Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

I pull the hood further down my head as I huddle closer to my bedroom door so none of the squealing girls pay any attention to me.

The perpetual chill from the ice-cold water I was forced into rakes another shudder down my spine, and I can’t hold back the hiss that comes out when I grab onto my keys. My knuckles and knees are a canvas of violet and indigo blotches, with smears of red on the highest points.

Silver lining: I iced my injuries.

Another silver lining: I don’t need crutches anymore.

It’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve been out of the tub. Almost twenty-four hours with Dr. Van der Merwe in the med wing with a constant IV drip and heat pads. Still, I feel like I’m in the damn ice bath.

The good doctor told me everything from here on out is in my head. My core temperature is back to normal, the melted ice has been flushed down the drain, and the tub is sitting in the basement, empty. There were two words he used that made me flinch. Trauma response.

Forty-five minutes. That’s two-thousand and seven-hundred seconds they left me in the frozen water. I can still picture the clock directly across from the tub, the way the long hand ticked, ticked, ticked.

The pain stopped after a while. Everything seemed to stop after feeling like I was burning alive. At some point after everyone left the room, I couldn’t move my limbs anymore. Then the shivers stopped, and I thought I saw my mother walk in with a dirty ribbon to braid my hair.

The sound of my bedroom door unlocking beneath the keycard makes me wince as if the lid is trapping me in place all over again. The ache in my jaw has traveled to my neck from gritting my teeth against the phantom shivers.

Dr. Van der Merwe gave me today off and a pass from attending prom tonight. I don’t think I could tolerate the loud music and all the bodies if I went sober. All of it feels so insignificant. None of it matters.

Taking a deep breath, I shoulder the door open and stumble into the room. My feet don’t make it much further than that. The weight of everything that happened makes me crumble to the floor. The carpet drags against my sensitive cheek, both grounding me and unleashing me with the pain it brings.

When I close my eyes, I’m back in that tub, back in the room that smells like death. My grandfather’s disinterested blue gaze is on me, reminding me I will always be more insignificant than a speck of dust on his designer coat. I’m a shadow of my ghost of a mother, but even a wraith would have more importance.

A wail builds in my chest, bubbling and clawing; it feels like sandpaper beneath my skin. Each grain is another meaningless indiscretion. Everything I’ve gone through and survived, every time I’ve fought like my life depended on it, was all for my grandfather’s benefit. My wings aren’t clipped; they don’t exist.

And I’m fucking sick and tired of it.

I’m done.

“Come here,” a voice whispers. Sudden pressure around my waist makes me jolt up to get away. Instead, I’m pulled forward against a hard chest that smells of patchouli and mint.

Then everything breaks.

Years of bottled tears spill over, trailing a path of fire down my skin.

“It’s just me. It’s okay,” Kohen says, just loud enough for me to hear.

My knuckles protest when I grab onto his shirt. “Don’t—Let go of me. No.” Everything hurts. Pushing against him feels like an impossible mission that takes me back to yesterday when my body wasn’t my own any more than my life was.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gentle hands run down the back of my head. The tender touch fills my aching heart with the warmth the frozen waters took from me. He arranges our bodies so my knees are up against my chest, and he holds on to my curls like they’re a life-saving treatment. In here, it’s warm and miles away from the tub.

Stay away from the Osmans.

You will never know a moment of peace in your life.

Break that boy’s heart if you have to.

This can be a common occurrence.

I shake my head against Kohen’s chest. My tears soak into the material of his shirt. I’ve had enough.

I need another hit.

I need the baggie they were bribing me with.

I need the sweet release that comes in powder form and makes me forget about all of this shit. There won’t be any more pain. Any heartache. It’ll make everything feel right for just a moment.

I fucking need it.

“I’ve got you.” He holds me like someone is trying to take me away from him, but he’ll never let go. Ever since I was a child, I wondered what it would feel like to be held like this. He’s taking my firsts in the ways that truly matter.

