“And I would be doing mankind a favor in the process,” I add, seeing Charlie swing her attention between the two of us. That bitch really does love drama. “Ending the Osman line? Call it charity.”
“In one night, I could have taken out your deadbeat parents.”
My skin turns cold. He’s fucking admitting it. I was right.Heburned my house down. “You keep my mother out of your mouth,” I snarl.
The corner of his lips tips up in a cruel smile. “Does that woman know how to keep things out of her mouth?” He huffs a humorless laugh as his eyes burn into me, then the hand beneath my coat. “Seems to me the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I lurch forward, but Elijah must have regained some consciousness because he latches onto me before I can jump to my feet. “Get the fuck off me,” I screech, knocking him back.
I can’t be in the same area as these two assholes, or else I’m going to lose my mind. I pocket the joint and storm up to Kohen, who looks at me with the same vapid hatred I feel. His lips twitch as he scowls back at me, mirroring me in every way.
I want to make him pay for everything he did, but I don’t know how. It’s so fucking pathetic. There’s nothing I can do that would put any kind of dent in his world. Everything I can take from him can be replaced. No one would believe a thing I say, truth or lie. No one would care about any kind of impact he has on me. I have a jammed gun with no bullets. My only option is to throw it and hope for the best or sell it for parts.
“I don’t know what your fucking problem is or why you’ve been up my ass since grade school. But I know one thing.” My voice is full of malice, and my heart rate spikes with the adrenaline I’ve wanted to feel all night. “You will never be as good as your brother. No one will ever notice you, even if you were the last Osman.” I edge backward, toward the fence. Lowering my voice, I say, “You’re nothing, Kohen. You’re less than trash, just like the rest of us. You just don’t have drugs to blame for it.”
“Kohen Osman, there’s a phone call for you at reception,” the lady’s voice drones over the library intercom.
My jaw sets into a hard line. You’d think the librarian would take the concept of “quiet place” seriously, especially since the stained glass windows along the gray stone walls look like they’re going to shatter with the slightest vibration.
There has to be some rule about getting calls during our designated study time. I tighten my grip around my pen and stay in my spot in front of the fireplace, waiting to see how long I can make him wait.
It won’t be Mom; she has her day down to aT. She has penned down Tuesdays from 5:15 p.m. until 5:30 p.m. and Fridays from 4:00 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. to talk to me. If I'm five minutes late, my “appointment time” isgone.
Such a pity. Ireallywant to speak with the woman who always tells me to sit down, shut up, and let my brother do the talking.
Father isn’t patient enough to hold the line for me unless one of his secretaries is calling for him. He doesn’t have time for anyone anymore sinceOskadine.The breakthrough cancer drug is in the third phase of clinical trials. The medication was my grandfather’s passion, and my father’s third child. The drug’s success is making Osman Pharmaceuticals’ shareholders froth at the mouth.
Settling deeper into the couch, my attention shifts away from the textbook to the golden dance in front of me. The fire licks up the walls of the fireplace; it’s such a shame there’s a padlocked safety grate in the way of something so hypnotic. There’s something soothing about the wild crackle and whip of the flames, the way they can taper into blue tips that the human eye can barely see, though the skin can feel their agonizing burn. The smell of smoke alone has a faux calm settling over my body.
Fire is hated because it’s considered chaotic and an element of destruction. But people are foolish, so utterly close-minded because they refuse to understand anything beyond the box they put themselves in.
Fire cannot start from nothing. It needs life andair, only created by nature or man. But fire is everything. We can’t eat most of our food without cooking it over a flame, or drink safely without boiling the water first. Metal is molded by flames, and technology is pieced together by sparks. Everything starts from fire.
I rub my thumb over the lighter hidden in the pocket of my dress slacks, barely feeling the cool metal surface from the nerves that were burned off when I was eight. I was stupid thinking I could control fire, that it wouldn’t harm me if I only tried hard enough.
It’s untamed, out of control, ready to burn if I get too close. But that’s what people always forget about fire; it can be contained in its space if nurtured just right. But fire is the way it is because it’s a matter of sacrifice. Nothing can give without pain.
“Paging Kohen Osman. There’s a phone call for you at reception. I repeat, there’s a phone call for you at reception. Please head there immediately.”
My fingers tighten around the lighter, and I count to ten. By three, the heat in my body is a dull simmer, nowhere near as violent as the flames before me. By seven, it heightens to a boil. By ten, I slam the book shut, then almost rip off the safety grate and shoveMolecular Medicine: Genomicsinto the fire.
I can’t believe I’m stuck in school for another fucking year—and for what? To be treated like dog shit?
“Kohen Osman, this is your—”
“I’m coming,” I bark, throwing the strap of my backpack over my shoulder.
The librarian peers down her nose at me as I storm out, disturbing everyone with the sound of my boots hitting stone and the murderous energy that’s coursing through my veins.
Jocks, nerds, cheerleaders, loners, junkies, and blue-collar criminals in the making all look up at me as I pass. One girl bites her lip, another waves, a couple guys glare, and some avert their eyes as quickly as they look up. I’ve been here a whole week now, and I’ve determined that it’s the exact same shit as St. Augustine’s but at a different school.
Usually, people fall into two categories: they want good grades or they don’t.
When it’s a school filled with nepo babies, there’s a subcategory:they don’t give a shit which way their grades swing since their last names and trust fund will ensure they’ll end up in the same place within society.
I keep my gaze forward, jaw clenched so hard, almost grinding my teeth to dust. My muscles tense further with each step as I navigate the maze-like structure. Blaze said with total seriousness that it’s hard for people to find their way around the school because everything looks the same with its dull stone and brick walls. She also added that she hopes I get lost and end up in one of the dungeons this place is rumored to have.
Just like the first time I had to find my way around, I get to my final destination without the slightest slipup. It’s no surprise she has no sense of direction, both literally and metaphorically.
