Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Suck my Kiss ❯ One and the Other. ( Chapter 1 )

The plastic squeaks under my weight as I drop down into a seat in my third period English class. Terra is quick to follow suite in the desk beside mine, and I sort of tune out as she whines about her second period Gym class teacher. As much as I love her, I'm having a hard enough time keeping up with the criteria in my Calculus and Science classes. Listening to her ramble is not at the top of my list. She opens her binder in a huff, fixes her short choppy blonde hair, and slouches back into her seat. I offer a smile, hoping it will keep her talking as I too lean back in my seat, and fix my eyes to the front.

English is one of my best subjects, and although it's kind of geeky to admit, I've been looking forward to second semester because of it. Our teacher, Mr. Tryon, is really friendly and he thinks of creative ways to interest the students in the projects he assigns. In my last two years at this s school, I've always appreciated the extra time and effort he seemed to put into his work.

“I hear we have some exchange students,” Terra says, leaning towards me. This catches my interest, and I turn my head to look at her.

“Yeah,” she adds, seeing that she has my attention. “They were talking about it in biology. They're from Russia, apparently.”

“So they don't speak English?”

“I don't know,” Terra shrugs, slipping a compact mirror from her purse. She inspects her reflection, quickly applies another coat of lip gloss along her lips, and smacks them once or twice for good measure. Snapping the compact shut, she grins and looks to me as she stuffs it back into her bag. “But I hear they're really hot.”

When she mentions Russia, some unease settles in my stomach. Although I admit I'm just as curious as anybody else now, I can't seem to shake the dark feeling that's been following me since I walked through the school doors this morning. The bell rings however, and cuts off the rest of our conversation. Mr. Tryon walks in, fashionably late as usual, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a duo tang in the other. His smile is wide as he sets his things down onto his desk, and he makes a sweeping gesture with his hands.

“Students!” he begins in a friendly bellow, before crossing his arms. “Welcome back to school! Are you all ready to start using those brains of yours?”

A collective groan passes throughout the class, and despite myself, I smile.

“This year is your senior year,” he continues, settling into a pace at the front of the class. “So I won't tolerate any slacking from the likes of you! I'm also not going to be on your ass, either. It's time to take responsibility!”

Another groan, and I try to hide my smile behind my hand. I glance down at my binder, before snatching my pencil and jotting down a few notes. He continues with his speech for about five minutes, and I glance over at Terra every once in a while. Her eyes are glued to Mr. Tryon, but for different reasons than his fascinating motivational words. She's had the hots for him since we were Juniors. He's a young teacher, one of the youngest in the school, actually, and I don't know a single girl (I even crushed on him, way back when) who hasn't admired his backside a few times.

“Now that we've got that out in the open,” he concludes, clasping his hands together, “I'd like to take the time to announce that we have the privilege of having one of the transfer students from Russia in our English class this semester.”

The class goes quiet, and I glance around. He has their attention now. He nods, drawing out the anticipation as he backs up towards the closed door. Reaching for the knob, he continues, his tone excited, “He'll be with us until June, and I expect you all to treat him with the utmost respect! As well I'm sure I don't need to remind you that he is from Russia. His English is excellent from what I have come to understand, but there is a chance he might not understand some things right away. Be nice.”

I don't know how to explain it, but as soon as the doorknob turned and the door opened just a fraction, a chill ran down my spine. I stare as the door opens completely, and a dark figure steps into the room. Goosebumps break out along my skin, and Terra looks at me strangely as I try to suppress a shiver. The boy who walks into class is tall, pale, and dressed in black. His hair is a mess of tousled blond, and his eyes are a piercing blue. His features are angular, and the way his mouth curves down seems almost arrogant. Although his clothes are black, I can tell from their cut and style that he comes from a wealthy family. His posture, too, screams sophistication.

He glances around the room, seemingly uninterested, until our eyes meet. I give an involuntary jerk, and for a fraction of a second, I swear a see his lips lift into a slow smile. Mr. Tryon and the rest of the class seem unaware of this exchange though, and his eyes pass over me just as casually as they had the other students. I sit there, frozen in shock, and unable to explain the sudden erratic way my heart is beating. I can feel the blood rush from my head, and I have to lean on my desk to keep myself from falling over. What just happened?

