The moment I stepped into class, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. Conversations that had filled the room quieted to murmurs. A few students glanced my way before quickly looking down, as if afraid to meet my gaze. I scanned the room, noting the deliberate avoidance. No one dared make eye contact. It didn't take long to spot the reason why.
My desk was covered in scrawled words and phrases.
"Freak."
"Psychopath."
"Stay away from him."
"Monster."
The insults were hastily written, but their intent was clear. Some of them were scratched deep into the wood, others scrawled in marker. The words gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a public display meant to humiliate.
I walked toward the desk slowly, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. Whispers buzzed like insects at the edges of my hearing, but I ignored them. When I reached the desk, I paused, studying the words with detached curiosity.
So this was Killian's doing.
I'd anticipated retaliation, though not this particular approach. His pride wouldn't allow him to let what I'd done slide—not my rejection, not the fact that I'd bested him in a fight. The offer he'd made was just a way to keep me in check, and now that I'd refused to align myself with him, he was testing me again.
I ran my fingers lightly over the surface of the desk, feeling the grooves of the scratches. "Bullying". That's what this was called. I'd read about it somewhere. People were supposed to feel sad, or angry, or hurt when this happened to them.
But I didn't feel any of that.
The hollow detachment within me remained untouched. I searched for something—anything—that might resemble emotion, but all I found was a quiet sense of disdain. It was pathetic, really. A futile attempt at intimidation.
Without a word, I pulled out the chair and sat down. I heard the whispers fade, replaced by the uneasy shuffling of students trying to act normal. No reaction. No scene. That was exactly what Killian didn't want.
At lunchtime, I sat alone, my tray untouched in front of me. The cafeteria was noisy, as it always was, but there was a bubble of space around me, like I carried some invisible force field that kept everyone away.
Then Killian appeared.
He strode up to my table, alone this time, though I doubted his goons were far away. He slid into the seat across from me, smirking as if he owned the place.
"You're quiet," he said, leaning forward slightly. "Guess the message on your desk didn't get to you."
I looked at him, meeting his dark eyes. "What do you want?"
Killian's smirk widened. "I want to understand you. Most people would've been pissed off or scared after what I did. But you? You just sat there like it didn't mean anything."
"Not that it didn't, it's just that causing a scene would have been unnecessary."
His expression flickered, just for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "You know, you're not just strange. You're... empty. There's nothing behind those eyes of yours. No anger, no fear, no anything. You're a psychopath, aren't you?"
I didn't respond, letting the silence stretch. But killian could see through me and my facade he knew I wasn't what I seemed to be on the outside. However he only had a vague idea of what I was, a psychopath no, a monster maybe, a killer soon enough.
He leaned back, folding his arms. "Here's the deal, Noah. The bullying? It doesn't have to continue. You could stop being the target. All you have to do is work for me. Join my group. You're strong, and I could use someone like you. Think of the perks—protection, privilege, respect."
I studied him carefully. He wasn't just offering an alliance; this was a test of control. He wanted me under his thumb, a weapon he could wield.
"You didn't need to vandalize my desk if you wanted me to join," I said.
He chuckled. "No, but it was fun. Take your time. Think it over. But I'm not someone you want as an enemy, Noah. Sooner or later, you'll see that."
He stood, looking at me. "See you around."
I didn't look at the card. I didn't look at him as he walked away. But I knew one thing for certain—Killian Maddox wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. And that made him predictable.
After classes ended, I walked back toward the dorms, the day's events replaying in my mind. The stares, the whispers, the insults—they all rolled off me like water off a stone. None of it mattered.
As I turned a corner, I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't react immediately, but when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Aoron jogging to catch up.
"Noah!" he called, slowing as he reached me.
I stopped, turning to face him. "What do you want?"
Aoron hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... wanted to check on you. I saw what happened with your desk."
I raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Everyone's scared of Killian," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "They don't want to get caught in the crossfire, so they're keeping their distance. But that doesn't mean you should deal with it alone."
I tilted my head, studying him. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't afraid, or if he was, he wasn't letting it control him. That was... unusual.
"I don't need help," I said flatly.
Aoron nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful. "Maybe not. But you're still human, right? It doesn't hurt to have someone in your corner."
Human. Was I? I didn't feel human, not in the way he seemed to mean. I didn't have the connections, the attachments, the emotions that made people like him what they were.
Still, as I watched him walk away, a strange thought crossed my mind. If I could feel something, maybe Aoron would be the one person I would've cared for.