He was the first man to kiss me like I’m a one-of-a-kind masterpiece that’s too precious to be displayed on a wall. He was the first person to touch my skin and not make me wonder if I’d find bruises where his fingers were. Mostly, he’s the first person who saw my dying heart and wanted to bring it to life.

I’m not breaking his heart, even if he’s inadvertently hurt me more than once. He has enough demons to drown in, and I have mine. I don’t want to see him as an enemy anymore—lord knows I have enough of those.

His breath is feather-soft against my hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut, basking in the feel of it. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Alright. That’s not a word in my dictionary. Things are never alright unless my nose is twitching from the powder I snorted. Alright is a state of delusion.

This can’t be the last time I feel those firsts. I want something more than momentary euphoria. I’ve always had a house to go back to. It was a structure with many walls and a single roof that leaked in certain places. It had rotting floorboards and gaps between the windows that let the draft through.

What I want isn’t just a house; it’s a home. Somewhere I can rest my head and not worry about someone creeping through the windows or breaking into my room when I’m not there. I want to be able to call it mine and know that even if it is temporary, it stays strong whenever I’m not.

“I was looking for you.” Kohen’s hands find mine, and he stiffens beneath me. One by one, he unfurls my fingers, revealing the cacophony of mangled flesh. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say through a hiccup and snatch my hands from him, stuffing them in my hoodie pocket. “Everything is fucking pointless anyway.”

“What happened, Blaze?” he repeats, pulling my hands out from the pockets of my hoodie.

Blaze.

I’ve always been Blaze to him. Despite wanting to get under my skin, I was never Marie or Miss Whitlock. I’ve always been me.

“When?” I choke.

His brows lower in question.

I wipe my tears and sit straighter on his lap. “How far back do you want me to go? Do you mean way back when my grandfather decided I’d never be free from him? Or a few weeks ago when they strapped me to a chair and fried my brains after I blew up at you in group therapy?” Rage bubbles up my throat. “When they tortured and starved me to find out who blew up the Science building? Or yesterday when my granddad locked me in a tub of frozen water for almost an hour because your fucking brother is a snitch?”

The blacks of Kohen’s eyes eat up the golden hues. “I’m going to fucking kill him—both of them. Who gave you the bruises?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing the silver tub and the way it would reflect the hanging light. “Me. When I was trying to get out.”

“I thought something might have happened to you. There was no sign of you in McGill’s office, or the doctor’s. I snuck into solitary and couldn’t find you there either. I—” He sucks in a sharp breath as if the thought is agonizing. “Where were you?”

Curling my trembling fingers around his shirt, my lips almost refuse to let the words come out for fear I’d be dragged back there. “The dungeon,” I whisper. “There’s a single tub there. It looked—” I clear my throat as a shudder runs down my spine. “It looked like I was the first person to use it in a while.”

“They left you in there the whole night?”

I flinch away from the fury rolling off him in tangible waves. “They kept me overnight at the infirmary for…”

“Hypothermia,” Kohen finishes for me, his hold tightening around my body.

All I can do is nod.

“Who let you out?”

“Boris.” I frown. “I think.” I could barely make out the face of the man who unlatched the lid. It was a blur of colors and dots as my eyes refused to stay open. “It’s all a haze… I just woke up in the infirmary and it felt like my body was on fire.”

The muscles in his jaw twitch and he clutches me tighter. One of his hands drop down to my wrist where he presses two fingers to my pulse point. His eyes drift shut as if he’s focusing on each beat of my heart to make sure I’m not as dead as I feel.

“What do you want?” The question rumbles out ominously from his throat.

My lungs contract as I look into his darkening hazel irises. “I—what do you mean, what do I want? Neither of us can change the past or anything that happened to us. What I do or don’t want won’t change any of it.”

“No.” He shakes his head and closes the distance between us, feeling his breath shudder against my lips. “What do you want?” He tips my chin up and gives me a look that says all he needs is a word, and he’ll go to war. “Anything. Ask me anything, and I will prove to you that I will always be there for you.”

Each exhale comes out heavy to match the rise and fall of his chest. “I—It—there’s…” So many things, but none I can find the words for.

