Page 7 of Soul of a Psycho

Not the leaf. A person. I slip the vape around my back and whip my head around, looking for who’s caught me.Oh, no.I’m so screwed. Will drugs get me expelled? My father is going to rip my hair out if I’m sent back on my first day.

I scan the surrounding trees, their grieving branches tickling the forest floor as the moon tries desperately to penetrate theirumbra, but I don’t see anyone. It’s just me, alone, in nothing but a sweater and my silk shorts, high and exposed to the elements. Suddenly, the cold isn’t invigorating, but feels like a warning. This was dumb of me to do. I’m dumb.

I shake my head, thinking I shouldn’t have smoked so much, that I should get back before Ican’tget myself back, when the shadows morph and a hooded figure appears. My heart immediately gallops like a horse that just got spurred, and I hold my breath.Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.But I can’t move, frozen in fear as my assailant prowls forward ever so slowly.

The hood. The height. The familiar voice.

Him.

“Oh, my god.” I breathe after a moment and grip my chest. “I thought you were a teacher or a hallucination.”

The tempting demon who rummaged through my bag earlier comes out from the shadows, taking a measured and silent step forward.

“No. I’m much worse,” he says.

I still at his words, at the haunting tone of his voice, and a chill runs down my spine. What’s that supposed to mean?

I narrow my eyes at him, but they are blurry and slow, and I don’t think they have the intended effect. It takes a second for him to come into better focus, and I note the way his gaze is hidden under his hood, the way his full lips curve up on the right, and as my eyes travel down his body, the switchblade in his palm, glinting as he twirls the tip against his thigh.

Oh, no.

That’s the first thing I think in my sluggish mind. A part of me wonders if this guy just wants to kill me or do other things too, and I’m ashamed to say that the ‘other things’ don’t scare me as much as they should—all things considered.

“Sky…” he whispers, drawing out my name in a way that the breeze takes it and runs.

“I don’t think…” I gulp, my mouth dry, but not from the vape. “Don’t think I caught your name when you stole my bag.” I try for nonchalance, some haughtiness. Maybe if he doesn’t sense fear, he won’t strike, but my voice comes out shaky.

“Cade,” he says, still twirling the blade.

I wish I could see his eyes. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe it’s better if I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“Do… Do you want a hit?” I hold out the pen as an offering, like a treat to a wild animal. He looks like the type to do drugs, but that’s judgmental of me. I don’t look like the type to be out in the middle of the night smoking pot, but here I am.

His fingers still, the knife halting, and I hold my breath.Take the bait. Take it so I can run.

“No.”

Well. Crap. I bite my lip. What’s he even doing out here if doesn’t want to break the rules?

“Jesus,” he suddenly hisses, the word coming out pained. “Don’t do that.” He hazardously presses the point of the blade into his thigh, and it quickly snaps closed.

Relief makes my body sag, and a prickle of annoyance hits me for being so on edge.

“Do what?” I ask, putting some ire into my tone.

A rumble comes from his chest like a warning.

“Exist.”

My bottom lip falls, not knowing how to take that as anything but offensive.

“What are you even doing out here?” I snap, getting to my feet and tucking the pen into my pocket. The audacity of this guy. He’s totally ruining my high.

“This is my space.”

“Right,” I snort and dust the dirt off the back of my shorts. “Just like the floor in social studies.”

Damn it, my shorts feel damp. I swivel, trying to get a better look at the damage. I’m not going to look very tough sauntering away from him with a splotch on my ass.

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