Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

The bag wrinkles as I hug it tighter to stave off the nighttime chill that rakes down my spine. My teeth continue chattering loud enough for everyone in a five-mile radius to hear. But I’m grateful for the cold. It means that my limbs are too numb to feel the pain. It means I’m no longer sweating out every drop of water in my body.

I can’t feel my broken finger. Or my toes.

I’m too tired to even limp anymore.

The harsh glow of the full moon casts ominous shadows over the woods. I glance up at the clear sky above the canopy of fluttering leaves, praying that this fever dream never happened. Each star is a perfect little white dot sprinkled against obsidian, unobstructed by plumes of clouds. A couple times I’ve heard an owl hoot in the distance and a rabbit dart across the path. I’ve even heard twigs snap and bushes rustle. I’ve heard the purr of engines and seen the golden orbs of forest creatures. I can’t bring myself to tense up anymore. The fight has drained from me.

I left Seraphic Hills at two o’clock. It has to be at least nine by now, if not midnight.

My foot catches on an exposed tree root, and I let gravity take hold. My muscles don’t have the energy to break my fall or make any attempt to stay upright, barely registering the pain from the distorted surface against my back. All I do is lie there, feeling the cold breeze bite my skin as I get lost in the blanket of stars above.

It looks so peaceful up there. Calm. I wonder what would happen if I became one with the stars. Would it be serene, or would life be like it is down here? Would I still be an inferno of rage condensed into one body, moving through space because there’s no other choice? Will people call me pretty from a distance, but turn their eyes away the closer they get?

Hot to the touch. Able to destroy. More terrifying with each piece of knowledge acquired.

But still, pretty. Just from over there. Like a star.

Hidden away to only come out at night, when the sky is clear and the clouds pushed away. And only if the smoke from the city doesn’t choke the heavens, turning the stars into a dwindling speck of dust, barely visible to the naked eye.

Kohen calls me a fighter. But if this is what fighting means, I don’t know how much more fight I have in me.

He calls me fiery and beautiful and wild. I don’t feel like any of those things. I want to line up white powder and forget the world exists after a couple inhales. I want to close my eyes and hope that I don’t wake up so I won’t have to live with pain anymore. I want to curl up and wither away to become one with the earth; maybe then I’ll do something good for once in my life.

But I don’t want to be good. I don’t want to feel weak anymore.

Staying here means that my grandfather wins. It means that every person who ever saw me as lesser becomes right.

I’m compulsive. Unhinged. The epitome of self-destruction.

I’ve killed. Maimed. Drank until I choked on my vomit. Got so high I tore skin from scratching so hard.

I’ve been starved. Left for dead. Tortured. Locked up. Beaten.

My mother neglected me. My father didn’t care what his fucked-up friends did around me. My grandfather keeps a noose around my neck like a collar.

They don’t get to fucking win.

They don’t get to dance on my grave or spill cheap wine over my fallen corpse.

Another shiver runs down my spine from the biting cold. A whimper falls from my lips as I drag myself back onto my feet and limp in the direction of the road. I can barely peel my eyelids back open every time I blink. It doesn’t help that my mouth is dry, and my stomach turns in need of food.

Only a couple more miles. I try to hype myself up, even though I know it’s a lie. After over six hours of walking, I’m no longer confident I’m heading in the right direction. Left and right, north and south, blur together into one direction.

Even though there are a few roads leading to and from Seraphic Hills, I’ve been avoiding the main streets to stay hidden within the safety of the forest in case my grandfather drives past. Kohen chose Tornne Motor Inn as our backup rendezvous point if Tony let me down, because it’s just off one of the main roads and looks like the least likely spot where… where I might feel tempted to consume things I shouldn’t. And I’ve been really fucking tempted lately.

Kohen never said as much, but I think part of the reason he’s kept me entertained at night was so I wouldn’t succumb to the urge to sneak out to the church. Each time I’d start walking in its direction, he’d be there to steer me back on my path with three words: Jonathan will win.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

So I’ve stayed sober. Four weeks now. No alcohol. No drugs. Nothing stronger than the recommended dose of Panadol and ibuprofen.

