Strains

Chapter 22

Korma snatches the homework assignments from my hands. She must get a kick out of torturing us all this way. I have a new papercut on my finger, but by the time it's healed, I might have a clue as to whether those books Caiden loaned me helped at all.

It only takes ten minutes in Ceramics to find out that the picture book "The Boy and His Pot", while charming, does not make me any more capable at forming a vase. Basketweaving goes better, I can only make a single plait but that alone puts me at the top of the class.

I'll have to thank Caiden later. Maybe I could hang out with him before Hercules's class. It's on the walk back to my room that I notice some of the other students staring at me. Guys and girls looking me up and down. I don't know what they're looking for. My shoes have some clay stuck to them, but the eyes looking me over never go down that far.

Oh. I've felt this before.

I bring my hands up and grasp my backpack straps. I'm not a psychic, but I've felt that stare enough to know the thought process behind it.

I was blessed early in life. Too early. And being 'blessed' when you're in the fifth grade earned you a lot of stares and more than a few 'accidental' dodgeballs to the chest. Stares turned to near touches and authenticity rumors in high school when I turned out to be more blessed than the other girls.

Boobs. I'm talking about my boobs.

I hid them under baggy sweaters during most of my childhood and teenage years, but the dress I'm wearing is something I bought after I got some self-esteem when I got to college. That self-esteem was quickly evaporating.

I hurry to my room and shut the door. Maybe I'll just skip lunch today. I slip on my athletic shorts and pull up on the hem of my dress. I'm pulling it over my head when three quick knocks come from my door.

Crap.

"Don't!" I'm hurrying towards the bathroom when my blindness sends my nose into the doorframe. My words must've been muffled, because I hear the door open. I turn my back towards the door and try to pull my arms back through the sleeves.

"Oh, Princess! I- oh."

What the hell? I hurry past Matthew and go into the bathroom. His note said I wouldn't see him until tonight. I exit the bathroom fully clothed.

Matthew is leaning against my bed. He's wearing black slacks, a black shirt, and blood red tie. His hair is slick and combed to the side. His eyes glint up at me.

"Miss me, Princess?"

I feel my face get warm.

"Who are you calling Princess?" I say defiantly.

He saunters over to me and suddenly drops to one knee. He grabs my hand, which I promptly yank away.

"There's no one else here," he says in a low voice. He looks up at me and smirks, breaking the fantasy. "I'm pretty sure I've heard you call me the Prince of Darkness on a few occasions, so consider it payback."

He says that like I've vocalized it. He never lets me have a thought to myself. With that outfit on though, he does look the part.

He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

I didn't realize my arms had crossed themselves high up on my chest, as if I were hugging myself. I sigh, no point in lying to him.

"Just the usual thing," I shrug my shoulders. "Everyone hating me, you know."

He looks me over.

"I have another meeting to get to, but I wanted to give you this first."