Stina | ✔

Part One

Slight depression warning. Slight violence.

Christina raced down the hall, not daring to glance over her shoulder – the pounding footsteps gaining on her told her well enough the distance she didn't have.

Everything in her told her to run, but she knew the consequences of fleeing her enemy. She was in over her head as it was, and it was almost guaranteed that going any deeper might drown her.

She stopped running, ignoring every instinct in her fatigued body. Christina lifted her jaw in defiance, widening her legs in a defensive stance.

Shoes squeaked to a stop in the halls of Foxfire, and she tensed, waiting.

The line of four people parted, allowing him through.

Yavin Siths ruled the school. Literally. He was a walking trend, the picture of every girl's crush, the envy of ever guy. He had charm, that ensured his never getting in trouble, a poker face, and superb lying abilities. Only the outcasts knew what he was really like. Or in his words, the losers. Gorgeous or not, Yavin was way beyond heartless.

"Glad you made the right choice, Chrystal," he drawled out menacingly, strutting up to her. His cold fingers traced her jawline slowly, as he smiled smugly. "What a shame you hadn't stopped sooner."

Even in this situation, the most indignant thing about this, was that after bullying her from the moment she stepped into Foxfire (about a year and a half), he still didn't know her real name. Pathetic.

She knew better than to talk without his permission, better than to meet his eyes, better than to give him any emotion that she was feeling at all.

Scared shitless didn't justify the way she felt when he was around. He was threatening, menacing, and wickedly brutal. Yavin knew exactly how to dig deep, how to worm his way into your conscience.

She stared at him, eyes glinting slightly.

"You know the consequences, don't you, dear?" His eyes bored into her hungrily, wetting his bottom lip slowly as though he were about to eat something, anything.

When she didn't respond, he struck. The four other minions of his formed a ring around the two of them as he swung, his fist connecting with her face.

She just took it.

Blow after blow, punch after punch, bruise after bruise, word after word, she took it.

"You're ugly," he roared, swiping her legs out from under her so that she was on the floor. "No one likes you because you're an ugly good-for-nothing piece of Gulon dung."

"You're worthless."

Kick.

"Stupid."

Punch.

"And talentless."

He vanished, then came up behind her hitting her head hard for the final blow – his knocking her out. Yavin did this just because he could, just because he could get away with it too easily.

The last thought Christina thought was how she was going to have many, many bruises tomorrow.

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