Normal

The halls are decorated with anti-drug posters and a multitude of apathetic faces, each reading the same wish to be anywhere else but in that corridor. A teacher stands off to the side, careful not to intrude on anyone’s path, and releases a cheerful melody into the suffocating air using his accordion. The man’s face remains gleeful, beaming, question of whether or not he’s aware of the many confused looks and occasional glares he’s receiving is present.

First floor, in between the janitor’s closet that reeks of cleaning supplies and room one hundred six, there is a burgundy locker with a dent in the bottom.

In front stands a boy with a mole under his left eye and a scowl engraved on lips that are a bit too pale. He fumbles with the lock, a string of curses off his lips and a glare in his eyes. After his second try does he finally get it open, piling all his books into the already chaotic mess residing inside. Today just isn’t his type of day.

Being on the track team for four years straight wasn’t simply a waste of time, he’s sure, and he probably can be considered one of the top five fastest kids at the school. Top ten, at the least.

Yet, when he challenged Wyatt to a race that morning, who was bribed with the promise that if he won Jules wouldn’t grace his presence on his daily walk to school, he lost. Complete failure awaited him at the finish line- which was the old giant tree. As hard as he pumped his legs and forced his body forward, he couldn’t seem to break from being a constant few steps behind.

The taste of defeat didn’t settle well on his tongue and it, well, it pissed him off. In fact, as few people he can faintly recognize pass and wave hello or offer a standard greeting, he hardly mumbles anything back, eyes remaining on the floor.

And really, as far as Jules knows, does Wyatt even run? The kid never shows even a smidge of interest in sports, or anything really, and somehow he’s capable of being amazing anyways. At absolutely everything.

Fucking bastard, really.

But Jules is ripped from his inner musing by a voice, forming around the word hello and complimented with a smile.

As he lifts his gaze, he’s met with freckled cheeks and a smile that appears a little too white to be natural. She appears quite ecstatic as she raises her hand in the air.

The left edge of his mouth quirks upward, temporarily forgetting about his loss, as she falls into step with him, asking how he is.

For the life of him, he can’t remember her name.

“Eh, y’know, just the usual, what about you?” he returns the favour, casting a grin of his own.

Sandra, maybe?

“Well I think we have the same class now, one twenty three with Mr. Obo, right?” she asks, glancing down at her schedule.

Jules recalls her telling them that her dad received a promotion at his job, and so she was forced to relocate to this quaint little city with him. The reason for why she appeared in the middle of the semester. He’s never moved before, other than across the city, so he can’t really relate at all.

… Stephanie?

“Yeah, Wyatt’s in that class too,” he says and his eyes search for the boy, wondering where he has disappeared too after their little race. Usually by this time he materializes somewhere, and Jules claps him on the back before they walk down to class.

“At least I know two people. God, it sucks randomly moving, I feel like such a loner,” she sighs, fingers toying with the scarf she’s wearing- purple today.

He shrugs. “Most people here aren’t complete douche bags,” he admits.

She smiles at him again, and it’s a smile that only a girl with the name Sarah could have, he’s sure. But not so much as to actually allow the name past his lips, but instead feels quite satisfied with himself in quiet.

He’s never really been good with names. It isn’t as if she interests him much anyways, nothing really makes her any different than any other girl attending Riverview High, and the way that she looks at him will soon dissolve as she realizes this, just like the rest of them.

Except for that Olimpia chick, she’s fucking persistent.

They both step inside the class, moments after the bell rings, and Jules sends Mr. Obo a charming smile. “Not late today,” he says with pride, and all the teacher can pull together is a grimace.

Then again, he doesn’t seem to show many other expressions.

Wyatt’s already at his desk and so as Jules dumps himself in the assigned seat, he cocks an eyebrow. The boy doesn’t notice though and is much too concentrated on the board, oddly enough. What holds his interest though escapes Jules, because all he can see is the incredibly neat cursive of the teacher reading what they’re doing for the day.

“So I don’t know what the hell you do, if you’re jacked up on protein or steroids or some shit, but what the fuck are you doing to be so fast?” He glances at the boy, leaning back in his chair and shaking the hair from his eyes.

Mr. Obo looks over his shoulder but doesn’t say anything. Jules doesn’t know why the guy’s a teacher anyways; really, he’s so intimidated by all of them as if they’re going to skin him alive. He at least has some faith in his peers that they can control themselves. Other than Olimpia, of course.

She’s just a crazy bitch.

