The Lost

8- Lucius

Lucius

The sky overhead was a shitty kind of dark. Not black like it is at night, though the sun was beginning to set, but with clouds. Great grey clusters that clotted together, looking like lines of soot and dirt were laying on the horizon. No rain yet, though. The more I sat and though about it, the more morbid it all seemed. The sky, the school, the constant drone of cars in the distance... Faelyn too. It was the beginning of summer, wasn't it? So the school should have been bathed in rays of sun. Warm winds should be chasing away the coldness from within the walls of the classrooms. The prisons, more like. Just thinking about my supposed home put me in an even worse mood. Of course there was no sun here. Nothing to look at that makes you feel good. Not in this fucking city- this house that always seemed frozen inside no matter what the weather. Miserable. In one word, that was the atmosphere that hung around me. Miserable and grey. I felt that way inside too.

I found myself glaring at a patch of grass that had done nothing to earn my spiteful look. How long I had been standing outside in the cool air and moping about, I wasn't really sure. Most of the day probably. Yesterday too.
Desperately I had paced around the garden, eyes roving around the plants in search of something to lift my spirits. Anything. I was desperate. But nothing seemed to work. The stupid plants were all grey, dead or dying. The shit weather just pissed me off more. Then there was the walls of the house looming ugly behind me, the distant buzzing of the city bustle, painfully persistent. Geez, nothing seemed to make me feel better. Now more than ever before, that voice in my head just wouldn't take a hint and shut up. It kept screaming at me; I hate this place. Usually, I could ignore it. This was my supposed home. However miserable it was, I tried to get on with things. Do the stupid homework. Listen to the stupid teachers. Ignore the stupid boys. But now, I hate this place. It echoed constantly in my head like the never ending drone of the city. Even the usual taunting of boys as they passed me in the halls was harder to ignore, and I found myself inches away from slamming my fist into Edward's face when he went past me. There were no words for how much I hated that little bastard's guts.

I had scowled at his back as he entered the door to the clutter room. He never went in there other than to fight me. No adults around this side of the building. Maybe that's what he wanted now. A fight.
I tried not to think anything more of it. No fights today. Lyn didn't like it when I got into fights. Her little face went all worried and sad when I came back with marks. But yeah, that was what I needed, right? A fight to get rid of this bad mood. A distraction from all this emotion. But... she was usually my distraction- my relief from this hell. I flinched.
She hates me now.

Faelyn.
I stared absently out at the garden, no longer scowling or pacing around. The though of her was enough to settle me just for a moment. The only one in this dammed place that don't treat me like I'm the plague. What time was it now? The sun was setting, weren't it? Everyone would be off in their rooms and getting on with their lives. The boys would probably be playing some rowdy game if not preparing another childish joke on me. The Lady would of course be doing one of her prissy little hobbies. I didn't care enough to wonder about what everyone else was doing.
Tentatively, I glanced over my shoulder at the grey stone arches of the building. Lyn and I would usually be talking now. We would usually be reciting our day to one another and exchanging frustrations. Not today though, I let out a breath, wincing inwardly. No, of course not. My friend was furious with me, and rightly so. If I thought back to that evening, I could still feel my chest swell with the same horror that I had felt in the moment.

I ran a hand through my daggers of black hair, groaning inaudibly. She had been so pissed. So angry. And Faelyn just didn't get angry- she didn't! My pacing had started again without my realising as I racked my memory for a single time the small girl had got genuinely angry with me before. Annoyed- that was a different story- she was always getting annoyed at the slightest thing. Dropping her rope, loosing a button, food spoiling, me teasing, I could have gone on forever. But... never did she get actually angry. Upset... with me.
But she did, my chest missed a breath with the tautness. And not only had the girl become angry, she had been afraid. Of me. Because I had done the unthinkable...