“Why don't you introduce yourself?” My. Tryon invites, and motions for the boy to stand at the front of the class. He follows his direction, and I peek through my fingers. His pace is easy, almost lazy, and he turns to direct the class with one more quick once-over. Running his fingers through his hair, he slips his hands back down into the pockets of his jeans, before tilting his head back ever so slightly. As if he's looking down on us.

“My name is Luce Volkovo. I'm studying here from Moscow, Russia.”

His accent isn't as thick as I first assumed it would be, but it definitely wraps around each syllable with an exotic lilt. His voice is deep, and I squirm. Something is off about him—I don't know if it's because of the effect he's having on me, but something just doesn't feel right. His smile is almost coy as he addresses the class, and my heart beat does not steady. I can feel the blush creeping up onto my pale face, and I bury my head in my arms. What's going on?

“Alright,” Mr. Tryon says, clasping his hands together. He surveys the class, clearly excited, before to my horror, points in my direction. “Why don't you take a seat behind Katrina?” he points to me, and I can't help but glance behind myself to the only empty desk in the class. My skin goes cold as this new boy, Luce, follows the line of his finger. His eyes slip over the desk before I feel them on me, and I bite my lip. He nods silently, and meanders over. I tense, and as he walks past me, I hear someone, only in the faintest of whispers, utter a name.

Katyana.

I can't help myself. Sitting up straight, I turn around quite blatantly in my seat and stare at him as he drops into his own. His posture is slouched now, one arm draped behind the seat, the other in his lap. His eyes lock with mine, and we stay like that for a few long seconds. I don't know how to explain it, but he seems familiar. This close up, his features more clear, I would almost swear that I know him. I frown, confused, unable to explain the sudden feeling of dè ja vu, before Mr. Tryon interrupts the creeping suspicion growing within me.

“I know he's attractive,” he jokes, calling attention to me, “But I think it's time to focus on class now, don't you, Katrina?”

“Sure,” I mumble quickly, whipping around in my seat so fast I nearly fall out of my chair. My shoulders are stiff and for the rest of the class, I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. My growing unease makes it almost impossible to sit still, and I fidget until the final bell rings. Terra shoots me a questioning glance as I grab my things and stand as quickly as I can.

“I'll meet you in the cafeteria, okay?” I mumble before making a beeline for the door. I shoulder past some other kids, ignoring their irritated mumbles before breaking out into the hall. Once I'm outside the room, I immediately feel better, but I don't stop until I'm near the front of the school, and by the doors. I push through them, and stand for a moment in the blistering cold. It bothers me though, because I know the chills that run down along my spine aren't because of the snow.

When I come back inside, Terra is lingering by the doors. She raises her arms as I brush the snow off my hair, and she looks behind us, before back to me. “What the hell was that?” she asks incredulously. I shrug, before clearing my throat. “Cafeteria?” I ask behind chatters, linking my arm with hers. “Nothing really, it was just really hot in there,” I add, as we turn down the hall. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“I know that guy is hot,” Terra whispers as we enter the cafeteria, “but come on. That was a little ridiculous, don't you think?”

“I don't know,” I respond lamely. I don't really have a reason to have freaked out back there. “Something about him,” I try to explain feebly as we step into line for our food, “it was off. Made me uncomfortable.”

Terra's look is speculative, but thankfully she keeps her comments to herself and snatches a tray. Grimacing as one of the cafeteria attendants drop a plastic wrapped sandwich and bowl of fruit onto her tray, she rolls her eyes at me and moves down to grab a bottle of Pepsi from the cooler. I say no to the sandwich and stick to the fruit, my appetite suddenly gone. I'm parched though, and snatch a bottle of water once Terra is done rummaging around for her own beverage.

We pay for our food, find a deserted table, and slide into seats across from one another. I poke at my grapes with a plastic fork, and she unwraps her sandwich.

“I sure missed the fine cuisine here,” she exclaims sarcastically, taking a bite. “Who doesn't love five day old roast beef on stale bread?”

“Luce,” I say, catching Terra's attention, “doesn't really sound Russian, does it?”

“I don't know,” she mumbles around a mouthful of food. Taking a long sip of her drink, she brushes crumbs from the corner of her mouth, and continues, “You know sometimes how they let them pick English names or whatever, so it's easier for us natives to pronounce.”

