I laughed out loud that he actually thought my rebellious tattoo from freshman year really meant something to his theory.
I reached for my hoodie and panties, covering myself up before I demanded that he explain what he promised, as I sat Indian style on his bed.
“This would be the time you either tell me the theory, or I get disappointed that you’re really after sex.”
He walked over to the window, leaning against the small lip that hung off the edge. “You’re not gonna believe me, but after last time…” He trailed off like his thought vaporized between bad memories. I fake coughed, trying to pull his attention back, when he faced me before continuing: “I’m not human.”
My stoic face waited for him to say he killed someone, and they were all guilty by association or something, but it quickly melted into a robust laugh. I slapped my hand over my mouth and started laughing hysterically, until there were tears in my eyes.
I had to choke out, “You aren’t serious? I mean, what are you then, Edward Cullen or Jacob?”
He wasn’t laughing when I finally tried to make eye contact. He wasn’t even smiling or smirking. No part of him found my joke funny, and I put him in the category of vampire.
Wolves seemed like they might have a better sense of humor—definitely not Bolton. His fair skin and dark hair made him practically a Photoshop’s dream, easily blended into the background.
“Can you take this serious? The last person we told ended up dead, Arianna.”
My laugh became stale in my mouth. I could tell he wasn't kidding, and whatever I was about to hear wasn't going to be funny.
“We're from Olympus. We’re all descendants of gods and goddesses. Fourteen years ago, we were released to find the ones who slipped away. We woke up here, at Arcadia, trapped.”
I felt like he was speaking another language, making it hard to keep up with all the syllables and sounds pouring from his lips.
“What do you mean trapped?”
He inhaled and exhaled sharply, “We can't leave Arcadia.”
The edge of his bed felt like the tallest cliff all of a sudden. I was teetering on the edge, and all the information I was taking in felt like a swift push.
I stood up, frustrated and confused, but wanting more pieces for the puzzle I was putting together. “What does that have to do with me?”
My anxiety was hard to summon, I lived for the unknown, but this kind of unknown felt like drowning in foreign waters.
His answer wouldn't be a life raft; I knew that, while I waited for him to breach the space between us.
“You're the one we've been waiting for.”
I wasn't just drowning anymore. I sank straight down and felt the weight of everything he was saying hold me under, while I gasped for any type of oxygen to hit my lungs.
In a state of panic, I jumped up and grabbed my jeans and boots, while the only color left on me was my manufactured purple hair; the rest of me was as white as a sheet of blank paper.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not some desperate new girl who will take any friendship over honesty.”
I slammed his bedroom door behind me and practically flew down the stairs, like I had motorized wings, until I bumped into a laughing Nyx, who was coming in the same door I was exiting through. He held up his hands, trying to create some kind of visible boundary of his personal space.
He analyzed my panic, anger, and deprived oxygen state as an alarm he couldn't ignore. “What happened?”
There was no comfort in his question; it was all business and to the point like he was. “Nothing. I don't wanna be part of whatever game y’all are playing.”
I stepped back, making my point by creating more space, before I spun around and headed for the girls’ dormitory.
Nyx didn't try to stop me.
All I heard was a mumbled “fuck” under his breath.
Arianna
Luna wasn't in our room when I got back from bolting from the boys’ dorms.
The silence was nice, and it let the loudness of my panic fill the space without her nurturing. Twisting the shower handle of the small stand up shower we had in our room was always tricky.
You had to pull and twist at the same time in order for the water to come out of the shower head.
I stripped down, once again, staring at my tattoo along my ribs, wondering why my dad landed on “Little Archer” as my nickname.
Why not trigger finger or something easier to relate to not thinking before I spoke? And did he realize my astrological sign was an actual archer?
There were too many what ifs.
I stepped under the water letting the heavy water pressure rain down on me like a storm.
Luna still wasn't back when I dried off and crawled into bed. I may not have wanted her before, but now I was ready to pick her brain and connect some dots. Instead, I pulled out my phone and googled Bolton’s enemy’s school, along with his enemy on Instagram.
Caellum's name yielded thousands of searches; I was impressed.
I opened his Instagram profile to find nothing, but life after Arcadia. I was pretty sure it aligned with life before: football, girls, parties, just minus the circle of freaks who tried to recruit me into their fucked up club.
Maybe they were a cult; I hadn’t stayed to get the details.
There was no doubt that Caellum was handsome and confident, just like the boys at Arcadia. He would have blended in effortlessly.
I stopped scrolling when I got to a shirtless selfie of him in a dirty mirror. I couldn’t help but admire the hottie from Bolton’s hell. Caellum had abs I wanted to lick, even though they weren't magically flavored. He had almost white blonde hair parted in the center, thick brows, and a smile that looked divine.
He was a heartthrob on his way to making other parts of your anatomy ache too.
Before I couldn't stop myself, my finger hovered over the message button, and I was typing: Sorry, this is random, but do you have a tattoo related to astrology?
I pushed “Send” immediately after I was done typing, not giving myself a chance to second guess myself. I was a serial type-and-delete kind of gal.
I would type something sarcastic first, second guess myself, type how I really felt, third guess myself, and then become even more sarcastic.
I hid behind it, where it was safe. Real feelings meant really losing people instead of just the idea of them.
I knew every time we moved to some crappy apartment that it wasn't the last time. Keeping people at a distance allowed me to make up these great possibilities of who they could be.
It was easier to miss the idea of someone than the actual person.
I scrolled without really thinking, trying to pass time, until my eyelids screamed for sleep. They were fluttering shut and open again on their own, when I finally fell asleep with my phone in my hand.
The next morning, Luna was leaning over me with wide eyes, whispering my name. I jumped, clutching my phone to my chest.
“Jesus, Luna! You can't wake people up like that. I'm too young for a heart attack.”
Luna giggled the small way she always did when something amused her. She stood up tall, announcing her reasoning for waking me up on a Saturday.
“The library opens earlier on weekends, and no one goes there on Saturdays.”
I cut her off with my hearty service of sarcasm, “Shocker.”