Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
Some old wounds Never truly heal, And bleed again at the Slightest word.
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Chapter Thirteen "You're a Bad Teacher"
Scarlett's POV:
I huff out a breath, blowing a strand of hair from in front of my eyes. Sweat dots my forehead, trickling down the side of my face. I ignore it, glaring at the dirt and leaves on the floor of Alexander's cul-de-sac as they refuse to bend to my will and float in the air.
For the past two weeks, Alexander has been trying to teach me how to interact with the elements. Neither of us have been very successful in our jobs; I can't get those whispers to start if my life depended on it, and Alexander doesn't know how to teach me because we're not part of the same species.
He's basing his teaching on the stories he's heard and my limited experiences using the elements.
"How did happen last time? With fire?" Alexander asks, bottom lip pulled into his mouth and brows slanted over determined eyes.
I groan and run a hand through my hair, panting out a raspy, "Strong emotion. With the wolves, I was angry and scared, same with the gym and Quinn. But I can't rely on my feelings to trigger the powers, it's too unreliable."
I've never had strong control over my emotions. And while being angry, or terrified, or trapped in fight-or-flight mode turns on that element wielder switch, I need to learn to control the power I have. Otherwise innocent people will get hurt.
"It could be a start," Alexander muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "If you can remember what it feels like when the whispers start instead of focusing on emotion, you can learn to summon without them."
At least we have a method. Up until now, we've been relying on trial and error, telling the prison's clean-up crew my small bursts of power were Alexander getting frustrated. Like when I accidentally set my bed on fire and almost tore a pillar in half with a blast of wind.
"Okay, getting angry shouldn't be too hard," I mutter more to myself than Alexander. "I'm in a prison for something I did out of self-defence, was nearly killed for being born a certain way, and attacked because some dude has a fragile ego."
I'm right, and the tidal wave of anger in my belly rises quickly. A little flurry of whispers starts up in my ears, and the earth in front of my feet rustles, skidding across the floor. But that's all I get. I can't make out what the earth is trying to say, and I can't get that angry wave to collapse.
My chest heaves, breathing heavy as desperation seeps into my blood. I need to be able to do this, and if I can't even get a pile of dirt to float, how the hell am I going to defend myself against an actual person?
I growl, letting my anger simmer down and willing the whispers to disappear. When they're finally gone, I let myself fall to the floor, legs crossed and head held in the palms of my hands.
