Liar, Liar

11 | marlboro reds

The folded piece of paper, shriveled up, smoldering flame eating away the ivory, blackened and dry, leaving warm ashes and a burnt scent in their wake. Sahar smiled faintly, a sensuous twist at the corners as she brushed her clammy fingertips on her pleated skirt.

Abigail Wang was a brilliant kisser. She knew that from the one reckless make out session in an attempt to forget the ghost of her former friend who now haunted the very corridors of her school.

But Abby was not nearly as good for her to risk holding Reeve's attention any longer than absolutely necessary, giving him stories to twist and rumors to make up. He'd already hinted at her and Abigail which was a very confusing act in itself.

Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake. It was an obvious war tactic so him warning her both infuriated, and bothered her.

Was he trying to form an alliance?

Even so, she did not kid herself into believing that he wouldn't keep his eye out for any sort of dirt on her. Anything he could use against her now that he wanted something from her.

From his gelled back hair that smelt of Tom Ford, down to his expensive clothes and Italian loafers, Reeve was trouble personified. Nothing but a manipulative deviant with a god complex.

And while Sahar may have fell for it once, she wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. Reeve had no limits. He could stoop down to any level, imaginable, and beyond.

Her spine stiffened when a sound of gravel crunching blended with the frigid air. She glanced over her shoulders, honey glazed irises locking on a familiar tall frame. Hands shoved in the pockets of his khaki trousers, Ezekiel strode towards her with a confident half-grin.

"Sahar," he spoke, coming to a halt right next to her, "What are you doing here?"

With a strained smile, she shrugged, "Burning stuff."

His lips perked, eyes flitting towards the burnt paper for a brief glimpse as he stepped closer, leaving only a few inches of distance between them, "What stuff?"

She glanced away, picking out a pack of cigarettes from her Off-White bag before dropping it on the ground by the brick wall.

"I owe you one." She said, nonchalantly ignoring his query, causing his eyes to narrow slightly as he pulled out a cancer stick from her offered box in a wordless truce.

"Thanks, I just ran out," He said, almost irritably, carefully bringing the other end of his owed Marlboro red to the flickering flame, "How did like those earrings?"

Her features morphed into a confused expression before it dawned upon her, and she shot him a faux tight-lipped smile, "Beautiful."

She almost rolled her eyes when the corners of his mouth tugged into a self-satisfied grin. Her gaze fled back towards her tote, the earrings sat comfortably untouched in her bag since she hadn't bothered unwrapping them.

"Need a light?"

Sahar shrugged, placing a cigarette between her teeth as she slanted her head towards him, letting a touch of fire ignite it.

She took a few puffs before leaving it between her first two fingers, watching quietly, "Sometimes things don't go as planned, you know," she glanced back at him, "You have no control over what is to come."

He frowned, trying to figure out the meaning behind her words, "Of course, I do, I'm the king here, remember?"

"Yes," She suppressed a sigh, shaking her head as she looked away and brought the Marlboro back to her lips, "You are the king with luxurious privileges; the allowance of fucking up and still staying high up. The world is your oyster. It's definitely not the same for me, though."