Wyatt rolls his eyes and pulls up the sleeves of his sweater, irritation written across his face. Jules doesn’t take this to heart, simply breathing the same air as the boy got him annoyed. So anti-social, that kid.

“I don’t know?” he mumbles, eyes coasting towards the window.

Jules scoffs. “All I’m saying is that your dick is gonna get small and it’s not like you’re getting any as it is,” he says, innocently.

Wyatt casts him a heated glare and Jules returns with a satisfied grin. It’s so easy to get under his skin. He’s got a temper, that one.

“And what, you’re going to get it in with Savannah?” he asks, sarcasm tainting his voice.

The blond ignores this though, and instead his fist smashes against the desk top. “Savannah!” he calls out, earning the attention of said girl who sends him a smile.

He knew that it started with an S.

.
.
.
.

A name he’ll never forget though starts with a V. He’ll never confuse it with any other names, there aren’t many that start with the letter, and he’ll never spend a moment trying to revive it from his memories. It’s engraved into his mind so deep; it wouldn’t surprise him if he remembered it way past when old age has consumed his body. It’ll always haunt him, sadly enough.

Victor, it even sounds fucking evil too.

Rightfully so, though, as a familiar face arises with the title too. With hair too dark to be brown but too light to be black and those cheeky dimples always digging into his cheeks, he isn’t a person that Jules ever finds himself getting along with. Which’s saying something, because there aren’t many people he could name that he hates as much as Victor. No, actually, he tops that list quite easily.

Maybe he should get a gold star. Or a punch in the face.

There’s just something about the kid, something that crawls under Jules’ skin so easily. It makes him shiver in disgust just thinking about it. His smiles are sleazy and teasing, his words mocking and prodding and it’s like he’s secretly laughing at all of his peers. It's almost seems like he knows everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets, somehow.

Victor never really says anything out-right, which Jules supposes could be why he’s so unnerving, but just the subtle little hints drive the him crazy. But more than anything, he can never escape.

For some reason, Victor takes an odd fascination with the blond.

Jules stands by the doors, gaze distant and his hands idly toying with his phone. School’s ended and everyone’s getting their way home, a few kids hang around and others like him wait for their ride at the front, a few rock benches settled for some sort of comfort on their wait. Twenty minutes since the bell has rung and already most people have left.

Max, the boy he usually passes this time with after school, has already disappeared and the only girl left is impeccably quiet. He can’t remember her name, which isn’t surprising, but he remembers her hanging around Olimpia a lot. He doesn’t have anything against her, in fact she seems actually pretty normal, but she’s twiddling her thumbs and looks like at any moment she’ll completely shatter, so Jules doesn’t even attempt conversation.

Instead he just lets his mind wander. Vividly, images of a perky brunette with long lashes and a small waist swim across his vision and entirely consume his thoughts. His fingers twitch slightly as he recalls her skin, brushing the tips against her soft cheekbone and down her neck.

He’s so caught up that he doesn’t even notice when a boy stops beside him, stealing a seat on the granite silently, like cancer. Not a warning in sight until he’s there. It isn’t until the words float past his lips does Jules even realize his new guest is present, with the utmost infortune he does.

“Well Jules, it’s been a while, eh?” Victor asks, eyes sparkling.

“Uh, yeah,” Jules murmurs, tensing his muscles.

“How’s Taylor been lately?” Another question, but it seems flippant, uncaring. He’s building the tension. “Say,” he starts again before Jules can reply; the grin on his face stretches too large, “she’s grown, hasn’t she? She got a boyfriend yet?”

His tone is suggestive, implying the words that won’t be said. Jules wants to punch him in the face, wring his neck out, tear off his dick and force him to eat it off the ground, but he doesn’t. He never does. He simply endures the uncomfortable feeling dancing down his spine and grits his teeth, fists clenching.

Nothing is ever said, the words never pollute the surrounding air, it’s always implied though. Always teasing him in that manner where he can’t do a damn thing about it.

“No, actually,” he tells him, voice calm and steady.

Victor snickers to himself, one that as always implies that he knows much more than he lets on, and parts his lips to reply. He’s cut off, though, as Jules’ ride pull up and a honk ripples through the air.

“Well, I’m off,” he says, the relief a little too apparent in his voice.

“See you around,” Victor calls back, cheerful, giving a wave.

Jules prays to God that it won’t be anytime soon as he climbs into the car. Kevin nods him a hello which he returns, a pleasant sigh escaping his lips. As they draw nearer to his house, he can feel the anticipation simmer within.

