Damon must have eaten a lot of whatever vampires eat that it lulled his brains to sleep.
How could anyone call figuring the source of the black apple an adventure?
For his information, Carmiabell was not interested in poking her nose in other people's business, definitely not Nightmares. All she wanted was to restore it to its finding.
Blackmailing her with its where being got the gist of her, and against her better judgment she had to agree with him.
Detention was taking forever, her plan of getting back the apple and ditching the fingers-crossed promise itching like a fever.
He had the nerve to sit next to her on the other side of the gangway, and unzip his bag halfway.
It wasn't designated that the apple was in there, but why else would he smirk at her every time he found her sneaking her eyes on it?
Phoebi sat at the front—somewhere at the far right wall of the room.
Apologizing could be as easy as saying ‘i'm sorry’ but not to Carmiabell.
Considering the fact that Damon and Phoebi were not familiar with each other's existence, Carmiabell had an apology to make, but the words were too heavy to slide off her tongue.
Zuina, Carmiabell's partner in crime, must have been in the other detention class. There was no way she would miss detention.
Sunday night gimmicks had side effects and one of them was waking up just late enough to get a whole year’s detention.
“Carmiabell, whatever you are admiring in Damon, you can do it outside. After detention,” Monday vocalized out loud in a drowsy tone before returning to sleep.
Pelican and her irrational subordinates snickered, intentionally, to annoy her.
Not that she wasn't aware that she was once in a relationship with Damon, or she still was, but she couldn't care less.
Who was she kidding? She had been waking up to pray for their breakup every Sunday.
She wasn't half as charming, so even if her prayers were to come true she would be the last one on Damon's list of dates.
Carmiabell restored her eyes to a book she had not read a single word from with a quick roll of her eyes and a low groan.
Damon must have chuckled, relishing the feeling.
Some part of Carmiabell wonder how Damon knew what was inside her bag. She wouldn't want to misjudge one of the people she valued the most in her dreams occupation of her heart, but corny how he got his fingers on it.
Drops turned to days, days turned to years, years turned into millennials, until detention class was over.
Carmiabell shot off her seat—after tossing books disorderly in her backpack—for Damon.
“Where is it?”
“Are you sure you want me to give it to you here, right now?” He quizzed, shoving one last book in his bag after which he got to his feet towering above her.
At the realization that that was the closest she had ever gotten to him, her heart stopped beating in her chest.
A steady torrent of heebie-jeebies rolled down her spine, his warmth trapping her in its cousyness.
A taste of cedarwood perfume surrounded him like the sun and its planets, awakening cells of her body she didn't know existed.
She could swear that there was music playing, earth trembling, and the cupid doing his thing with love arrows in the background.
“Shall we?” He pulled her out of the reverie, ushering her towards the class door.
Phoebi scuttled past her without a word reminding her of just how heavy the burden was.
“The toilet?” Damon turned to her, her glare swiftly evading his.
“What?”
“I'll give it to you in the toilet." He must have been serious—judging by the tone— but Carmiabell didn't bother turning to be hypnotized by his vampire eyes.
Damon and Carmiabell caught together IN A TOILET trading A BLACK APPLE, could there be a better heading for the next expulsion hype chitchat?
“No way,” she replied instantly.
“Where then?”
“In the bookstore.”
It was a strict no student zone after detention, but just that was what they needed. Zuina could get them in.
The other detention class was released too, and as guessed Zuina was around.
°*°
Damon closed the door behind them, Zuina propping her back against it.
“Hand it over,” Carmiabell whispered.
“Not so fast,” he did that toxic smile thing again. Without question, he needed something.
“What now?”
“I want you to swear that you will not have all the fun alone, or without me.”
If by venturing into the finding of an entity with all and more connotations resembling that of the serpent itself was what he meant by fun, he was high or possessed.
“What fun?” Zuina interjected sorely, a voice that should have been a whisper echoing around the bricked walls.
“Finding whoever left the apple?”
Zuina didn't utter a word despite the irked look on her face. She was probably as pissed as Carmiabell was. She switched to her.
With gritted teeth and sheer resentment she nodded, just to get her hands on it.”Fine, we will find the owner. I swear with the grave of my—”
Recalling clearly, most of her family was still alive. “Great, great, great, great, grandmother.”
After the descending of the words, a shroud of more guilt covered her.
Of the poor choices she was going to regret in her life, she was sure that that would be one of them.
Damon grinned in satisfaction, nodding his head subtly.
“Are you mad flamingo face?” Zuina must have had the same perspective as hers; Damon was under the influence of something illegal.
“No.” She shushed Zuina, well aware of the risks that that swearing could lead to. “Just give me the apple already.” She stared at Damon.
He sighed and immersed his hand in his backpack, with one last surreptitious look at Carmiabell.
Carmiabell did not think that she would ever see it again. I mean Damon's bag was not a place girls did not visit regularly. Pelican and her clique to be specific.
Zuina’s jaw dropped, her eyes dilating to instances Carmiabell had never seen before. As if she became numb, her motions were subtle making her seem like she was rooted on the same spot.
Air must have evaded her surroundings or she took in too much of it that she was left suffocating her lungs.
“Well, well, well, if it isn't a black apple.”
An intruder joined the party just in time to capture the apple's reveal.
His house voice ricocheted and attacked in all directions, carrying chills of horror with it.
A cast giant shadow danced under the shade of a raging candle flame, like shadows under the midnight moon.
Sinister wind gushed invasively, adding honey to the already creamy flavor.
What did Carmiabell do to deserve such luck?