Christobel

Chapter 1

Bel

Bel was the problem child. He was the result of a sordid love affair (his mother's words, not his) and left in the hands of his father. One would not be able to tell upon first glance that Bel was the firstborn son of a successful military officer.

He slouched when he walked, slept during class, and graffitied the walls of every institution he ever attended. As a military brat, he was forced to keep his hair short and his body fit within constricting institute uniforms. He was always getting into fights with the older kids. His hair was too red, his eyes too bright, his skin too dark, and he would not conform to their demands of obedience.

Bel was small, but he was fast and strong and wild. It was that wilderness that so enraged his father and always got him in trouble. It was that vivacity that labeled him as insane. But he wasn't insane. He was just misunderstood. Even by himself.

Bel and feelings did not get along. He felt them alright, but he would rather ignore them than confront them. Feelings made him uncomfortable because underneath that whole mess inside of him, Bel knew exactly what his problem was.

The truth of it hurt. Bel didn't do hurt; he did anger. Vicious anger. He wore that anger like a proud accomplishment; a knight in all his glory, anger bestowed upon him like a medal of honor.

No one ever cared to ask why he was angry. In fact, no one ever asked him anything.

His parents shipped him across the world to one another. "Deal with your son," they always said. Bel never understood why they used him to attack each other. He never meant to be trouble for either of them. That is, until he did.

Vandalizing property, harassing his classmates, and making several things explode landed him a one way ticket to boarding school. He was left standing with his beat up old duffle in front of tall, iron wrought gates, the yellow taxi that dropped him off speeding away. Bel recognized a cliche when he saw one. In this very moment, lugging his belongings behind him, heading for the huge, gothic mansion across the vast lawn surrounded by walls of stone with a forest just beyond, Bel understood that he was the epitome of a teenage life cliche.

And he hated it.

A tall, old, lanky woman stood waiting for him at the front door. She frowned when she saw him, took his bag from him, and grumbled something about having to inspect the contents before it could be allowed in his room. Wouldn't want him smuggling in any of whatever he was covered in, probably weed or meth, who knew.

She shooed him away after handing him a map and a class schedule. Having arrived in the middle of the day did not excuse him from attending lessons. Bel glanced at the papers, a single sharp eyebrow raised in disdain. Lessons? Who the fuck called classes "lessons?" Some pompous rich dicks did, that's who.

The woman cleared her throat (a smoker's throat, he noted) and told him to get moving. He remained right where he was until he was sure his gaze made her uncomfortable. And then he went to class.

He had to attend despite the suffocating need to skip. If he got kicked out of this school, Bel knew he would have no place to go. He felt it in his bones despite his father's assurances that he would always be welcomed back home. "Unconditional love" was beginning to feel like it came with an expiration date.

The teacher gave him a nasty look that Bel rivaled as soon as he opened the classroom door. He took the schedule from him and frowned. People did that a lot around Bel.

In the room there were tall boys with their pristine uniforms and their blond hair and blue eyes. Pretty girls with their long curls and made up faces. They all looked the same: perfect little kids in their perfect little families with their perfect little lives.