But there’s still a voice in my head saying that one bump won’t hurt. Just a single one, and everything will get better.

It won’t. I know it won’t. None of this shit will fix itself unless I do something about it. I just wish it were easier.

I shiver again as I double-check that I can still see the road. Kohen made me memorize the route in case Tony bailed. Had there been a car waiting for me in front of McGill’s house, I’d be heading a hundred miles from Seraphic Hills with no chance of being found. Instead, I’m limping through the forest with a broken knuckle.

Another hour passes before I spot an old building up ahead, a neon sign blinking on and off. Even if it isn’t the right motel, I will crash there for the night. There’s no way my feet will take me any further than they already have. My heart pumps faster the closer I get to the building, and soon the words Tornne Motor Inn clears, and I find myself running the last leg.

It’s a sleepy-looking building, with flowerpots and rose bushes all around the single-story blocks. None of the motel rooms look like they hold any sign of life. There’s a single bug-shaped car and a truck at the back of the property, right in front of the house with the gnomes, flowerbeds, vegetable garden, and a sign that reads Reception.

I rub the soot off my face and hands with the inside of my hoodie in the hopes I’ll appear semi-presentable. I can’t imagine what I must look like, covered in dirt and dried blood. If they turn me away, then… No, they can’t turn me away.

I’ll sleep outside if I have to. I’ll drink from the fucking garden hose. I just need something. Anything.

The house seems still; there’s no sound or light except for the buzzing lamp above the porch. My legs wobble as I climb up the two steps and press the buzzer on the door. It must be late. They might not even wake up. I’m tempted to push it again, but the fear of rejection stops me. What if they do wake up and kick me out? What if they call the police or tell the school that someone escaped? What if my grandfather had warned them I was coming and told them to contact him the second I arrived? What if—

I hold my breath when the door opens to reveal a woman with deep cobwebs indented into her skin, wearing a floral nightgown wrapped tightly around her middle. She pushes her glasses up her nose then looks down at me with a scrutinizing stare.

“Evening,” I croak and force a smile on my face because if I don’t, I might collapse. Please, let me stay the night. Just one. “S-sorry to wake you. Is there a room booked for Bethany Milroy? I’m meeting my boyfriend here.” At the woman’s skeptical look, I add, “My car broke down, and my phone is dead.”

That lie doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Her weathered eyes drop down to the dirt and dried blood coating my jeans and my raised foot, softening when they land on my bruised knuckles. The look she gives me isn’t pitiful or frightened or filled with the disgust I’m so used to. The door creaks as she backs away to let me inside the small reception area, and I almost burst into tears. She’s a complete stranger, letting me inside in the middle of the night, whispering unspoken words to me that say I understand.

“Have you had anything to eat, love?” Her voice is so… gentle, in the way only a mother knows how to be. Or at least it’s how I imagine it would be.

I chew on the inside of my cheeks to stop the teardrops gathering along my eyelashes from falling. Shaking my head, my attempts fail miserably as I wipe my cheeks using the back of my sleeve.

“Okay.” She says the single word with more compassion than I’ve ever encountered, then grabs a key off the hook without asking me for any details. Cautiously, she adds, “Your boyfriend isn’t here.”

My heart sinks.

No, Blaze. Don’t think about it. He’ll come tomorrow. He said that could happen. He didn’t leave you.

The woman tips her head up. “We have a room available for as long as you need—we can accept cash if need be. It has a working heater, shower, and fresh drinking water from the tap. There’s no mini fridge or vending machine, but just give me a call and we can see what we might be able to do about meals.”

“Thank you,” I whisper between shuddering breaths.

She nods once and takes the cash I hand her without counting it. I wait in silence when she slips behind the counter and through the door. A few minutes pass before she returns with a packet of porridge and a couple instant soup sachets. Neither of us speaks again as she leads me to one of the bedrooms, walking slowly to account for my limp. The innkeeper checks that all the amenities are working, and subtly wipes dust off the counters with the palm of her bare hand. She hesitates momentarily by the door, then drops her eyes to my bruised hand.

