareal, my standards will never reach such a low."

And although I know she's only playing her part in the cat and mouse game of our relationship with what she says, the words are more cold than the gleam in her eyes. This only just serves as a reminder that I will complete my mission, and we will never be anything more than what we are now.