Caressing his thumb over the burst blood vessels along my throat, he says, “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

I hesitate for a second, then nod, pursing my lips. Hurting implies they have power over me. Denying it won’t change that fact.

“I told you bad things happen to people who touch what isn’t theirs. Let’s make it to the morgue this time, shall we, Thief?”

I’ve never nodded so quickly. It makes the corners of his lips twitch up. Every corner of my heart fills and expands. He’s picking me. He’s choosing to be in my corner and be the support I’ve never had.

“But for now,” Kohen motions behind him, and I finally notice the two garment bags lying atop my unmade bed. “Will you be my prom date?”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

It’s such a mundane question. It almost makes me feel like I’m an average teenager who will jump into bed squealing and kicking my feet because a cute boy asked me out. Isn’t normalcy a medication for a sick mind?

“From murder to corsages.” My lips twist into a coy smile that hurts to wear, but it’s enough to push back the darkness clouding my thoughts. “Are you giving me a choice?”

He shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You either walk in alone or with me by your side. Either way, we’re leaving together. I told you once, your death is mine, Thief. If anyone makes you cry, then their death is yours. I just need to know if you want it served on a silver platter or gold.”

I glance down at the dried blood crusting over my knuckles. “Silver. It looks better against red.”

“Knife or fists?”

“Baseball bat.” A slow grin spreads across my face. Damn him for knowing how to pull me out of my head. “Can we play classical music in the background?”

My breath catches when he kisses my forehead. “As my batshit crazy woman wishes.”

My cheeks heat. His. Kohen’s. I shrug noncommittally. “I’ll think about your offer.”

Kohen’s eyes darken. “It’s a yes or no question.”

I hum. “What do I get out of it?”

“I’ll wear a silver and black sapphire ring. If you manage to steal it, I’ll let you keep it.”

Narrowing my eyes, I say, “You always let me keep it.”

He holds up his left hand where there’s a signet ring on his index finger. My signet ring that I took from him. “Do I?”

My jaw drops. “Give it back.”

“You know my conditions.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Bribery doesn’t look good on you, Pyro,” I grumble, crossing my arms.

“Everything looks good on me, Klepto.”

I poke him in the chest while he helps me to my feet. “Just so the record shows, I’m agreeing under duress.”

He lets out a chuckle. “Shut up and get ready.”

Muttering profanities under my breath, I flip him the bird as I back away into the bathroom. I try to keep the air around me light even though every inch of my body and soul feels as if it’s been hit by a boulder.

The door clicks behind me, and my muscles protest before I even start getting undressed after turning on the shower. My fingers tremble and ache as I grip the edges of my hoodie, and my shoulder screams as I pull it off. I drop all my clothing onto the floor as condensation climbs up the walls from the steam billowing out of the shower.

But I can’t bear the thought of water touching my skin. What if I step in and the water goes cold and ice rains down over my bruised flesh? What if I shut the glass shower door and it doesn’t open again? The water could fill up, and what if, this time, the water doesn’t stop at my collarbones?

Stepping away from the shower, I’m struck by my reflection in the mirror. Only a day ago, my skin was a textured canvas that had already been dragged across the dirt. Now, I’m a brushstroke of indigo and violets, splattered with forest green and lime and topped with blotches of scarlet. It’s everywhere: my hands, shoulders, elbows, legs, ribs, and even the corner of my chin. If I was meant to be art before, is the destruction of art still considered art?

It’s as though cracks are running through the plastic mirror, breaking it into a thousand shards that make up the various facets of my being. None of the fragments fit together. Still, they make a whole. Just a pile of splinters put together to create sharp edges in my armor that’s filled with cavities.

In a way, I look exactly the same, but I don’t recognize myself anymore. Everything was always there, prickled and fragile, but it was hidden under layers of tape. I don’t feel human. I’m not sure I ever really did. I’m a byproduct of my grandfather’s wrath and my mother’s shortcomings. Born into a crumbling, gold-plated cage with nothing but darkness to guide the way. I survived in a place where monsters are made.