“I will leave some painkillers and a bandage in front of your door in the morning.”

My lips part in disbelief. “Thank you,” I say again, meaning it from the bottom of my black soul. “I appreciate your help.”

“Sleep well.”

The door clicks behind her, but I don’t eat the food she left behind or take a bath in the shower she made sure worked. I’ve slept in filth and gone to bed hungry more times than I can count; I want the temporary feeling of death that comes from sleep. So once my head hits the pillow, I welcome the darkness with open arms.

My back slips down the bathroom door as I slump onto the floor. I drop my head against the wood and stare at the entrance directly across from me.

Is this what my freedom means? Loneliness? Placing trust in people I shouldn’t have?

My grandfather would laugh at me if he knew that for the past four days I’ve been sitting around at a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere, waiting for Kohen to show up.

Kohen, the man my grandfather told me to stay away from.

And where the fuck is he? Out of everything I’ve endured this year, placing my trust in Kohen may prove to be my biggest mistake. I thought I might have… I bite the inside of my cheek. It doesn’t matter what I thought.

I’ve become too codependent on him. Like a useless child, I was dumbstruck when I stood before the shower. For the past month, Kohen has been the one who wiped my skin clean and lathered shampoo into my hair. It was part of our nightly ritual. It isn’t like I can’t do it myself. I just… Knowing he’s right beside me makes it easier to forget about the tub.

Now he isn’t here.

He’s three days late.

When he doesn’t come on the fourth day, it’s as if he’s shoved a knife in my gut. On the fifth, the knife twists. By the sixth, it starts to feel like I’m waiting for my mother again. I’m five years old, nestled in blankets at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for my mother to return on a Friday night because she promised she’d be home to make me dinner. I slept there that night. Then, the night after that. She never came.

A week later, she came back and made the same promise. But this time, she said she’d do better. Like a dutiful young daughter wanting to make her mom proud, I sat on the bottom step and waited. She never came.

I was a child, so the fool was her. But here I am, sitting on the floor across from the motel door, waiting for Kohen.

Other than my parents, Kohen is the only person I’ve trusted to keep their promise. Maybe I’m just a fucking idiot for hoping—trusting—in anyone.

I pull myself onto my feet and limp over to the bed, crashing onto it face-up and staring at the water-stained ceiling. As I let myself ruminate over my situation, I conclude that I’ll wait for Kohen for only seven. After the seven days are up, our love story is as good as shit, and I’ll be on my own. Just thinking about it has the metaphorical dagger in my heart twisting, leaving the skin permanently disfigured.

If Kohen isn’t here by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll take up Sue—the innkeeper’s—offer for a ride into one of the towns to get a one-way ticket out of here. I’ll leave a note for him with Sue, then carry out the rest of my plan without him if he doesn’t reach out to me, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants by himself. Because we’ll be over. Done for.

Tears bead along my lashes just thinking about it. For fuck’s sake. I thought I was above abandonment issues. Figures the one dude who ever treated me like a human decided to throw me aside just like everyone else does. One more day, I remind myself.

I grit my teeth and turn and shove my head into the pillow to dispel the negative thoughts. My stomach growls like a natural alarm clock that goes off whenever dinnertime hits. But I still lie there, unmoving. Sue has been feeding me for the past six days, and I can’t keep being her charity case because I fight back tears every time she doesn’t treat me like shit.

This woman has been more of a mother to me than my mom and grandmother combined. Hell, she even knitted me a really ugly beanie under the guise that “sometimes the heater drops off at night.” She’s actually a crazy old bat—and her husband’s a dick—but I’ve already decided I’d die for her.

A knock at the door stirs me to my feet. It’s the same gentle knock I’ve heard every day around this time since I’ve arrived. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall, showing both arms pointing to six. Right on time.

Sighing, I open the door, ready to reject any insistence that I eat dinner with her. Except the concerned look on her face stops me short. Her fluffy, short white hair is lacking its usual bounce, and there’s a stain on the linen blouse she always seems to wear.

“Do you know a man named Emir?” Sue cuts right to the chase.

