Status: Hiatus

Veni, Vidi, Vici

Eight

Marc liked math. It was kind of lame, but he liked it anyways. It was pretty darn simple, numbers, equations, all following a set of rules and bam, you have an answer. But English, that was a whole other story.

So walking out of last period English class, he wasn’t really at his best. Mr Willis had been a fucking dickhead. Seriously, did he really have to pick on him so much? That son of a bitch knew that he didn’t understand English; he knew that the concept of not having just one direct answer confused him like hell, but he just kept on asking him the fucking questions. Well not for long anyways, Marc had casually gotten up from his seat, bend down to retrieve his bag, slung it over his shoulders and just walked out with an I-don’t-give-a-shit look on his face. He’d sauntered casually through the empty hallways and straight to the principal’s office. He would’ve ended up there anyways, and at least he could try and get that pitiable excuse for an English teacher fired.

No such luck. The principle had told him – no, specifically ordered him- to go back and apologize for his ‘indecent behaviour’. He grudgingly went back, the walk of shame, making his way through the group of students that were staring at him, entranced, in awe, fear or respect. He’d come back, his dignity bruised and confidence maimed, but a sliver of pride remained in his bones because there was no fucking way he would apologize.

Marc impatiently shoved a freshman aside as he bounded down the crowded stairs, jumping the last five steps landing with a heavy thud that shook the floor and leaving the frail, blond boy cowering timidly on the floor like an abused animal, his eyes glassy round orbs, staring after Marc in trepidation. He trudged through the school grounds, a predator, angry and impatient ready to kill, his eyes darting and thick muscles rolling.

At least he had Johnny D’s party on Friday, which was going to be fucking awesome cause his parents had left him with two full cases of Vodka. He couldn’t wait to just get drunk and forget, forget his life forget the world around him forget the problems that always seemed to be lurking in the corner of his mind, hiding and appearing unexpectedly, drowning his life in its inky shadows. His eyes skimmed over the throng of people, the students, and the souls, wondered ignorantly why their lives weren’t as fucked up as his.

Then he saw it. The scene unravelled in slow motion like a falling ribbon across the parking lot. Her red pouting lips, ascending leisurely towards his, the shiny gloss on them like sparkling honey, forming into a perfect O, Marc’s heart slowed and his breath caught in his throat, it was painful like a rusty nail wedged cruelly in his oesophagus. And then they kissed, their lips pressing together, then meshing into one, inseparable, in the act of passion. Her eyes were closed, the beautiful auburn lashes fanning delicately over her eyes and then they fluttered open. Her eyes struck him and the effect was like a bucket of cold water over his head, nipping at his skin, raising muscle tensing chills and squeezing his heart in a tight lock.

She knew.

Vera fucking Vermont knew. She knew that he was crazy about her; she knew that he was going to see this and she most absolutely, definitely without a doubt knew that kissing the closest thing he had to a best friend- Jake Adams, was going to get him the most fired up.
Her beautiful grey eyes said it all, they were cold and calculating- almost inhuman and alien for they were open in such an intimate act- mocking him and warning him to back off. Marc’s blood boiled, his heart began to pound louder the sound thundering his brain, drowning him, rocking his body and intensifying his anger. Boom, boom, boom, boom. It echoed and clamped around his brain, he had to do something before his went over and beat the living shit out of that fuckface Jake fucking Adams.

So with quivering, rough hands, Marc Winston reached out like a blind man, callously grabbing the nearest girl, an unsuspecting curvy brunette. He didn’t even see her face, he didn’t even know her name and with maddening eyes stabbing into Vera’s he kissed her. She tasted like tangy citrus. But Marc didn’t notice. She whimpered softly. But Marc didn’t notice. And then she started to soften, her lips melting under his bruising force. But Marc, his eyes forever on Vera’s, didn’t notice.

Vera’s expression changed, it was almost unnoticeable, but her face was like a map that he’d memorised. She was shocked, and then her eyebrows knitted together, the glint in her eye turned cruel. Victory for Marc, he still had hope, because two could play at the game.
The brunette and Marc broke apart, her soft, warm cushiony body leaving his, causing him to shiver slightly in exposure to the cold breeze. She was pretty hot, had a nice body and legs, junior or senior maybe. Her face was OK.

Marc looked at her, his face stoic. “What’s your name?” he asked indifferently, she could be useful.

“Samantha Daniels.”
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Hi there :)
please please please comment? thoughts?

so so so sorry this so short, but i had a burst of writing inspiration and i had to spew this out, yet i didn't have enough time to write it properly so sorry for mistakes and stuff :(

OH and I've realized that Vera is Emma Woodhouse from Emma (Jane Austen). when i first started this story, i thought, hmmm i have to have a character like this, but i didn't know where the character came from because all my characters are based off someone i know.
and then i had an epiphany and realized that Vera was Emma!!!!! well its not like i know emma woodhouse, but the book describes her so well it feels like i pretty much know her :)