Page 7 of Alamort

Deciding to take it easy, I choose an avocado salad with lime and a nice large glass of water. Regardless, I’m starving, so anything will do.

My fingers tap lightly on the stiff linen of the table. I need something to take my mind off of my mother. She isn’t here. My eyes drift to River, who’s oblivious to the internal conflict I’m having.

Breaking the ice, because I’m awkward. “Tell me about you, River.” I steeple my fingers under my chin. The most cliche question to ask like I’m on a blind speed date. She takes it in stride and doesn’t point out my obvious lack of socialization.

She hums, “My parents are the world’s biggest marijuana distributors and were pretty well-known Cannabis Activists until it was legalized. Then they clearly benefited from it. They’re hippies, but rich hippies, if that makes sense. I mean, they named me River.” Her cheeks tinge a pretty shade of pink at the mention of her name. I think it’s cute. She continues, “This may be an academy, but realistically, everyone was sent here as a lastresort. The last acceptable school for troubled teens that won’t ruin our parents’ reputation. I don’t recommend asking why people are here. They tend to be a bit touchy about the subject.” Clenching my jaw to hold in a scoff, I busy my hands with tracing the cloth napkin of my silverware. My parents really see me as a reject. That feeling earlier with Baldwin? Accurate, to make sure I didn’t give him the slip. He was up my ass to make sure I got here. It makes sense now.

I’m being falsely imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit. Lock me away and throw away the key for good measure. That makes me wonder… What is River in here for? Giving her a closer look, she gives off an air of innocence. She looks like she couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone commit a crime. Sitting crisscrossed on her chair, big doe eyes, small nose, fragile and doll like.

“So…” River draws out fidgeting with a strand of her straight black hair, “You’ve met Amber.” It’s not a question. I told her who ‘showed’ me around.

“Yeah, I don’t like her. She gives off ‘pick me vibes’ with an inflated sense of importance.” I shrug, unraveling my silverware to keep my hands busy. She also made that offhanded comment on my body, but I keep that insecurity tucked away to obsess over later. There’s no bigger critic of me than myself.

“Well, we call her and her minion Ember the ‘Brr’s for the frigid, cold bitches they are.” She does an exaggerated shudder, “They don’t play nice with others. As evil and vindictive as they come. Whatever you picture, picture that and then times that by 100. So, that’s a pretty spot-on observation. They call themselves the ‘Angels of Cocks’” I choke on my water, trying to muffle the wheezing and talk at the same time.

“Excuse me? Did you say the Angel of Cocks?” I grab the linen cloth to pat my face. “Like dick?” I manage to get out in between my sputtering. What the fuck kind of girls would want a name like that?

River fails to smother her laughter behind her hands. “Cox. Like the founder of the academy. But it could mean that too. They’ve claimed the ‘Demons’ of the academy for themselves. Don’t look, touch, or talk to them.” Air quotes and all, but that gets my attention. Is there a God I should know about, too? What about Adam and Eve? Amused at the fact girls would go as far as to name themselves after men they’re tripping over each other for. “Ookay. And these ‘Demons’?” I urge her to continue. Waiting for her to elaborate.

“They’re the founders’ adopted sons. There used to be four. I guess one was accepted to a better school. They’re the most delicious, most sought-after men. They have the money, power, status, and on top of all that, drool worthy. Rumors have it they’re killers for hire.” Now I laugh.

“At 18? If they meet all the checklist rich boy requirements, then why would they kill people for money?” She shrugs a shoulder with a contemplative expression, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I don’t know, but allegedly Saint skinned a man alive and left him to bleed out on his front steps for the family to find all because he thought the guy disrespected Crew. And if you take anything from this conversation…It’s not to offend Crew or gain yourself the comeuppance of Saint. Sometimes you can catch him playing with his knife. Just twirling it, over and over.” She pauses for dramatic effect. I blink slowly at her. That’s kind of… gross. The skinning people thing.

Well…there are a couple of people I would like to skin. The dark thought comes as quickly as it goes.

“Anyway, the Brr’s call themselves the ‘Angels’ because they believe they will take at least one of the guys. Wed and bed him, have kids, make it out richer, and all that. Besides, I’d say to watch out for the Demons, but the Angels seem to take it uponthemselves to do the dirty work before they’ve ever had to step in.”