A tidal wave of emotions hits me all at once. My head moves up and down almost as fast as my accelerating pulse. “Yes. Why?” It’s Kohen’s alias, and I never once mentioned his name to her. “Is he here? Did he stop by? Where is he?”

I push out of the room and onto the gravel driveway. The motel is as deserted as it always is, with the only sign of life being the woman beside me.

The deep lines on her forehead crease with worry. “He left a message to say he’ll be here soon, and there’s been an issue on his end.”

My brows pull together. He… he called? After six days? Another line of thought has my lips parting; Kohen hasn’t left me. A little voice pipes up at the back of my mind, saying I told you so.

“Anything else?” Specifically, what issue did he encounter? What the hell is taking six days? He said the trust was clear-cut so long as he got his high school diploma and accepted a college offer. Kohen made it sound like the transfer would be immediate.

She shakes her head. “Is this the boyfriend you mentioned?” she asks cautiously.

I nod uneasily, unsure of where this conversation is going.

She shifts her weight. “It isn’t my place to pry, so forgive me if I’m out of line. I once gave a man my whole world, and he left with it. I did it all over again with the next man. If it weren’t for my husband, I wouldn’t have survived it—life for a young woman such as yourself isn’t the same as it was for me back then. What I’m saying is that there are good ones out there. But just because one person isn’t as bad as the other doesn’t make them any good.”

I swallow, my heart sinking deeper. She would have been a great mom. It’s sad to think this is the type of life I could have had if I had family like her.

“He’s one of the good ones.” Despite my anger, I’ve never been more certain of anything.

Sue’s lips twist to the side. “Are you sure?”
I shrug, a ghost of a smile on my lips as I recall the past month with him and all the years before. “When he was seven, he tried gifting me a bat to fight off the other boys at school. To this day, he’s still handing me bats.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “That’s a true man; the one who sits back and watches their woman raise hell.” She points at my face. “You make sure you keep him.”

I laugh softly. I don’t want to lose him; I know that to be truer than anything. I’ll survive without him, but he’s been helping me feel alive. Even though worry churns my gut, to put her at ease, I say, “Were you a hell-raiser, Sue?”

She winks. “Bats are child’s play, love. I’ve got a shotgun if you want to see what real power looks like. Dinner’s ready—say no again, and I might consider taking payment in the form of cleaning my bathroom.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to ignore the way my skin warms.

“It’s shepherd’s pie,” she adds.

I suck in a sharp breath. I’ve never had anything homemade until this woman. “I’ll take a slice—only because you’re forcing me.”

I pace up and down the length of the room. Nine fucking days, and I’ve been going out of my mind. I haven’t heard a single peep from him since he contacted Sue, and the motherfucker turned his caller ID off, so I have no way of calling him back.

I squeeze my fingers around my bandaged hand, focusing on the feel of the coarse fabric beneath my skin instead of the throbbing in my knuckles. Sue keeps telling me I need an X-ray and a doctor. I keep telling her no because I can’t afford either. So her husband prescribed me what he claims is the best medicine: a concrete pill.

With a frustrated sigh, I throw myself onto the bed, ignoring how the contact makes my body ache. I swing my legs for the sake of swinging them and avert my eyes back to the TV where the only working channel is one that only plays infomercials. After nine goddamn days in this place, I’m buying a goddamn ShamWow as soon as I’m out of here and have the money.

The front door whips open, yanking me from my boredom. I jump to my feet and snatch the lamp off the nightstand even though my poor hand screams at the action. It takes a second for my brain to register the person standing at the door in a leather bomber jacket and black jeans, but as soon as I do, every cell in my body comes alive.

The second his eyes land on me, his shoulders relax. I almost don’t recognize Kohen with the scruff growing along his jaw, his skin ashen, and his hazel eyes seeming to have sunk deeper into their sockets. He looks like he’s been through Hell, Tartarus, the river Styx, and then whatever shit he had to face out here.

Seems like he’s about to have an even worse time. I drop the lamp back onto the table and round the bed like a fire is lighting my heels. “Where the fuck have you been?” I growl, tears stinging my eyes. Whether in relief or frustration, I’m not sure.