I could have been beautiful without the curse of my family. But Medusa was beautiful before they called her a monstrous creature for turning men who wronged her into stone. It wasn’t a curse; it was a gift.

I don’t want to feel human. I want to feel unstoppable.

The door swings open, and I jump back, realizing I never responded to whatever it was he asked.

“Ever heard of knocking, perv?” A quiver runs through my voice, depriving it of any malice.

Kohen’s eyes flick to the running shower, then to the hands trembling against my naked body. His shoulders fall as he steps forward.

“Blaze…” The deep tenor of his voice acts as a blanket over my aching shoulders. A whisper that chases away the nightmares. If I could wrap myself in it, maybe everything would cease to exist, and I’d finally be able to take a breath and taste the air.

“I—” A stone catches in my throat as I avert my attention toward the shower.

He says nothing. Shutting the door behind him, he reaches for a towel from the rack on the wall. With a single gesture from him, I lower myself onto the toilet lid and watch him turn off the shower then run the tap. His corded muscles in his back ripple against his straining white button-up, and I catch a glimpse of his fingers tracking up his arms to fold his sleeves.

I bring my knees up to my chest as I watch him work. The pressure of the tap flickers as he tests the temperature of the water. He brings the towel into the sink and grabs some soap from the shower.

When he turns to look at me, it’s as if all the oxygen has evaporated from the room. My attempts at decrypting the emotions hidden behind his eyes are forgotten when he kneels on the floor in front of me, and I choke as an onslaught of feelings threaten to come out on a sob.

The saturated cloth sits in his right hand, and he holds his left out to me. “Let me take care of you, Blaze.”

Throughout my life, I’ve faced so many things I didn’t deserve—things that shouldn’t happen to anyone. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that I do not deserve this man.

I don’t deserve the way he makes the pain go away. I don’t deserve how he looks at me like he might actually love me. I don’t deserve the life he could give me.

Woe is me and all that, but I can’t help wanting it. I’m so tired of being alone with Kohen on the sidelines.

Hesitating for only a moment, I take his hand, and something settles between us that I can’t quite name. It’s too shallow to be called love. Too deep to be called infatuation. But something in between that tastes like acceptance.

The cloth seeps warmth into my skin, soothing my aching muscles. It’s just wet enough to dampen my skin without feeling like I’m about to be submerged underwater. Kohen is meticulous with his movements, gently going over blemished skin to massage my tender flesh. His eyes always stay on his task, never straying to my chest or between my legs or staying too long on bruised areas.

The lack of judgment or pity in his attention isn’t something I thought I’d come to appreciate. He knows as well as I do that the decision I made that landed me in that tub is all on me. Yet, he isn’t pointing fingers; he’s helping me pick up the pieces of the fallout.

Watching him bathe me is enrapturing, just as it’s frightening. It’s like I’m laying my heart out for him to do with as he pleases. And what he wants to do is take care of it.

I’m not letting my grandfather take this away from me. I’ve already lost too many things I’ve never had, and there’s only so much one person can lose before nothing is left to be taken away.

“I know what I want.” I swallow, touching his hand to make him pause. “I want it all to burn. I want it so the only thing they have left is the clothes on their back.”

I don’t want to rise above. I don’t want to find peace in the ruin. I want enough blood to fill a bath so I can wash away the sins of my mother and father.

When the hate is gone, there will only be pain. But that pain means nothing when it’s all I’ve ever known. My grandfather has built his life on top of my starving body. He let my bones whittle, and infections fester within the rotting walls of the structure he built.

Before Seraphic Hills, the drugs kept me going. I itched for them because there was nothing else for me to reach for. Now, when I close my eyes, I can see my grandfather’s cold indifference and McGill’s cowardly stance. I can still recall how Boris’s eyes gleamed as he shoved me in the tub, and the men’s faces as they locked me in there.

“I am done paying for the crime of my birth.”

It’s time those men reap the consequences of their actions. No matter the cost.

Something akin to pride blooms in the golden irises of Kohen’s eyes, and sparks of admiration curve across his lips.

“I told you, Thief. If you want a fire, you just need to ask.”