Shattered Dreams

I quickly showered, mentally preparing myself for making breakfast for The Trio. To my surprise, I didn't hear them yelling for me or banging on my wall. Weird, I looked at the clock. It's the normal time. I waited another fifteen minutes, but I still heard nothing but silence. For some reason, my hearing has always been good. Maybe it is because I have felt like prey and had to rely on it to escape or hide. I exit my room, listening for any sounds to give me any indication that they are awake. I hear music coming from Cassius’s room, video game noises from Conner’s room, and the morning news from Clint’s room. They are obviously awake. I shrug and start slowly walking to school. It is a long walk, but if I go slowly, I shouldn't be out of breath by the time I arrive. 

Walking with my head down, I bump into a very large and firm body. “Mmm, sorry,” I mumble.

The door in front of me is pushed open. A gruff voice that I know says, “Just go, Avery.”

My eyes bug out of my head, but I keep it down, as I walk past Cassius. There is no way that my dream of The Trio being nice to me, and everyone in the school looking at me as if I am a supermodel, would come true. Fairy tales do not exist. Dreams about The Trio wanting me and my life changing is another such outlandish fairy tale. I propelled myself to my locker only to stop dead in my tracks. There, right in front of me, sprawled across my locker in bold, huge, red letters, are the words ‘DIRTY SLUT’.  This is likely the work of the Hoity Hags, but it could have been the Trio, too, for all I know. 

I put in the combination to open my vandalized locker, only to be splattered with red paint. Great, just fucking great. Not only was my face red with a combination of fury and embarrassment, but so were all of my clothes. I take in a breath only to let it go in a huge sigh as my shoulders slump. Proof that my dream was a fairytale. I slink and slither like the disgusting slime that I am to our headmaster’s office. I knocked lightly on Mr. Gray’s, the headmaster’s, door. 

Mr. Gray, who is a very tall and burly man with grey hair and glasses, opened the door. His eyes scanned me with concern, “Avery, who did this to you?”

I shake my head, no doubt splattering red paint everywhere. I am not going to say who l think did it, because it will accomplish nothing. Yes, the teachers might like me, and perhaps Mr. Gray does, too, but I have no prestige in this school and no one would believe my word over that of the Hoity Hags anyway. “No, I don't know who did this, and I do not care. May I be excused for the day?”

He nodded solemnly, as if he wished that I was brave enough to come forward, but understood and accepted my reluctance, “Yes, Avery. Go. And if you need tomorrow off as well, just call me.”

I told him thank you, as I proceeded out of the front doors. On my way, I run into Conner and Clint who abruptly separate, allowing me to effortlessly pass. I inwardly laughed, because it was like Moses parting the Red Sea.. 

Clint's POV

As my brother and I were going into the school, Avery was coming out, smothered in red paint. I know that Avery would not do this to herself, so who did this to her? Part of me does not care, but another part of me does. That part of me that cares is my dragon, Carter. But why does he care? She's a human. Yes, she is assigned to us, but we have no claim on her other than her employment, which we can't terminate until after graduation. In one hundred and seventy-eight school days from today, we will be rid of Avery. 

I passed by Avery’s locker on the way to my first class. The headmaster had two of our four janitors trying to remove all of the red paint while he supervised. If I didn't know that all of the red splatters were paint, I would have assumed someone was murdered. I dodge the pools of red on the floor, too. Do I like Avery? No, but I at least tolerate her, as does Conner. Cassius though, I do fear that he could accidentally kill Avery one day. Both Cassius and Asher get angry at her so easily. 

The day passed quickly especially since I had half of the cheerleaders following me around. When I went into Mrs. Moore’s class, Avery was not there. I had the whole station to myself. The task she handed out is due Friday. We are to show all of the preparations that go into a Grand Ceremony and then describe the setting for the announcement of the mate bond as well as cook a dish that would be served at such a venue. I don't even know where to begin, so I will just give it to Avery when I get home after practice.

End Clint’s POV

After I made it safely to the palace, I ran to my room. I stripped off all of my clothes and put them into a plastic bag. Then I jumped into the shower. It took five washes to get all of the paint out of my hair and off my body. I had to scrub hard, too. Now my skin is red and sore, but at least the paint is gone. I don't know if I can save my clothes, but I will try. Once dressed, I get out my phone and research how to remove oil-based paint from fabric. It says that it is best to try while it is still wet. It did dry in a few spots, but me keeping it in a plastic bag helped keep most of it moist. 

I rinsed my clothes with cold water in my sink. Most of the paint washed away, but some still remained, so I tried using a towel to soak up the remainder of the paint. I can't use paint-thinner, because it would stain more or eat a hole in the fabric, plus, I would have to use it in a well-ventilated area. I was able to remove most of the paint, but one stubborn area remained. I remember from my chemistry class that non-acetone nail polish remover will soften the bond that paint has to fabric. I start at the outside of each stained area and work my way inside. This keeps the stain from spreading and also helps me stay focused. 

Once I had restored my clothes to their rightful state, I hung them over my shower door to allow them to dry. If my clothes are stain-free once they dry, I will put them in the washer later. Now, I will try to enjoy the next few hours before The Trio gets home from practice and disrupts my peace.