“Hello to you too.” Exhaustion weighs heavy on his voice, and it turns to steel when his eyes land on the bandages wrapped around my fingers and palm. “What happened to your hand?”

“No, you don’t get to ask the fucking questions,” I snap, hiding my arm behind me. Out of sight, out of mind—and I have a shitload to say. “I busted my ass trying to get here. My ankle is fucked. My feet are covered in blisters. I have a bruise on my ribs. I broke my fucking hand. Killed someone—”

“You what?” His eyes widen with each revelation. With the last confession, they almost pop out of his head, and his skin turns bright crimson.

Guess he’s fucking awake now.

“No questions,” I hiss, poking him in the center of his chest. “I almost died trying to get here. I saw a fucking coyote—”

The look on his face is somewhere between amused and mortified. “There are no coyotes around here. But—”

“Fine. I saw a bear—I don’t fucking know.” I can feel myself start to hyperventilate. “I was out of my mind. Covered in blood. In agony. But I was like, ‘You know what? It’s fine, because Kohen will be waiting for me.’ And, God, I missed you so fucking much.”

Kohen steps closer, grasping my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m here now,” he says, voice low and soothing.

I grip onto his shirt, not wanting to let him go. “I’ve been worried sick—I’ve never worried this much before.” Tears bead along my eyelashes. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were okay or needed help. But then you called me once after six days. I thought you could have died, Kohen. I thought my grandfather got to you, or your brother went crazy. I thought if you weren’t dead, you were washing your hands clean of me.”

“Blaze,” he says sternly. “I’m back.”

“Nine fucking days,” I whisper. A single tear burns a path down my cheek. “I thought you were gone, Kohen. I thought you left. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Blaze.”

“I thought your promises were as empty as my mother’s and that you were just as cruel as my grandfather. There wasn’t a single word from you, and I hated you for it, and I hated myself for trusting you. Everyone realizes I’m a piece of shit eventually, and I kept thinking it was only logical that you came to the same conclusion.” I can’t stop myself from talking or calm by breathing. “And I feel so selfish because I never stopped to think that you might be suffering more than me. What happened? Are you okay? I need to know you’re alright, Kohen.”

When he cups my face in both his hands, I let him. “Blaze. I’d leave everything behind just to be with you. I have, and I’d do it again. I loved you when we were kids. I loved you when you framed me. I loved you nine days ago. And I love you now. Nothing is going to change that. As long as you’re there, I will always be alright.”

I love you.

The three words choke me. Kohen’s made me feel cared for and cherished, like I’m the only girl in his world. In reality, it all translates to one simple thing and I never understood what it was: he made me feel loved. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say it back because I want to make him feel the exact same way I do, like he’s loved. But the words won’t come out.

It feels undeserving coming out of my mouth, as if I haven’t earned the honor of loving him when I still haven’t earned any of his attention. Like there’s so much more than me that he deserves, and… I can’t say it to him when I can’t say it to myself. How could he love me when I’m me?

I know he means the words with every fiber of his being; he’s proven it more times than I can count. But I don’t feel worthy of receiving it.

Instead of saying it back, I clear my throat and wipe away the tears as I wrap my fingers around his wrist. “What do you mean you left everything behind? I want to know everything that happened.”

The disappointment in his eyes guts me deep, and I look away so I don’t have to relive the moment I let him down. “Let me take a look at your hand first.”

I shake my head. “Later. Tell me first.”

Kohen drops his head with a defeated sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I couldn’t get the money. The funds could be given to me after high school, only at my father’s discretion. He said he’d only give it to me if I continued living under his wing, work at his company, study what he wants me to study, and move back in with him every summer. I spent the past nine days trying to figure out a way to get my trust fund—or any funds. My father still refused.”

I frown, reaching up to hold his face with my good hand. He leans into my touch and closes his eyes as if he can finally rest. “It’s okay. We can do without it.”

Kohen’s trust fund was part of his grand plan, the thing that’s meant to set him—us—up for the future. Thanks to all the scholarships he’s received, the full ride through college will help, but the money would be the buffer that would set us up in the meantime. It’s one of his many fuck yous to his father.

