Emperor of Mayhem

90

THE YIN AND YANG

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"But why the fuck is this suddenly so tight?" I groaned in agony, then sucked every ounce of breath in, my chest growing tight in the process. But I could survive a second more of the tugging just until the hook of the skirt would successfully stay in place.

Whilst still in the walk-in closet, I heard Mikhail murmur something to himself before my name tore from his lips seconds later.

Groaning in frustration as a sliver of fury deposited in my chest at his disturbance, I trudged toward the exit of the closet, my face contorted into an unmissable scowl.

"Yes?" I demanded impatiently, stopping just a few inches outside the closet, my arms folded across my chest in a challenge, as though if we were to go head-on, I could even stand a chance against a force like him.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He demanded, his brows pinched together in confusion as dark eyes through the lenses of his reading glasses, struggled to stay between being confused or being lighted with rage.

"My high school uniform," I said in a clipped tone, impatience weaving through me in that instant, "Or what the hell does it look like I'm wearing? a ball gown?"

"What?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his brewing rage.

"I'm heading out." I shrugged, looking down at my feet, the reason why I was going through all the stress of putting on my old uniforms, hitting me all over again, "I have somewhere to be and the occasion requires it."

I felt my eyes sting, but I blinked immediately to block the waterfall that was threatening to come. No one would understand me if I started to explain why I was suddenly wearing my old uniform and where I intended on going dressed like that. Even thinking about the reason I was wearing it, it was clear to me that I needed help, preferably a mental one.

Shiro was gone. He was not coming back. That today was his birthday and that we made a plan to get a matching Yin and Yang tattoo on his twentieth birthday didn't mean he would suddenly rise from the dead to tick the bucket list. And that wearing a uniform to the tattoo shop like we always did, wouldn't make him suddenly appear next to me.

"You wanna head out?" He arched a thick brow, his expression perturbed as anger flashed through his eyes but just for a few seconds.

"That's exactly what I said," I replied, his unnecessary quizzing which was delaying me was adding to my emotions that were already all over the place, "I'm heading out."

"Why now? And why the hell are you even thinking of going out in your uniforms?" He couldn't seem to wrap his head around this and that only drilled the knife into his frustration more, "I mean does this make sense to you?"

"Why did you call me?" I bit out, running a frustrated hand through my hair, "To lecture me on whatever the hell I choose to wear out or not?"

He relaxed into his chair, his jaw ticking.

"You have issues, you know that, right?" He resorted to saying, his countenance unreadable but there was something dark behind his gaze as he watched me through his reading glasses. It was obvious he'd had it with me and wasn't ready to keep excusing my disrespectful attitude toward him.

"I have issues?" I scoffed in exasperation, "Dude, you are the one tested to be a psychopath, not me. So if anyone has issues here, it's you. Not me."

Maybe I shouldn't have said that.

"Sorry," I lisped out an apology, "Seriously, I shouldn't ever make comments concerning your past," I looked anywhere else but his piercing dark eyes.

"How bold of you," He uttered in a low whisper, his nails drumming dangerously and slowly on the desk, "My past, you say?"