"You're going to make me do bad things to you, sweetheart." | Frank Rider is the new teacher. His favourite word is 'detention'. He's iniquitous, rude and vicious. To get on his bad side would be suicide. Unfortunately for Cleo, she's already dived...
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CHAPTER LVIII
Heavy dark brows lowered over a wide and grey eyed gaze, and disbelief was evident on his face. Indignantly, as if he were offended by my ill-intent suggestion to murder, he exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind!?" He angled away from me slightly, likely viewing me in a different light, under a bright yellow bulb with a sodden, overcast sky behind us. His hand stilled, the disinfectant wipe still pressed to the knife wound on my arm. He appeared to be in a state of shock and then he gathered himself, glancing down at the wound and with his jaw locking, he said firmly. "To suggest such a thing, even as an innocuous joke, is inane and senseless given your family history. You need to grow up."
"I'm entirely serious, Zeus, if you want to be involved in this family, have your image sketched and set beside our photographs, then you'll need to join in on the family activities." I said, my face unsmiling and my words no-nonsensical. I locked gazes with him, earnestly revealing. "It's alike to a gambler's addiction; once done, twice craving. It's a habit that'll tick away at the back of your head, deep in a corner of your skull and the echo will drive you insane until you unclench your hands and allow yourself a moment of indulgence. And it takes a lot of self-control and discipline and you're a man of fine arts, your face is the work of many surgeons and time and patience, you have what it takes to be a hunter, a God in a miserable, overpopulated earth. To be a predator; your legacy awaits."
"Spin as many words as you wish, decorate them in lies and deceit, attempt to be alluring, and fail miserably." Zeus shot upwards, mouth in a downwards angry tilt, maddened – but, unfortunately, not in the flames of a murderer. He threw me a look of utmost disgust, grey eyes cold. "You will lead yourself to your own downfall. You're no longer a child, what you speak of isn't a sane person's speech, it's insanity. Psychotic. To be so of such little empathy..." his brow furrowed, deeply troubled. "Seek professional help, Calla, before it's too late."
I watched as he left the room. His footsteps heavy on the wooden flooring, on the stairs, and then ...quiet in the orphans' house. The silence weighed heavily on my head and shoulders and the strain to keep from crumbling, to collapse, was from great strength, a well that was fast dwindling. I glanced down at the knife wound, fingers grazing softly across the bloody smear and felt my chest tightened. I could sense Judgement Day fast approaching and I had much to do in the little time I was certain I had left.
I needed to find a successor.
***
Whispers slipped out of moving mouths, murmurs skittered out from under lips, and inquisitive eyes followed me, interested in my figure. The attention was a red carpet and the cat walk felt like hands that prodded and probed and uninvitedly moved under my clothes and across my skin. Uncomfortable.
I reached a wall of green lockers and found the reason for my fame. There was a printed-out sheet of paper with my school photograph and a typed paragraph underneath. Relations to a murderer or Hannibal Lector reborn? See the truth on DeenHigh-aristodemos.com for exclusive details on classmate 'Cleo Baggins'.
