Page 129 of Eternal
Okay, well.
We’re flirting.Definitelyflirting.
This isn't a team-bonding conversation. But it's been so long since I flirted with anyone.
It feels... nice.
Fun.
Light.
No tension from the world outside this moment. Sure, it’s kind of messing with my head… yeah, I’m stressed. But it’s not the usual kind of stress. It’s... different. Because he’s not a normal partner. He’s... something else. My boundaries are clear. No more than missions. So why do I feel like we’re watching each other too closely?
I keep my eyes locked on his, daring him to say something else, waiting for the next stupid flirty comment.
A wicked smile tugs at his lips as he says, “Can’t wait to discover what my depraved partner has on her kink list.”
I laugh, and wink at him. “You’ll never discover, but nice try.” I stand putting my hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “Now, are you taking me home, or do I have to steal your bike and do it myself?”
Damir stands, rolling his shoulders like he's preparing for something. “Not a chance.”
35
AZRA
“Breathe Me” by Sia
Past
Ihate when it’s loud.
The school hallways are always so fucking loud.
Everyone laughs, and screams, and hugs, they watch and judge, they mock people.
How I hate them all.
Always pretending to be interested in the weird people to look mysterious and approachable.
Too many voices, too many eyes, and I keep my head down, my hoodie up, my hands buried deep in my pockets.
Don’t look. Don’t react.
I know how this goes, I know the looks on their faces, I know how they feel about me. Do I care? Not really, but it’s pissing me off.
“She smells like an ashtray.”
“Should’ve stayed where she came from.”
Ah, that one.Classic. Like I wasn’t born right here, like I haven’t been breathing their air since the day I was dragged screaming into this world, like my mother’s blood didn’t stain their soil.
Kids can be so much worse than adults, it’s almost sad in a way.
My jaw tightens, but I don’t stop walking, I’m used to it, the muttered insults, the whispers loud enough for me to hear. Because my skin is a shade they pretend not to want when they bake themselves in UV beds. Because my name rolls off their tongues with too much weight, too much unfamiliarity.Creep. Psycho. Orphan slut,they’ve called me worse.
I make it to the bathroom, the smell of cheap disinfectant and mildew hitting me as I push the stall door shut.
God, I’mtired.
