Emperor
Authority. One who is master of his emotions; active intelligence able to realize ideas.
For minuets this boy kept his grip on my arm, and for minuets I let him restrain me. His eyes were crystal blue, the pupils mere pin points of black. At that moment all I could see were his eyes, no matter how hard I tried to look away. People say the eyes are a window into the soul, maybe it’s true. If it is then I must be bad at reading into people, I couldn’t tell if this boy was a threat or just an annoyance. At the moment he seemed no threat, his grip was firm, but not painful, determined but not malicious. His eyes didn’t waver from mine, and neither did mine from his. The room around us was silent, I could feel Miranda’s chest heaving under me with quiet sobs and hiccups, and I could sense her fear.
The tension.
I wondered if he could read my soul threw my blood shot eyes, could he tell the pain and torment that I felt chocking my heart? I assumed he couldn’t, or else he’d have let me go to finish getting my revenge on the cause of the new hole in my heart. I could sense Isabella behind me, I could hear her breathing, slow and shallow, as if she felt any louder sound would cause me to snap, that any excess movement would cause more blood to be shed.
Maybe she was right.
I felt myself on the edge; I could feel my arm that was restrained starting to twitch. There is something called the flight or fight response, such as a lion fighting to protect its kill, or a rabbit running from a wolf. I don’t know what side I was leaning more on, to fight or escape. Then I felt my hand tighten on the plastic of the box cutter, felt my thumb start to run up the blade, testing the sharpness. I felt it nick my flesh, and I felt the minute pain.
I felt relief.
I felt a wash of well being, briefly, over come me at the small amount of pain in my thumb. That’s when I felt the madness over take me. The euphoria faded as quickly as the small stream of blood clotted, and I felt the nagging insanity fill my whole body. My left arm, the one held by this idiotic boy, started to shake, I felt the shuddering run threw my body, and I felt his grip tighten. I could hear my teeth grinding together, heard them creaking under the strain. And then I felt my right hand bringing the blade closer to my wrist, just bellow where his hand was.
Sweet sweet madness.
I felt my mind go blank, I was just so sick of everything. Why me? Why did I have to be the angel of death? Why did my family have to die? Why did I have to lose all my friends? Why did I need to live anymore?! I just wanted all this shit to be done with! I just wanted to be buried, forgotten, in the ground. I wanted to watch as the worms ate away at me, watch my bones be deprived of flesh.
I just wanted to die.
The blade pressed against my skin.
And then he stopped me.
He slowly reached down with his free hand, and clasped my hand, including the plastic of the box cutter. He held my hand firmly, and slowly pulled it away from my bare wrist. Then he let go of my arm, and started to gently coax my fingers open, eventually taking the blade away from me. He pulled away, and my hands dropped to my sides. He slowly stood, and I heard him address Isabella, though by now I looked only at the tiled floor in front of me.
I don’t know what he said to her, but she slowly moved towards me, and tugged my arm to get me to stand. I numbly rose to my feet, and she led me away from the still grounded Miranda. My eyes stared blindly at everything around me, the tears dripped down my face. At this point I didn’t care, I didn’t care what any one thought about me any more. I guess some one helped Miranda to her feet, probably one of her murderous friends. Finally I came to my senses as I heard her speak.
I was ready to fight or run.
“What the hell was that?! You lose your fucking mind?!” She was screaming in between sobs, and at this point I tiredly turned my head to face her. “Why are you crying bitch?! Why are you even still in this town?! Don’t you get we just want you out?! GO DIE!” I blinked and almost couldn’t re-open my eyes, I was so tired.
Tired of everything.
I felt my basic nature kick in, back down, just back down. I was about to turn and leave, just shrug off Isabella’s concerned hand, and just walk out of the building, walk to my barren home, sit alone in the dark. Maybe beg Dylan to just end this torment. But as I turned my back on Miranda, on every one in this tension filled room, I heard a boy’s voice, calm and colder then ice.
“Hey Miranda, listen up for once. That girl there, she has way more right to be here then you. You sit here, bragging about what you did, and you know what? You deserve to go to hell.” I turned and looked, and saw it was the boy who had stopped me. He held my box cutter, and lightly touched the blade, eyeing its shiny surface glistening in the fake lights. Then he looked back up to her, as did i. Her face was paler then it had been when I held the blade to her face, I didn’t know that was possible. “One more thing.” He said as he retracted the blade, and put it in his pocket. “Next time, next time I won’t stop her. And I’ll kick any one’s ass who tries.” And then he turned, and he smiled to me and Isabella in a solemn way, and escorted us out the door.
This boy is proving to be a dark prince.