I dip forward, curling my body around him in the type of hug Hallmark wouldn’t be able to replicate. His arms wrap around my waist, and he hauls me up against him as his lips meet mine in the type of kiss that makes me forget everything that happened over the past few days. Every single worry I had disappears with the touch of his lips, and it’s as if here, in our little bubble, nothing could ever go wrong.

My legs curve around him, kissing him harder like my life depends on it, because I want him to know that even though I couldn’t say the words, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. “I missed you,” I say as he moves into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“That doesn’t begin to describe how I’ve been feeling this past week.” His chest rumbles against mine, and I hug him tighter, breathing in his scent.

“If you had left me, I would have hunted you down and killed you with my bare hands,” I whisper against his neck.

His sharp exhale ruffles through my hair as he lowers us down onto the bed, never once breaking us apart. “That’s a good way to go in my books.”

Minutes roll by in silence with nothing but our heavy breaths and the fucking infomercial to fill the small space between our bodies. Patchouli and mint shroud me in its warm embrace, and I run my fingers through his hair—it’s longer than he’s ever had it before. My eyes drift shut as the hollowness in my heart fills with each breath I take. I’m not alone, and I never will be again. No trust fund can put a price on that. I want Kohen whatever way he comes.

Reluctantly, I pull away and break the silence first. Hazel eyes meet mine, creased with concern and heavy-lidded with fatigue. They don’t soften nearly as much as I’d like when I press a kiss to his nose.

“What about the plan with Kiervan?” I ask carefully, running my fingers up and down his back so he knows that with or without the money, I’ll still be here for him.

The tension around his eyes bleeds away, replaced by a gleam in his iris and a smile full of teeth, which sends a shiver down my spine. “Eighty grand in my bank account. It cleared yesterday morning.”

I blink.

Eighty?

My jaw drops. “It worked?”

It’s not the $5 million Kohen was hoping to have full access to when he graduates, but $80K is more than most people earn in a year. If we play it smart, that will be enough money to keep us afloat for a couple of years.

I whistle. “Had I known blackmailing Kiervan would work, I would have suggested you do it sooner.” If Kohen can’t have a slice of his own trust fund, what better justice than taking a slice of his piece of shit brother’s. Shoving it to Kiervan is so much more satisfying. “What did you say to him?”

“That you’re in the wind, the money is out of my reach, I have evidence that I’ve been writing his assignments for him, and that my silence can be bought for a hundred thousand dollars,” he explains.

My brows knit together. “Did your brother seriously try to barter when you’re hanging his livelihood over his head?”

“He’s my father’s son. It just means phase two comes earlier rather than later.” The smirk that paints his lips has me on edge. Kohen’s revenge plan hedges on the long game, and I couldn’t fathom waiting years to make my grandfather pay.

“One hundred grand buys him three years of freedom. Eighty buys him two. My father’s decision to withhold my trust fund means his glory days end this week.” Letting go of my waist, he pulls out a flash drive from his pocket. “His password is the year he won his first golf tournament and the name of his second yacht.” Kohen places the USB in the palm of my hand. “In ten weeks, Osman Pharmaceuticals will issue corporate bonds to Jonathan in his personal capacity, and Whitlock Investments. Seventeen weeks from now, Osman Pharmaceuticals will be a fifth of the way through manufacturing their miracle drug, and that kill switch in your hand will end up in my father’s competitors’ laps.” The smile he’s wearing is beaming with light. “The hard drive holds all of the company’s latest research, data, processes, and every single piece of information I’ve downloaded since I was fourteen years old. But most importantly: how to make their miracle drug.”

My lips part. The motherfucker didn’t tell me about any of this. Kohen told me that there are worse ways to make a person suffer, and he really is the master of it all.

He covers my hand with his own. “We’re going to burn the Whitlocks and turn you into the queen of the ashes. And together, we’re going to make the house of the Osmans fall.” Raising my knuckles to his lips, he plants a gentle kiss on the unblemished skin. “You’re going to need a bigger bat.” My very own pyromaniac tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear as his eyes go hard. “Now who the fuck did you kill?”