❝Trust me to get involved with you, the worst werewolf ever.❞
A green light catches my eye, the glow peeking over the top of a bookshelf like a sun slowly rising over the distant hills. I sprint to the place the glow was originating, weav...
Doors in the neighbourhood swing open, heads poking out of their well lit home's to catch a glimpse at what made the frightening noise while I hurdle myself down the street. Police cars and ambulances had arrived in the ten or so minutes it took me to fall back down to earth, their lights illuminating the street like that of a December night, filled with songs and laughter.
Although these lights were representing something far more sinister than what it seemed.
The paramedics wheeled a body bag out of the house, the deceased person was completely sealed within the black fabric of the bag, but I could still see the girls face even when my eyes were wide open.
Now I knew for sure that something was not right with me like I somehow was passing notes with my best friend the Grimm Reaper, the notes containing spoilers of what was to happen on the next episode of keeping up with the freak show. From the look on Trams face as his eyes followed the body into the ambulance, he knew it too.
----
"Tram, I seriously have no idea how I'm doing it," I state, looking around us like a paranoid drug addict as students minding their own business casually walked past the two of us. Tram slammed his locker shut with an echoing bang, bringing my attention back to him as he fixed his bag over his shoulders, turning to walk beside me. "Yes, screaming loud enough to explode brains and shatter glass is extremely weird and psychotic, but seeing someone die only minutes before they do, that's like chucky and jigsaws love child nutty."
"Maybe it's just me, but I feel like squealing loud enough to kill people is the most concerning part." He shrugged easily as if we weren't talking about me being accepted for a part in the freak show season of American horror story.
"You're not the one who sees dead bodies before they're even dead. Which is just thrilling, by the way, I love seeing dead strangers while I'm trying to take a shit." I whisper / yell, slamming my books down onto our shared desk out of annoyance since I wasn't able to swear loudly without being sent to the nearest nut house. It didn't go so well last time.
"Just close your eyes then."
"You are some different kind of stupid. As in the rare-almost-extinct kind that no one really gives a rat's ass about." I mock, screwing my face up at him before picking my pen up, stabbing it repeatedly into my eraser while keeping eye contact with him the whole time, glaring straight into his amused brown eyes while mouthing 'you' and pointing towards the eraser like a neon sign.
"How much adderall did you take this morning?" He asked with a laugh, tilting his chair back with his hands behind his head, giving me the sudden urge to kick the leg out and cripple him forever.
"Enough."
"More than your normal amount?" He questioned, smirk still sitting mockingly on his face. His smug look only caused me to stab my pen into my eraser one last time, getting all the way through the useless object. I never use pencils anyway, why do I even need this thing?
"I took as much as I need to deal with you today, inspector dickhead." I snap back, flinging my arm out which only caused my eraser to fly off of the end of my blue pen, soaring across the room until it hit a student walking into the classroom right in the middle of their head. The sight caused both my brother and I to snicker like children when two people kiss in a Disney movie.
"Who threw that?" Came their rough and angry voice as they picked up the mutilated eraser. I almost instantly recognised their voice, my reaction being to sink down into my seat, watching as their light brown eyes scanned over the filling room of bored students, stopping towards me probably to get a better look at the extra chins I've grown from trying to escape the humiliation of hitting a hot boy with a portable backspace button.
"Take the blame or I'm stealing a cat and letting it use your blanket as a litter box." I threaten and beg my brother at the same time, watching anxiously as the boy got closer to us with each pacing second. Tram sighed, nodding and pulling me up in my chair by my arm. He's the best brother, I swear.
"I'm guessing this is yours," Bastard suggested, setting to eraser down on the polished desk in front of me, smiling down at me with almost the same amused smile my brother previously supported.
"I'm offended that you think this childish act was committed by me, a mature and stable adult," I reply with a fake British accent, holding a hand to my chest out of hurt. When I'm nervous, I have three of the worst responses only. I either speak in a British accent, start burping uncontrollably or cry like a little bitch for five minutes. The worst part is, I have no idea why I give myself those three concerning options. "This belongs to my foolish companion sitting here with the horrible unwashed hair."
"I've never met a guy with the name Gracie before. I've also never seen someone write their name on a rubber with a pen, which kinda defeats the whole purpose of it." He played along with my failing act, pointing out my name messily written across the eraser.
"Yes, well, our parents were alcoholics with terrible hand-eye coordination. He was dropped a lot." I dig my hole deeper, pointing towards tram with my thumb in a not-so-secret manner. When I start to tell an untrue story I can never stop myself, usually, Tram swoops in playing hero but he seems to be acting like a bitch. "Our Mum was once sober for three hours and swear the Lord spoke to her in the form of David Hasselhoff. We try not to speak of it."
"Your imagination is always so vivid." He chuckled, fixing his backpack straps as they fell down from his shoulders shaking with laughter, his smile never once leaving his face. "Try to be more careful with your belongings, Gracie. Good luck with Stalker chick here."
"Him saying my name is the best thing I've ever heard since Dean Winchester said 'son of a bitch'." I admit, watching the mysterious bastard sit next to another guy in the class, starting up a conversation with him. "I hope my life is a movie or something because he would definitely be my love interest."
"You're disturbing." Tram laughed, resting his arms on the table to lean his chin into it, giving me a mixture of a look of disappointment and more amusement. I'm glad someone is enjoying the sweet torture of that boy running into me now three times without telling me his name. Considering how small this town is and the fact that we go to the same school, I doubt this will be the last time we see each other. "How do you even know him?"
"He accidentally pushed me down a hill in the middle of the woods a few nights ago-"
"Why the hell were you in the middle of the woods?" Tram question, furrowing his brows in a confused look, looking as if his brain was running around in his head to find the answer.
"I'm sorry, was I finished talking?" I snap, sending him another one of my glares only to receive an eye roll in response. I did take a fair amount of Adderall this morning, so my hyperness has been a bit all over the place which I could tell was annoying my older brother. "Anyway, he ran into me, we rolled down a hill, he fell on top of me, I both threatened and hit on him a few times and now we're here."
"Wow, you're like nearly-extinct kind of stupid."
"That's my insult, you bottom," I remark, mocking him from the time I walked in on him and his boyfriend doing the deed. My eyes will never be clean.
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