Our food arrives before I can ask more questions. The smell of melted mozzarella and marinara sauce from her pizza makes my mouth water as the waiter places my dull salad in front of me. To not feel disappointed, I rationalize my food choices by telling myself I’m not that hungry. Mid bite, the mindless chatter of the groups around us ceases. Looking up from my salad, the hall has grown crowded with people. Everyone’s focus is on the two guys who have walked in.

Oh, River forgot to mention there are Gods amongst the Angel and Demon cliques because I’ve never seen a more flawless human being in my 17 years of life. The first guy walks in with a white shirt and blonde hair that’s almost shoulder length, giving off a surfer aura with his broad shoulders and lean figure. His smile has two deep dimples and is so bright that I’m feel like a moth to a flame. Inexplicably drawn towards it, even if it means death, I’d gladly burn alive. The genuine smile he has gives me a warm buzzing feeling inside.

“The tan blonde is Saint D’Angelo. Italian last name, but clearly doesn’t look Italian.” My eyes move over to the guy next to him. A flashing warning sign is the first thing that comes to mind. Mocha colored skin with dark hair, a jawline sharply chiseled that it could slice through marble like butter.

His dark hair, curly at the top and shaved at the sides. He’s delicious, dark and definitely dangerous. Both take their seats with their backs to the wall. Interesting… I’d think they’d take the center table where they can watch over their Kingdom of Hell and survey their cast away sinners.

Finally, a third walks in. I do a double take of him and then his identical replica that joins him at the table. The only thing different is the hair and clothing styles. His hair is more ofan undercut with an edgier style, wearing a hoodie and leather jacket over it. I look at River for an explanation.

“Crew and Bennet Demonio–identical twins. Far more unapproachable than Saint. That’s not entirely true. Bennett can be… nice?” She cringes as she says it. Leaving me to believe otherwise.

Pieces start clicking together. “As in Demon?” I look over with a bored expression.

“Demon, Saint, the Angels, Cocks. Got it. It all makes sense now.” Letting out an unlady like snort, the flames I felt earlier? Doused out with cold water by the amount of importance people place on themselves is the biggest turn off. I have experienced it my entire life, and I'm glad that I am recognizing it sooner instead of being blinded by foolishness.

Men with money always think people should bow at their feet. Judging from the way they walked in and the way the room stopped for them, I doubt they’re any different from the monsters I grew up with. Conversations slowly pick up around us while we finish our food. Amber, my pleasant tour guide, makes her way towards what I’m deeming the “Demons’ lair” and puts on a show while she straddles and not so subtly grinds down on Bennett’s lap. Or is it Crew? His hands go to her ass and squeeze while pulling her down into him as he whispers something in her ear. She visibly melts against him.

A flicker of annoyance crosses his twin’s eyes before he hides it with the mask of indifference that he walked in with. Over Amber’s head, the twin grinding her up and down on him throws a wink in our direction. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Only an asshole would flirt while his girlfriend is dry humping his leg.

Exhausted and ready to collapse into bed, I long for the sweet release of sleep to wash over me. I look over at River’s sweet face.

“I’m going to head to bed. Have to meet up with the dean and the jet lag is killing me. Thank you for sitting with me and givingme a proper tour. I mean it.” Shooting her a grateful smile. River goes to hug me, and I recoil when her hands wrap around me, pressing into the aching bruises littering my torso. Addi was the only person who’s ever shown me affection. My parents weren’t affectionate people. I don’t think I can recall them ever hugging their favorite daughter, let alone each other. Her brows crease.

“Not a hugger?”

Trying to laugh off the tears welling in my eyes, recalling the last time Addison’s arms wrapped me up safely when I dropped her off. “No, but I can be.” I stiffly move in for the hug myself. She smells like lavender and honeysuckles. It puts me more at ease to make the first move. Air kissing her cheek, because that’s what people do, right? With one last glance at the Demons of ‘Cocks’, I make my way outside.

The chilly night air embraces me, nipping at my exposed skin, causing me to regret not bringing a thicker coat. In-ground lights are the only sources of illumination for the cobblestone pathways. The door shuts behind me, silencing the constant chatter of everyone’s summer stories. I begin my trek to my nice warm, cozy, and completely silent dorm room, along with a mental list of things I need to accomplish for tomorrow.

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