DELONIX [COMPLETED]

Chapter 2: The Escape

                   |Unknown Pov |

"The men are ready," I said to the boss, my phone pressed to my ear.

"Good, make sure that you find her and this time actually finish her," the hoarse voice on the other end commanded, then the phone cut off.

I turn to look and glare at my men. "This time around, you wouldn't be so lucky," I snapped. They gritted their teeth in agreement, the instruments of death in their hands, demanding blood.

               | RED'S POV|

"Okay, this is your stop," Aunt May beamed, her eyes lighting up as she glanced in my direction. She turned around, taking in the campus with a contagious excitement that seemed to surpass even my own.

How is she happier about this than I am? I gazed at her, a puzzled expression on my face, bracing myself for the imminent emotional speech I sensed was coming.

"Remember what I said, dear."

'Oh no, here it goes' I thought, mentally preparing myself for the familiar words of advice.

"You have to stay strong. This is a new level, which means no bullies."

She was right, of course. I couldn't forget the torment I endured in high school, the relentless bullying I faced simply because I excelled academically. They accused me of sleeping around with the male teachers, as if my intelligence was something to be punished for. But it wasn't my fault that my mind could handle what theirs couldn't comprehend.

“All you have to do is lay low under the radar and avoid those types of people," she advised.

I did that in high school, it didn't stop the bruises.

I nodded, the memories of high school's bruises still lingering in my mind. I hugged her tightly, grateful for her support, and then stepped out of the car, approaching the entrance of the school. Before entering, I turned to give her one final wave of goodbye. She smiled warmly and drove away.

'Breathe, Red. This is not high school. People are more mature here,' I reassured myself, hoping that my new environment would be different.

As I walked into the school, my nervousness manifested physically. My toes curled up in my shoes, and my heart pounded so loudly that I feared anyone walking beside me might hear it.

"Calm down, girl," my inner voice repeated, trying to soothe my racing thoughts, "you're going to be alright."

Lost in my anxious thoughts, I unintentionally collided with someone. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" I began to apologize, but I was interrupted before I could finish my sentence.

He turned around, his expression exuding annoyance and irritation. I was taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. 'What a great day, Red', I sarcastically thought to myself.

"Freak," he muttered, passing judgment without even knowing me. I stood there, wide-eyed and astonished, unable to fathom how he could label me so quickly.

Freak. That name has already stuck with me since middle school, and now some random dude with glasses obscuring his grey eyes, greasy hair, sweatpants, and a t-shirt uttered that word as if he knew me.

That does it.

"Freak?" I retorted, my voice laced with frustration. "Look, I'm sorry I bumped into you, but that doesn't give you the damn right to call me that."
I was tired, tired of people like him who believed they held authority over the weaker ones. But I was no longer weak.

I expected something like "I'm sorry" or "My bad" from this dude standing here, but all I received was “Not bad for a freshman” and an annoying smirk.