Deliciously Destroyed | 18+

5. Nothing

I am terrified.

Three intimidating men glower at me from a distance, talking to mister Templeton and mister Whitlock. 

Miss Sanders comes down again, a tired look on her face. I stay silent, not knowing if I should just disappear or tell them I'm gonna leave.

The tired look on her face increases when she sees me. I quickly look away, pretending I'm busy with my empty mug. Truth is, it's been empty for a while now, but I didn't want to sound ungrateful and needy for more.

"Bright, it's time you go back to your cottage," she tells me a few seconds later, and all eyes are back on me. I immediately turn bright red, making my name come true.

"Yeah. Sorry. Didn't mean to bother anyone," I mumble, trying to untangle from the blankets. I keep my eyes certainly on my legs, not wanting to make eye-contact with anyone.

Then, suddenly, two hands pick me up and lift me out of the sheets in one movement. I blush even more, not knowing how to react to this. Turns out it was Micah Templeton, who give me a grin. 

"Try to not sleep in the snow again, will you, Aaron?" I instantly nod. No way in hell am I telling anyone about Ezra and Silas.

"Keep the clothes," he dismisses after, watching me look at the hoodies and sweatpants I got from him. Tomato-Aaron activated. 

"Eh. Yeah. I'll go now," I cough and roam my eyes over the room, trying to remember where the front door was.

Then I find it, so I just look over my shoulder, awkwardly smile and head outside. But everyone stiffens, so I do too.

A hoarse, exasperated voice slices the tension in the room after a few seconds. "Hey, guys. Can I have some water?"

Miss Sanders hurries away, with mister Whitlock following her. I hesitantly look over my shoulder, once again not knowing what to do. 

It's mister Yearwood, another professor of my college. He teaches economy and biology in the third year, but I don't follow his classes, though I am a third year student.

I do follow miss Sander's classes, which are Spanish and history. Mister Whitlock's classes of math and advanced math were full, and so were mister Templeton's English and history.

Sebastian Yearwood's eyes narrow in on me. "What is that boy doing here?" he asks, to no one in particular. My spine stiffens.

"I-I was just leaving, I—" "Then leave?" he snaps in an annoyed tone, and I quickly nod. His attention shifts to the three older men, leaving me alone with my surprise.

I slowly back away, until I'm out of sight and then turn around. Thankfully, the door is right here. 

"Oh, honey, you're leaving already?" The woman, who came in together with the three men, comes out of the door of the restroom. I wince, not daring to look at her.

"Y-yeah, I'm sorry, I was bothering—" "No, you weren't!" she gasps, her eyes shining friendly. My throat closes up.

"My—friends—are waiting for me for dinner anyway," I lie, but know it's obvious. I can't lie for the life of me.

A disappointed look is on her face. Then, she gasps again and manages to even look irritated too. "Oh no, did those three in the living room startle you? Oh, don't worry, they might look scary, but they wouldn't hurt a fly."

Are we talking about the same men who were glaring daggers at me or what?

"Mom, he said he was leaving," I hear Yearwood's voice call out. Mom?  I flush even more, because now everyone is waiting for me to leave. 

"I-it was nice meeting you, Mrs Yearwood," I whisper and open the door as fast as I can, then close it behind me.

Drawing a big breath, I close my eyes and take a second. My anxiety level was over the top, because I did not expect to wake up in a nice, warm room, with eight people silently judging me. I could see it in their eyes. 

Plus, it was extremely awkward four of them were teachers of my college, too. I wince at the thought alone, knowing I'll have to go to miss Sanders's classes until end of May. With this interaction, I hope I stay out of her sight even more than before.

I dug my hands in the hoodie and head to where I think my cottage is. There's a few places where smoke is coming from the chimneys, and I recognize the houses. I'm only five minutes away.

My mind wanders again. To the torturous thirty minutes in the snow, then the awkward waking up. I'm embarrassed a teacher had to find me like that and scrape me off the floor, and I think I'd have rather died. 

I stop a few feet from my house. I don't have a key, so how would I get in? Why would they let me in now and not three hours ago?

But I don't have any other option than to knock on the front door again, so that's what I do. I wait. Hear the laughter die down.

Then the door swings open, and two pair of wide eyes meet mine. Ezra and Silas. Great. 

I brush past them and walk to my room ignoring their friends trying to hold in their laughter. "Thank you for opening the door. Three hours late, but I guess you've always been slow."

I immediately regret the words and flinch, but increase my speed. Just before I can get in my room—where I can still hear the water of my shower running—Ezra grips my arm in a firm hold.

I wince, can't look up to meet his eyes. "What was that?" he spats.

"N-nothing," I whisper. Silas takes a step closer, towering above me. I cringe. "Listen here, fag. You're lucky some stupid man took you with him, because if he hadn't, you would be dead right now. We wouldn't have brought your pathetic ass in, neither would anyone else have."

His words sting, but not enough apparently, because Ezra adds up. "No one wants some crying baby in his house. A fag who thinks he has more chance on a relationship if he is okay with both guys and girls. But let me tell you, Sparkle, no one will ever think of you as worthy."

It's too late. My tears are already falling, but I refuse to sob out loud in front of them. He's right. He's so right. 

Even though mister Templeton did save me, not even he did anything against the verbal attack of Yearwood, or the intimidating men. Not that he had to, but . . .  I just felt so out of place.

It felt nice having someone care enough to save me from death, but Ezra and Silas have reminded me of what I've always known. I'm not good enough to deserve such things.

Nothing but a fag.