Alamort

12. Saint

Stressed Out - twenty one pilots

T hud. I wait for the sticky blue ball to peel itself slowly away from the ceiling before gravity claims it back into my hands. A troubled feeling settles over me. I’m not sure if it’s from trying to figure out what’s going on with Brian or the fact I’m getting stuck in my past.

I’m aware of what Mal has been through. What we’ve been through, I guess. It’s more like watching a movie clip of something where I am the main character in a situation that’s never actually occurred to me. But still carry the hurt and anger of it happening to someone I love and care about. Damn, my father did a number on him.

Thud. I lift my head up to stare at the computer screen across the room, making sure the software downloads to mirror the phone on a second device so we can see what she’s doing at all times. That’s my goal tonight. Install a tracking device I created to keep tabs on her, hear any and all phone calls she has in real time.

The guys say she’s ours now… but I think Malice takes it more literally. A possession he owns.

They’re all worried about me, because they think I’m soft. I keep all the ‘good’ parts about me by seeming more optimistic. But it’s Malice who we should be worried about. He tends to get unhealthy attachments to his possessions. It’s been a while since he’s had a new obsession, and I think she may be the beginning of his based on our conversations. His last one was a punishment, and she paid the price because of his infatuation. I run my tongue over the silver hooped snake bites that Malice thought would be a good idea to get. Along with a shit ton of tattoos.

“Fuck!” The ball hits me in the face. I growl as I get up. My feet tangle in the blankets at the end of my bed, causing me to land face first into the rug. “Goddamn it!” I complain as I lay there with my face stuffed into the floor, arms sprawled out. I can’t. I give up.

At that moment, Crew opens the door to check on me before slowly blinking and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Lifting my head, I yell, “Yes! I’m fine! Thank you, Father Dearest! I’ll just lay here and die! ” His low chuckle in the hallway is my only sign he heard me. Letting out a loud dramatic sigh, since no one is here to see me be a diva. I should probably get ready for the night. The freshmen downstairs are setting up for later. Someone will lock all the upstairs doors to prevent unwanted sexcapades from moving into our personal rooms. Most of the time, these parties begin with alcohol and drugs and progress to orgies everywhere. If not, then couples sneaking off into the trees to fuck like rabbits.

Every year, to start off, we have a party the day before class begins since it’s a late start. More “Party at your own risk” because if they don’t make it to class, it’s their own problem.

Kicking off my blankets, I head to my computer to put on my “BDE” playlist to hype myself up for the night. Having to become easygoing to satisfy the masses wasn’t as ‘easy’ as the word implies. No one else could take on the role. Ben is too much of a playboy, wants to fuck everything that moves. Never underestimate a scorned woman.

Mal is too intense and doesn’t play well with others. If anyone looks at him wrong, he thinks it’s a threat and I mean that literally. He’s also better off not discovered. That leaves Crew, a hard ass, control freak that a simple smile could crack his face.

Every year Bennett throws a ‘back to school’ party. The past couple of years it’s been to mourn the end of summer. Tonight is about the upper classmen having fun and letting loose. A time to integrate the freshmen into the school. Let’s hope tonight goes smoothly. Well… not too smoothly. The freshmen are in for a shitty night. I smile.