Tip of the Tongue [CMS Bk. 1 - BoyxBoy][Complete/Editing]

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2

Ren slammed through the back doors and took in a large gulp of fresh air. He closed his eyes. The leaves rustled and the wind whistled. It wouldn't be long before the parking lot would be full of kids. Their voices would be louder than his thoughts.

The end of the year felt so far away. The Mines felt like a big dream he'd imagined. He had to keep reminding himself the it was a real place where he could leave all this shit behind. In Sanguine he wouldn't be an outsider. He would finally belong.

It had to be better than this. It had to be. Otherwise, Ren didn't know what else he would do.

Autumn had settled, leaving a chill in the air and dead leaves on every inch of the ground.

A group of kids walked out into the parking lot. Ren couldn't seen them, so he hoped they couldn't see him. Though he tried not to, he yearned for their blood. He could hear the pounding of their hearts and the pulse of their bloodstreams.

He was entranced by it. He imagined what it would taste like to sink his fangs into their skin.

Ren snapped out of it. Their voices drifted in the wind.

A few minutes passed and the cold air bit at his chapped lips. He turned his hand over, examining the breaks and cracks around his knuckles.

He flexed his hand, remembering the large bruise that had been there years before when he'd fought back against Regan. It didn't seem so long ago when Regan had started messing with him.

If he had the guts, Ren wouldn't have let him get so mouthy.

He dropped his hand, sighing, as he tilted his head to gaze up into the cloudy sky.

God. He couldn't wait to get out of here.

The sun was beginning to set when he took off, taking the lonely trail that lead back to the one place he loved.

What followed him was the buzzing and the thirst for human blood.

❦

The house came into view. The small blue two story house sat next to a creek. It had been built by his grandparents and was intended for three.

There were only two living in the quiet sanctuary. His grandparents had died before he was born. The memories he had of them were stored away in photos and the ring he wore around his neck.

He clamored up the rickety steps, taking note that the middle one needed to be fixed—again. When he unlocked the front door and threw it open, he was greeted by the sweet smell of his mom's perfume and the scent of wax from the candles she burned all day long.

The living room was covered in a blanket of silence except for the faint hum of the washer in the backroom. A slant of light spilled from the kitchen doorway. He frowned as he wondered if he'd left the light on and how the washer was spinning. But his questions were answered when a shadow flickered across the tile flooring. He didn't need to look up to picture his mom's curly brown hair, her deep brown skin, and her small frame. Her bright smile could be felt across the room.

A smile of his own broke out on his face when he finally pulled his eyes from her shadow.

"Ren?"

He walked through the doorway. "Expecting anyone else?"

Margret Cornelli turned with a laugh. "Who? Mrs. Inkman across town? She never stops talking about how the winter frost is going to kill her tulips."

She sat the pot of noodles she was about to drain down.