Lux International

Chase Kelly

I pressed my foot against the gas pedal and my finger on the button that brought my window up, and I drove out of the parking lot of the dance studio. It was a hot day, and even though I was used to warm weather from living in Australia, air conditioning was always appreciated. I squinted against the sun as I drove even though my sunglasses were on. I scoffed. You'd think from the amount of money I had spent on them, that just maybe they'd be able to block out even the worst of the sun's rays.

Whatever. They were mostly for the look anyways. Part of my image. The guys in Nightshade all had their own styles (as horrible as some of them were), but one thing was one hundred percent certain. And that was the fact that they would eat nightshade themselves before they ever bought anything that wasn't designer.

I took a deep breath of ice cold air as I pulled into the driveway of the luxury apartment complex I lived in. Being in Nightshade certainly had its benefits. Name one bloke who didn't want to own his own Ferrari, high class apartment, and closet as big as a small room, full of name brand clothes when he was eighteen. I'm positive you couldn't do it.

However, if you think my life seems too good to be true, it is. Wealth unfailingly comes with a price. It was my choice, though. I was the one who chose to accept the offer Nightshade sent me. I was the one that decided to become a part of an undercover organization whose ultimate goal was to make the world so evil, there was hope left for it. I was the one who made up my mind that nobody, no matter who they were, was ever going to hurt me again.

Stuffing my car keys into the pocket of my dirty wash City Beach jeans, I stepped into the elevator at Crystal Heights. I pushed the button that said 14, and leaned against the glossy elevator wall, relieved I was alone. It got tiresome sometimes, always being cold toward people, or pretending to act friendly so you could set them up for something horrible in the future. This brought me back to everything that had happened in the dance studio earlier. That girl's wide-eyed look as she stared at me after I pulled her up. Yet another girl's heart I would simply have to crack.

The elevator dinged, and I walked out, heading down the hallway to apartment number 725, the note illuminated in my mind. It was resting on the kitchen counter this morning, waiting for me to wake up.

'Task #1474: There's a girl at the dance studio you're going to be taking classes at who was born with Alexandria's Genesis. Find her. Use that special charm you have. Break her heart. Carpe Noctem.'

Seize the night. The official mantra of Nightshade. It was befitting a place that only dealt with darkness. "Break her heart." They definitely had a way of putting things in a way that almost gave you a sense of peace about the task you had to do, like it was something as harmless as splitting a log in two. It dehumanized you. It took away the one thing that was supposed to be the most crucial in life - love. A word I had long forgotten the meaning of.

I turned the key to let myself in to the place I was living in while I was in the States. It was nice. Not exactly home, but then again that was yet another word I didn't know the meaning of. I shook my head violently before that box fell off the shelf and every single memory rushed out like a torrent. I had the ability of remembering every single second of my life right from birth until this current second. It was absobloodylutely annoying. Especially when you had a past like mine.

I tossed my keys and my sunglasses on the granite kitchen counter top. Kicking my shoes off, I padded into the kitchen to wash my hands, pondering what I was going to make for lunch. My stomach was announcing that it was lunchtime. I found cooking so beaut. I had always loved doing it, ever since I first saw my grandma making pavlova.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when I was younger, and my grandma made the dessert for me regularly. As soon as she had taken notice of my seven year old eyes as big as saucers watching her so intently, she handed me the spoon full of sweet white grains and told me when to pour it into the mixing bowl. We finished the pavlova, and I had discovered a passion. Cooking became my escape. And it was perfect. I could chop, I could slice, I could mash, I could crack, I could pound my fists as hard as I wanted against a pile of dough. Then, after I felt at the very least somewhat better, I had tucker to eat.

It had proved to be a very useful skill. I even had my own cooking show now. I had started putting up tutorials, recipes, and photos of my dishes on a crude website I created on my own, and surprisingly the producer of Alive and Cooking (a popular Aussie cooking show) had stumbled upon it. They gave me my own show called iCook where I took on a completely different persona. I became Drew Devine - chef extraordinaire.

Between my dancing, and my cooking, and Nightshade, I had enough to keep my mind occupied for the most part. I would also head out with my cobbers from Nightshade for a glass of plonk or something on occasion. I was too classy for beer. I would have to adjust my life a bit being in the U.S., but it didn't worry me much. The only thing I couldn't put together was the reason for me staying here. What was so special about this girl whose heart I was destined to shatter? I considered the possibilities while I strained the pasta that had just finished cooking.

Adding all the final ingredients for my macaroni and cheese: butter, cheddar cheese, and breadcrumbs, I put them all in a bowl and stuck it in the oven for a few minutes so everything would melt together deliciously. My stomach rumbled again as I leaned against the fridge waiting.

Was it because she had Alexandria's Genesis? I had found from a quick online search that people born with such a mutation didn't really age physically past the age of forty, and they could live for up to one hundred and seventy years. A bloody long time to do a lot of possible good. It seemed like the most logical thing I had come up with so far. Nightshade was probably going to keep me here awhile to make sure I had very seriously damaged her emotional state before they let me return to Oz.

I let out a long sigh and ran my fingers through my messy bangs as I grabbed a mitt and pulled my tucker from the blazing oven. How had my entire existence come to destroying other people's lives? I heard a shrill laugh in my mind coming from a curly-haired platinum blonde.

'I couldn't be happier that you caught me! Go cry your bloody worthless tears! God, maybe now I won't have to see your bloody pathetic ugly face ever again! Wouldn't that be a nice change? Have fun thinking about me pashing Lucas, plastered against his six-pack for the rest of your sorry life. 'Sorry life, sorry life, sorry life...ugly face, ugly face, ugly face...' Her words screamed, echoing in my mind.

I crumbled against the cold, hard surface of the refrigerator, my legs no longer capable of holding my weight. The bowl fell to the kitchen tile in slow motion, exploding everywhere, cutting my legs. The tears rained down off my cheeks, smearing the blood droplets that had dripped onto the floor. The oven blazed.
♠ ♠ ♠
beaut - great, fantastic, etc.
tucker - food
cobber - friend
plonk - wine
Oz - Australia
pashing - french kissing

Also,
"They definitely had a way of putting things in a way that almost gave you a sense of peace about the task you had to do. Like it was something as harmless as splitting a log in two. It dehumanized you."
I'm a rapper guyssss. :P