Today, Taylor isn’t going to a friend’s house and doesn’t have dance practice either, a Thursday, which seems to be the only day she’s ever free. The wait is hard, especially at times when they brushed lightly passing in the halls, but it makes that day that much sweeter when it does come. She has no where to run and his charm is simply seeping from his pores.

No one can deny him today, he knows.

His father’s tending to business affairs and won’t be gracing them with his presence, promising to come home sometime before dawn breaks. Julia’s at the spa for the day, a present from himself and the perfect bait to force her out of the house and out of the way. It’s simply them two tonight, with no interruptions and a flawless setting for him to get his way.

And he always gets his way.

He reminds her this as his eyes trail over her body, standing in front of the fridge deciding on whether or not to take something. His arms slide across her stomach and her back presses against him.

“I’ve heard,” she replies, voice sharp as she squirms in his embrace.

She finally escapes from his hold and quickly saunters off, disappearing before he can even say a word. She’s always trying to run, he finds, but today there’s no where to go and no one to hide behind.

With a smirk toying on his lips, he follows, finding her settled on a couch. He stops in the door frame for a moment, leaning against the wood while eyeing her up. She sits Indian-style with her arms crossed over her well-endowed chest, which he doesn’t fail to notice, and is focused a little too intently on the television screen.

She doesn’t even acknowledge his presence as he takes a seat beside her, lifting his arms to rest on the back of the couch. He grins as her lips tighten and her entire body freezes, his finger tips brushing against her shoulder. She’s awful at pretending like she doesn’t notice he’s there.

“Everyone’s gone today,” he tells her, pride bleeding into his voice with a hint of sensuality. “Julia’s off at the spa and dad’s gone to his business shit.”

Slowly his arm rests on her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. She doesn’t struggle but a frustrated sigh tumbles from her lips.

“Did you just hear what you said? Dad’s gone, as in our dad, as in we share a dad.” She sounds annoyed, but not so much as to dishearten Jules, whose smile remains ever-present splitting his face.

“As in who is not here.”

He knows that, deep in his stomach, this is wrong. He knows that people are quite frankly disgusted by this feeling in his veins, that his heart beats faster when she’s touching him and that when she whispers he shivers in a way that makes him feel incredible. He knows that he shouldn’t feel the way he does, that it’s wrong, but he can’t help it.

He does, he likes her that way a lot.

Their parents had eloped after his father confessed to having an affair, Taylor being the product, and then married her mother Julia. He’d lived with his mother for so long that he hardly ever even thought about his half-sibling, he’d only see his dad during dinner parties and birthdays until he turned fourteen. He moved into the house because he wanted to see his father more, much to his mother’s dismay, and finally met Taylor.

Only a year apart, they grew close. Their parents had been ecstatic, at first thinking they wouldn’t get along and unnecessary tension would ensue, but he liked her a lot. It wasn’t until a few months before did he finally realize how much, though.

She’d been apprehensive at first, when he first started getting so close, but she’s warming up to him. He knows she is, he can see the way that she hesitates before pulling away and the way her lips curve when their gazes meet.

Only a matter of time, he tells himself.

His lips ghost over her neck and she pushes him off, face twisting. “As in that doesn’t change anything.”

Jules doesn’t give up though, and leans in closer, causing for her to react by pressing deeper into the couch cushions. It’s quiet, and all that can be heard are the commercials playing on the television and the ticking of the clock a few feet away. He smirks as her eyes dart momentarily to his lips.

He’s won.

“I… I, um, your room, I’ll be in your room in like five minutes,” she stumbles over her words before pushing him off roughly and scampering away. He’s too smug to feel stunned or even surprised as he’s left alone on the couch, leaning against the arm rest.

On the inside he can feel the adrenaline pumping through him, unholy thoughts intruding in on his mind. Oh how he can see it now.

His thoughts are brimming with anticipation as he advances towards his room, his mind still spinning. He’s finally done it, he says to himself, he’s finally won her over. Triumph echoes inside his head, victory pumping through his veins.

He’d been breaking her down for quite some time, but this has been the first time they’ve ever been completely alone, so he knew that it would work, and it did.

Still, that does nothing to lessen the pleasant surprise. A little more convincing in his room, he’s sure, but nothing he can’t handle.

But as he swings open his door and takes a step inside, there’s something he can’t handle.

“Surprise!”

“… what the fuck!?”