𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 | whatever i feel like

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

The target gleams red in front of me. I take a deep breath, and start to throw...

"Clove Kentwell, ninth, right?" I hear a voice behind me ask.

I sigh, turn around and glare at the person that is interrupting me from throwing. It's some boy, I have never seen him before, but he is grinning at me like we are old friends. He is clearly a senior, as he is almost 6'3 33and he is towering over my tiny 5'4 figure. as he is wearing a name tag that says "Cato Hadley." I don't ever remember talking to someone named Cato Hadley, but the people I talk to are pretty limited.

I shift my weight to my left foot. The training centre is deserted other than me and this boy because it is after hours. I don't care. My life is training. I don't enjoy anything else.

Most people in the academy don't like them, which I guess I am fine with because I want most of their skulls hung up in my room. They talk about me behind my back, saying things like "there goes bitch knife girl." To be honest, though, it does basically sum me up.

"What do you want," I snap, turning back to my targets.

He chuckles. "Aren't you feisty," he laughs.

I glower. Want does he want? Is he trying to get a knife in his chest? Most people are too scared to confront me straight on, and just tend to gossip about me behind my backs. And they certainly don't interrupt me while I am holding multiple knives that I can throw with extreme accuracy from over thirty feet away. I reckon the only reason I haven't been kicked out from the academy for getting into fights, is because I'm their top knife throwers. No one else can hit a target as I can. That is why I'm ninth. Ninth is the best group you can get, which, not to be boastful, is amazing. 

"What are you doing?" Cato questions, walking closer to me.

I gesture to the knives and the training centre around me. "Isn't it obvious?"

He laughs. I rub my arms. People don't normally laugh in my presence. Why is this boy laughing anyway? It's not like I was funny.

"I meant, why are you here after hours?"

"Because people are useless and they should rot in hell."

Cato laughs again.

"You probably shouldn't be so rude, Clove," Cato says, his tongue almost, tasting my name.

I mentally shudder. The way he said my name was weird, almost like he enjoyed saying.

"Anyway, why are you so feisty?" Cato inquires.

"I am feisty because my life sucks and the only people that like me are... no one." I wince. Did I just share that with a stranger? After two sentences of conversation? I curse myself.

"Why does your life suck?"

"Why are you talking to me?" I ask, policing my blade.

"What do you mean?" Cato asks.

"Given your face and his muscles," I motion to his ripped arms and he smirks. "You most likely have loads of friends, loads of admirers and is probably very skilled with weapons, most likely a sword, which will make you have loads of people to talk to."

Cato continues to be smug.

"What?" I snap.

"Nice to know that you think I have a good face," he says, grinning.

I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself."

He laughs.

"So how your training been going?" Cato asks.

"Did one of your stupid friends dare you to talk to me?" I growl without answering the question.

"No." He looks puzzled. "Why would you think that?"

"Because the only time people talk to me is if it was a dare, or if they are making fun of me."

"Well, that's not true for me." Ha. We'll see. "And if you want, I can make my friends stop doing that."

"I can fight my own battles," I mutter.

I toss the knife up in the air, twirling it. I dodge the blade and catch it.

Cato claps.

"Impressive, Clover," he smirks.

"Don't call me Clover," I snarl. Who does this person think he is? He must be incredibly brave to talk to me, or incredibly stupid. Probably one of his stupid friends dared him to talk to me. My glare deepened.

He looks apologetic. "Geeze, sorry Clove."

I look back at his face but turn back to my target. I tighten my muscles and get ready to throw.

"Why." The sound of a knife hitting centre. "Are." Thud. "You. Thud. "Still." Thud. "Here?"

I don't need to look at the target. I already can tell by his shocked face.

"That was skilled, Clove," he looked awed. "Why do you care if I am here," he asks. "I'm not bothering you."

"Actually, you are," I mutter to myself. I didn't really mean for him to hear, but his eyes turned from inviting to icy.

He turns to leave. Huh. I don't know why, but there was something tingly in my stomach when he said he was telling me that he wasn't like the rest of the, I turned back to the target. Thud. Another knife buries itself in the gleaming red target.

"But," I hear him say.

"What," I snap. I don't bother turning to face him. He can talk to the back of my head.

"I was wondering, would you want to go get milkshakes after you finish training?" He grins at me and continues to walk backwards.

Then he crashes into a chair. I burst out laughing. He swears at it, and I laugh harder.

I don't know when the last time I laughed this hard. Cato seems a bit confused by my sudden change of mood but starts chuckling as well.

"Um yeah sure," I grin, after I recovered from my laughing fit.

I don't know what came over me. Not even my parents can get me to smile, but this boy that I had a five-minute conversation can get me to full on laugh.

He smiles goofily.

"Cool," he smiles. "I will see you soon."

I lowkey hate this