Today is a bad fucking day to mess with me.
“He said your name, moron,” Bobby snorted. “Are you broken?”
“I’m not broken,” I say, my voice reminding me of broken glass. I only speak when it’s necessary, and my teachers haven’t been calling on me because I just stare at them as if I have no idea what’s going on.
I can’t even hide in a book, because I can’t focus on it.
“I just don’t want to talk to people that want to start shit up with me,” I add. “Go…away. Please.”
The ‘please’ isn’t for their benefit, it's for mine. I don’t want to fight, and I’m barely holding on.
“Bobby told me?—”
“Shh. I didn’t think you were going to tell him about that,” Bobby hisses at Felix. “Jesus. Just keep your mouth shut.”
“What is he keeping his mouth shut about?” I ask, discreetly cracking my fingers.
I’m almost six feet tall, and a big guy. My muscles are developed from helping out around the ranch, and Bobby knows I’m willing to beat the shit out of him. His eye is still swollen from when I last hit him. It’s just stupid to fuck with me right now.
“He told me, too,” Tray says, moving to stand next to Felix with a wince. I’ve never had an issue with Tray, but that could change. He should really pay better attention to who he hangs out with.
“Please, share with the class,” I say sarcastically. I’m typically a sunny person. I just can’t find the energy to fake it.
“He said… God, don’t punch me,” Tray groans.
“I’ll punch everyone else,” I decide. I’m not much for shooting the messenger. They don’t do anything except do their job.
“Don’t tell him,” Bobby warns.
“He’s scarier, and you need to stop running your mouth,” Tray tells him. “Bobby told us that he is the one who helped his dad bury those firecrackers. He’s responsible for killing your mom.”
The world gets very quiet before I burst into motion. It’s almost as if I black out as my fists hit flesh and blood bursts from broken noses, and I lose all sense of what I’m doing.
Right up until I’m pulled away from the fight by a red-faced principal. I don’t fucking care what he or anyone has to say. Bobby and his father deserve to die, and one day I’ll find a way to make that happen.
I won’t be fourteen forever. I will get my pound of flesh one day to avenge my mother.
CHAPTER 3
Octavian
18 years old
“Ah,yes, here we are. Bed eight.” Father Guy says as he stops at the end of a small twin mattress set in an iron frame. “Here’s your combination lock, paperwork, and fresh bedding. There’s a locker with the corresponding number to the side of the headboard, you’ll want to use the lock for that to keep track of your belongings. The paperwork is a simple sign in sheet. If you leave with intent to return, you’ll be responsible for logging when you go out, when you think you’ll be back, and the time you actually return. Hang the clipboard on the hook at the foot of the bed. If you don’t, we wait twenty-four hours then divide any abandoned items between the various pantries here at the church.”
I nod absently, my eyes moving from the three foot tall locker to the end of the bed. I scan the mattress, trying to ignore the various unknown stains in favor of being pleasantly surprised by its thickness. It looks like it could be more comfortable thanwhat I spent the last decade sleeping on, and I should be grateful for that.
“There are four, single-person shower rooms through there.” He motions to our left, pointing out the clearly labeled door frame sitting in front of a thin hallway that contains the rooms referenced. “Each has a double lock on the inside for privacy. Toilet, sink, shower. You have to sign up for a time to use those as well. There are standard bathrooms over there,” the priest says as he points to the right. “Four sinks, six individual stalls.”
I shift the stack of items in my arms and push my glasses up my nose, squinting at the three doors; Alpha, Omega, Beta.
It’s a little surprising that they’re labeled like that, but then again, they made sure to get my designation when I went through intake. Forsafety purposes. I can’t imagine it’s a perfect system, but I appreciate the effort the church people have put into making this shelter private and safe where they can.
Look at me, Mr. Positivity.
I roll my eyes then follow the priest’s movements as he drones on about the kitchen and dining room, meal times, and all of the other necessary details I’ll need while I’m staying here.
However long that may be.
