3. Calvin

~ CALVIN ~

As soon as I step foot into the façade of a manor, the smell of cigarettes pierces my nostrils. I groan, tugging my hoody over my head as I try to walk without being noticed.

But yikes!

His eyes land on me the moment I step in.

Father smiles, showcasing his brownish teeth and the cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Welcome son.” 

I nod, not in the mood to keep the conversation going. I want to scream at him again, want to warn him. But no, he never listens. How can someone diagnosed with chronic kidney failure continue to take substances that have caused it? You know what? Fuck this shit.

“How was school?” He asks again and I turn to him, brows raised.

“What do you want, father?”

He chuckles, swatting the air as he blows the poisonous smoke into the air and I hold my breath. “It's just that the money you brought has finished. I would like to have another one. Oh, and your mother’s too, she told me she'd not eaten.”

Knowing him, he probably forced her to hand over her money too, one way or the other. 

I glance at him in disinterest. “You kept using it to buy more and more alcohol and packets of cigarettes.”

“But you can't afford us going hungry right?” He asks softly, standing up.

I clench my fist. “Wait and see.” 

Then I turn and hurry away from him, ascending the stairs. As soon as I reach my room, I shut the door behind me and lean against it.

And that's the problem, I can't afford them going hungry. 

I was nine when my father became an addict, ten when he first hit my mother in front of me, eleven when we lost everything and ended up… here.

I used to eat desserts after every meal. I used to ride in leather-seated cars to kindergarten. Now look at me.

With a sigh, I step into my room and drop my backpack on the bed before flopping on the bed, inhaling the sheets which smell like sweat.

It'd been long since I last washed it.

Hopping from one part-time job to another gives me little to no time to do things for myself. And giving my fucked up parents some of the money I earn leaves me with little to nothing except enough funds to buy textbooks and notebooks.

Pathetic, right? But if I don't do it, who will? 

Minutes pass in silence before the sound of my daily alarm pierces the air. I hop off the bed to get ready for my shift at the bakery.

This is not living.

_ _ _

There are bastards.

And then, there are cocky bastards.

Even with the difference in segments, I know two bastards right now.

My father.

And Alistair Morano.

The latter is the worst of them. The stupid Morano walks as if he had the world on his feet. Maybe he does but you know what? I don't care.

I don't fucking care.

The only thing I care about right now is my degree and the cocky bastard is the only thing standing between me and it.

I flash the girl approaching me a smile - one of the perfect ones I've mastered - as she stops in front of me, clutching her backpack to her chest.

“Hi Calvin…” she says with a nervous laughter.

Just say what you want to say and get the fuck off!

“Emm, actually, I need help with the answers to the assignment Dr. Kiki gave us the day before yesterday, do you have it please?”

I nod, holding my breath, the smile still on my face. “I've sent it to the course rep. Can you kindly ask him? My phone is not with me right now, I would have sent it to you.” I say softly for the umpteenth time since yesterday.

She's not the first that would approach me today for the assignment and I need a fucking breather. And that's the thing about attending the same school as privileged cocky brats. 

She beams before stepping out of my way, taking with her the scent of her strong perfume. I finally inhale and rub my temples before continuing on my way to the school's field.

The overprivileged narcissists — sorry, the ‘Jocks’ — had already assembled on the field, the sun beating down on them.

I click my tongue as I continue to move forward, my eyes raking the little crowd in search of their coach. 

Soon enough, my eyes land on him. He stands out in a black vest bearing Aurum's symbol.

As soon as I step foot near them, some head turns to me.

“Oh Calvin. Wassup gee.”

A guy I don't recognise greets, followed by some other guys.

I flash them my practiced smile. 

Jocks don't recognise ‘nerds’ - not that I'm one - but they recognise me due to the help I provide to make me move under the radar.

Two can play the game.

I give the bald coach with a sweaty wrinkled forehead a slight bow as I stand before him.

“Good afternoon, coach?”

He nods, his face hard. But I counter his harshness with an easygoing smile.

“My professor asked me to find Morano. We have a project and he's not answering his phone.” 

“That fucker.” Someone says behind me.

The coach tilts his head to a direction but before he can speak, someone else beats him to it.

“You should check him in the locker room. He's wounded so he went there.”

I give the coach a last slight bow and smile at them before walking off to the direction of the locker room. It's good to make people who think they are in the position of power feel stronger. 

I push open the door and step in. I walk deeper into the room before my eyes land on him standing before a mirror, naked from waist up.

The moment my eyes land on him, his head snaps to me as if he could feel my eyes on him.

Umm, someone has awareness.

As soon as his eyes meet mine, his nose flares. Typical Morano way.

“What are you doing here?” He seethes. 

I shrug casually, not letting my eyes wander too much as I stroll towards him, my hands in my pockets.

“I should be asking you what you are doing here, Morano.”

“Cut the crap bitch!”

“You. Should. Cut the crap.” I say, standing toe to toe with him. We are of the same height.

I fix him with a glare. “You are not supposed to be here. Other groups have already started their preparation for the project but look at you, look at us!”

He chuckles, his eyes searching my face. “I don't care about the degree.”

“Of course. Small brained individuals like you—”

He cuts me off by slamming me against the locker. The cold metal of the locker bites into my back, but all I can focus on is how fucking close he is. Heat rolls off him in waves, his breath hot against my face. If I wanted to, I could lean in and–

Seems like I finally managed to tick him off.

His hand tightens around my throat, just enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. My hand surrounds his wrist, holding it like a vice.

I know how to play the game too.

“Repeat what you said bitch.” He grits in my face, voice dangerously low. 

“Ohh, that you are small-brained?” I ask innocently.

“I'm so fucking going to kill you.” He grits

His chest presses flush against mine, solid. The ridges of his abs scrape against my shirt, the sharp scent of his cologne mixed with sweat invading my nostrils.

Fuck, he smells expensive. And pissed.

I smirk. “At least I will die while being choked.”

Then, I clamp down on his wrist, my grip iron. His nostrils flare as he realises he can't break free. Surprised that a nerd has this much strength huh?

Our chests are still touching, his rapid breath fanning my lips. For a split second, we are just there, locked in a silent battle.

His eyes dart to his wrist. I know it will leave a red mark. I would have loved this more if the red marks would not only be on his wrist but on somewhere else too.

Then, I release my hold on him. He staggers back, his eyes on his wrist in confusion. I turn towards the entrance with my hands in my pocket and a smirk on my face, knowing full well his eyes are still on me.

“Meet me at the library, Morano. Second floor, last row.”

Then I'm gone.