AUBREY

five

(Aubrey's POV)

"Aubs, you're not listening, do you want Dina to make the food now or later?"

"It's okay, sir, I can wait-"

"No," I interject, "You can have the night off, Dina, thank you."

Dina, our housemaid, nods and walks off, giving a farewell to my dad and my step mom in the other room.

"Night off? Since when have you ever been so kind to her? You barely acknowledge her existence on a good day," my dad guffaws, smoothing out the creases on his suit.

Leaning back into my seat, I muse over it. I guess he's right: I'm shallow and selfish, but why would I even bother? She's a housemaid and she does her job - as her employer, our relationship doesn't go on beyond that.
"I guess it's a bad day, then."

"Why so glum, chum?"

"Is it bad being shallow?" I ask, looking at him in the eye.

"Being shallow is objective: do you think it's a bad thing?"

"No, it's just so easy to not delve deep."

"Mhm, but you're questioning your shallowness, and that's delving deep, surely," he retorts, sharing a slight grin.

"You're not taking anything seriously, dad," I complain, folding my arms.

He doesn't respond instantly, just nodding with a grin and getting up, leaving the room. Silence trails after him, but right before he pivots, slowly smiling. "If you're smart enough to question your shallowness, you're smart enough to know what to do about it, Aubs."

His parting words echo around in my head uncomfortably, even when I'm about to sleep. My head lolls around the pillow as I toss and turn repeatedly, deep breaths escaping me several times.

"If you're smart enough to question your shallowness, you're smart enough to know what to do about it."

Perhaps my dad is right with what he said, but I have nothing to do about it. I'm well aware of the notoriety of who I am at school: the Ice Queen; the selfish, rich girl; the shallow, manipulative bitch.
Truthfully, names have never affected me because they're subjective, I know that not everyone agrees - even if the entirety of my school does, I know someone doesn't. That someone is most often my family.

More recently, however, the only opinion that matters isn't from my family. It's just from Cain's.
Deep inside, I know that he's the same as I: he's been given names and he represents those names, such as being a lone wolf, so would he really think the same of me?

I scoff bitterly - of course he would, everything he's said and done has proved he's just the same as everyone else. And it's this insistent thought that pulls me to wake up, extolling through my phone through every social media site until I land on him.

Cain Villareal.
17 years old.
0 followers.
Following 0.
Private account.

He truly lives up to his infamous name: the Lone Wolf. Despite having nothing to share on his profile, the photo he chose tickles my insides. The signature pink, distant eyes gleam even in a small profile, piercing, icy, as the dark blonde hair frames his angular jaw. Albeit, he's arrogant and prejudice, but he's the most striking person I've ever known.

I want him. I don't really care how, but I want him to be mine and I have a yearning to strip him off the title of being alone.

The last thing I remember before my eyes flutter closed, is the mesmerising photo of the lone wolf, the pink eyes lulling me asleep.