Prom Queen ｡ Michael Langdon

7 - CULTS NOT CLUBS

     "Does your mother still buy your underwear?" Deliah questioned meanly, turning in Tommy's arms. Her long, dishwater blonde hair blanketed her exposed shoulders but the cheerleader was fine with showing off some skin. Carrie scrambled to stand up, her own peach-blonde hair even more dishevelled than usual. 

     "So embarrassing. And look—" Christabelle extended her index finger towards Carrie's face. "She's bleeding. Again!" More laughter littered the air as Carrie reached up one hand to her face. Her fingertips found the bleeding almost instantly. A stream of bright blood leaked down over her lips from her sore nose. 

     "What is it with you and blood?" Deliah Snell asked, her lip curling in revolt. 

     "It's fucking disturbing, that's what it is," Winn echoed, swigging from the silver flask. Carrie wiped at the blood that now stained her lips and her pale skin. In reality, she had only made it worse. With a burning face, Carrie hurried away from them, her backpack still bouncing on her back. 

     "Go back to the freakshow, Crazy Carrie with a blood fetish!" The roar of laughter followed Carrie Moore out of the school gate and straight into Michael Langdon. 

     Michael's body was tense, solid like a statue. He had witnessed the whole thing form under his tree and it made his bones clench and his stomach twist. 

     "Oh... hey, Michael," Carrie said in a weak voice and she tried harder to wipe the blood off her skin, even used the edge of her long sleeve. But just as the blood, the mortification stained her skin red. She hadn't wanted Michael to see her like this. Not ever. And that hurt her heart more than the laughter and public humiliation. 

     "That was awfully rude of them." Michael stared at the group of teenagers, committing their faces to memory as his eyes bore down into them with the fires of hell. "Why would they do that?" 

     Carrie just shook her head, unable to answer that question. She didn't know why they bullied her, she had never done anything to them. Maybe it was just the way of the world, or maybe Margaret was right. Maybe those teenagers bullied her because she was touched by the Devil and they knew it somehow.

     "Let's just go." Carrie tugged at Michael's shirt, pulling his eyes away from the group of teenagers still laughing. He nodded with a tight jaw and wrapped his fingers around Carrie's hand. Their fingers weaved together perfectly, and Carrie was growing used to the incredible warmth of Michael's skin. 

     They walked for a long while before Michael said anything. He had been lost in thought, but his thoughts had only revolved around those mean teenagers. And they were dark thoughts, so very dark. "Those teenagers, do they hurt you often?" 

     Carrie shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes," she lied, letting her hand drop away from Michael's. 

     "Then you should hurt them in return," Michael's voice was cold and sharp, like steel. "But tenfold." The seriousness of his voice made Carrie shiver. 

     "Revenge isn't the answer," she replied, shaking her head. She could smell her own blood drying on her skin and it made her stomach swirl with nausea. 

     "Not revenge. But punishment and justice," he rebutted. 

     "It would only make things worse for me at school." Carrie was sure that trying to get payback would only cause her more misery in the end. She only had to wait a little bit longer and then she'd be free of Westfield High and Deliah Snell and her friends. Patience is a virtue, she reminded herself as the afternoon drenched them in golden and diluted light. 

     "Not if you do it right. Not if you make them never forget who you are." Michael's fingers squeezed at Carrie's, but his voice was still so harsh, so deadly. "I could help you do it." There was a long pause and Carrie mentally scolded herself for even considering Michael's help to hurt those teenagers worse than how they hurt her. She reached for her golden cross, finding strength and grace there.