Villain

Chapter 5

CONSTANCE

We had just come back from the cemetery. 

The night was supposed to end with the three of us— grandma, my father, and I— stuffing ourselves with fast food while we peacefully, though nostalgically, indulge in the blissful memories of when Maleigha Montero, my mother, was alive. Then, back at home, my father would retreat to his study to review what he had missed on his day off while grandma and I would make microwaved mug cakes to enjoy before going to bed around one in the morning. 

It wasn't supposed to turn out with Wren McCray backing me up against the wall and caging me in with his arms under the dim lighting in a desolate hallway.

I tried not to reveal the panicky, nervous emotions I was feeling inside on my face, but deducing from the smug curve of his lips, I wasn't very successful. 

"You're not gonna push me away?" he asked in a low voice, his lips barely moving. The place he trapped me in was calculatedly hidden from those who were eating at the booths and tables, but even if some did see Wren, his tall, lean form easily swallowed any trace of mine.

"Of course, not," I whispered back, relieved that I hadn't stumbled over my words. "Why would I touch you? You disgust me."

His teeth gleamed when he laughed, but he coughed to smother it so that no one would look this way. "'Kay, but how're you gonna escape? Don't tell me you think that asking me to move would work?"

"I can scream for help. I don't like or respect you, so don't think I won't resort to snitching," I sneered.

He sneered back, saying, "Stop trying to act tough, darling. Your legs are very clearly shaking and I can even see your pulse throbbing." 

"S-so what?" Shit.

He leaned in closer. "Are you scared? Or excited? Hmm?" His nose grazed the shell of my ear. 

I jolted, quickly placing my palms on his shoulders to try and push him away. He allowed me to push him back and chuckled again. His laughter was deep, yet still boyish in the sense that it was coiled with mischief.

I don't think I was scared of who he was. He wasn't very intimidating in appearance. His black hair and brown eyes were nothing special. The delicate structure of his face made him seem regal, almost princely, but no where near intense or vehement. His form was tall, but lean, not like the brawny, muscular guys at Crestwood who dwarfed everyone and everything with their presence.

But, the difference was that I knew what he was capable of. He was only 17, but he had too much money, he was free, and most importantly, he didn't let anyone forget that. That particular combination was what made even the sight of his shadow preternaturally large. Wren doesn't bluff when it comes to threats, and those who learned that the hard way now have to remember that they got fucked over by an average looking high schooler as a grown man or woman. He wasn't famous in this town, maybe at Galatea, but once you meet him, he'll undeniably leave a big, red, middle-finger-shaped mark on your life.