The Girl At The Last

Chapter 2

Alex

New start, Fresh beginning.

Smile a lot and be friendly.

I've been repeating the above statement like some kind of mantra.

My day was supposed to go as planned.  To step up on my new high school in a passively lame town that was even camouflaged by the National map because of how small and useless it was.  Hold head up and walk casually like a sweet guy- I revised my ideology, gentle in nature and calm in posture- a bonus. And prove to your mother that she can trust her son, have faith that he can change for the better.

A must.

Changes are for humans, not monsters.

Hence I conclude and admit- subconscious was a mean little brat at times. But I know I can do this. I have no other option. Neither was I here to seek an alternative. Gave up on that a long while ago.

But all deflated as soon I stepped inside the building. A public school that I have never been part of. Lack of uniforms or any form of dress code for the matter across farthest of the vicinity and brick walls with the crack on it caught my attention. I felt out of place.

A fresh start, a new beginning.

I reminded myself of it. The life I lived was the initial reason what got me in here. And this wise I am not messing up. I can't afford to.

Choose wisely, the students who I talk with and even hope of making acquaintance will have maturity and kindness in them. I am well versed with all bark no bites.

Kindness.

Such an organic dialect. Like a tree, it spreads its roots and strengthens the bonds of happiness within you and among the people you know.

What bullshit!

The twenty-first century has no niche for trashy expressions which might only yield you a bunch of people walking over and spitting as they pass.

My seventeen years of midget biography reveals a boy with a stoic persona. A face with why the hell are you talking with me? frown brought in a package of hot girls and actions to the point of renting rooms in a calm and serene environment, such as hospitals. Sometimes for me and sometimes for my artwork.

Apparently wielding heartless humans as a canvas was prohibited in our nation.

Yet men in their retirement rule the country for hobby.

Sour and tasteless, it was an aspect I felt when any girl, be it the most sought-after bachelorette or personality ever wanted to link herself with me because of my name and reputation. At least the females dumb enough to think of my weird stressed gesture as a handsome feature and deep salvation on the subject of humanity.

Sometimes I wished to strangle myself with the tie they would compliment my outfit on. I hated it. How fake they were, I was no way even near to the tag of man whore, and neither I have anything against the opposite sex. I do appreciate the attention.

But I might be labeled as on as soon as one lays eyes on me.

Power and manipulation. I don't do or use them both. But I know that's what they see me as. I was just a symbol. A piece they can admire, the risk to try their hand on and leave when they realize how destructive and dark it gets when I let them in. Just a morsel. Even an illusion.

That's all it takes to scare them away.

But half a dose of Eau de perfume, purring tones in-ear and miserly consent regards to articles of clothing is even a bit too much for a boy like me.