kisses

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⊂⁠(⁠'⁠･⁠◡⁠･⁠⊂⁠ ⁠)⁠∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°
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SIDHARTH

I'M MINDING my own damn business, striding through the hallways at school and heading for the dining hall, since it's lunch, when I hear my name being called.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see it's fucking Figueroa headed my way, his expression full of steely determination.

Great.

Since we came back from Thanksgiving break, it's been one thing after another, and it's only Tuesday. It frustrates the shit out of me. Most of it has to do with Shehnaaz too, which is interesting.

There's more to Shehnaaz Gill than just a pretty face. Which deep down, I always knew. She's smart, she's kind to everyone-maybe not me, but I asked for that-and she's influential. All things I can respect, though for whatever reason, the word respect and Shehnaaz never went together in my brain.

I'm attracted to her. When does respect ever come into that equation for me? Not like I degrade girls for sport, but they're just...there. To talk to and to kiss and to fuck.

That's it.

It threw me off when she apologized for what she said about me to Skov. I exaggerated a little bit, just like she did, acting like our teacher questioned me thoroughly regarding her allegations, which she sort of did, but it wasn't as bad as I made it out to be. I was trying to make Shehnaaz feel like shit, and it worked, though I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.

WORD The girl is easily manipulated, and too nice. So damn nice, you get a toothache every time you talk to her.

She's just that sweet.

Shehnaaz has to know I say all that shit to get a rise out of her, and it's so easy. Her bird feathers get ruffled way too quick. It's almost fun, making her upset.

Harmless fun.

"Can I have a word with you for a minute?" Figueroa asks me, his tone friendly. Though I sense the dark undercurrent beneath his words. He's unhappy.

Guessing he's unhappy with me.

What the fuck did I do now? Oh, I know, I was born. With that supposed silver spoon in my mouth. He resents all of us rich kids, which is funny as fuck, considering he works at one of the most exclu sive private schools in the entire country.

But he's into the broken, damaged little rich girls with daddy complexes. He eats them up with our discarded silver spoons and then spits them out when he's done with them. On to the next one,

and the next one after that. Like a damn shark swimming in the sea, a killing and eating machine.

Figueroa is more like a grooming and fucking machine among the

halls of Shukla Prep, the sick asshole.

"What's up?" I flick my chin at him, already bored.

"Let's talk somewhere more private? It'll just be a minute."

I follow him until we're outside, standing in front of the school's main entrance. Not many people are out here at the beginning of lunch, so this is probably the most private spot he could've found.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask him, when the dick still

hasn't said anything. He's too busy looking around, as if he's afraid

someone's going to leap out of the bushes.

"Shehnaaz Gill," he says as he faces me fully. "Leave her alone."