“Maybe,” I respond, and recall his face. The unease resurfaces, and goosebumps break out along my skin. “Well whatever it is,” I say, stuffing a grape into my mouth, “I don't think I like him.”

“Why?” Terra asks, incredulously, eyebrows vanishing along the line of her bangs, “you don't even know the poor guy. It's not like he's a troll, so what gives? I wouldn't mind getting to know him, that accent is sexy.”

“You're so shallow,” I accuse, my lips falling into a not-so-forced smile.

“Look at me,” Terra responds, pointing to herself. She finishes off her sandwich, burps, and then wipes her mouth. “I'm a Goddess. I think I have the right to be shallow.”

“Too bad your etiquette is horrible,” I giggle, and chuck a grape at her. She dodges, and flings one of her own back at me. We spend most of the lunch hour like this, occasionally throwing a grape or a small piece of grapefruit at one another, joking, and talking about mundane things. By the time the bell rings signalling fourth block, I don't even think about the new transfer student.

I've never really liked Gym. I've always been excused from overly physical exerting tasks because of my Anaemia, though, so I guess I'm in no position to complain. The gymnasium is huge and more or less empty, and my shoes squeak along the freshly waxed wood floor as I enter. Other students mill around the bleachers. Most of them are girls, and they chatter amongst themselves quietly before class starts. I cling to my binder and linger alone, by the door. I already have a note with me, although my Gym teacher has had me for two years in the past and I'm sure she gets the idea.

I always feel awkward, too, in the required outfit. T-shirts and shorts, assigned by the school. They hug my frame in unappealing ways, and make me feel more than self conscious in comparison to the long-legged tanned-even-in-winter volleyball athletes who prance around in their own short shorts without a care in the world. Who wouldn't feel awkward though, out of shape, pasty white, standing at a measly five-feet-three-inches?

A sense of dread pulls me from my self-pity, and I turn, startled by the sudden presence standing beside me. It's a boy, tall, easily passing six feet, lanky and familiar. His skin is pale, like mine, but his eyes are as black as the fitted shirt he's wearing. His hair is a shaggy mess of matted black as well, and the high cheek-bones, arrogantly shaped mouth and stiff posture remind me of someone else I'd seen earlier today He is observing the Gym, before he senses my eyes on him and glances towards me. Our gazes meet and suddenly I can't breathe. I feel sweaty, and my heart begins to race. Throat running dry, I try to part my lips to speak, before his own curl up into a small, almost satisfied smile.

“Hello,” he says quietly, and instantly I am myself again. Flustered, I clear my throat and wrench my eyes back to the gym. Some of the girls are glancing our way—no doubt at the gorgeous boy beside me—and try to hide my blush. “H-hi,” I mumble, stupidly, before shimmying to the side to put a little distance between us.

“You are Katrina, yes?”

His words are sure, confident, but the same exotic lilt wraps around each syllable. I peek over my shoulder, eyes narrow, before slowly turning back to give him my full attention.


“You're from Russia,” I say, almost accusingly. “Aren't you?”

“Clever,” the boy responds, his smile widening slowly. Cocking his head to the side, he crosses his arms. My eyes drop to his biceps as the muscles coil under his smooth skin. He reminds me of a cat. A big, dangerous cat. “But you are correct.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I've been looking for you.”

“Why?”

He chuckles, and steps to the side. His shoulder brushes mine as he enters the Gym, and glancing back towards me says easily, “That's for me to know, and you to find out.”

I'm left there, dumbfounded as the last of the students scramble into class before the final bell. Our Gym teacher enters from her office shortly after, and with a shrill whistle, calls attention to everyone within the area. I stay closer to the doorway, unable to explain the unease at the thought of going any closer to that boy. I wish Terra was here, and biting my lip, glance at the clock on the wall above the bleachers. Only forty seven minutes left, and I'm free.


Later that night, I lay wrapped up in the warmth of my blankets, sipping tea from a mug with the phone glued to my ear. I spilled about my afternoon experiences to Terra, who showed extreme interest in “mister tall dark and handsome”. She didn't seem to understand that he felt more like “tall dark and lethal”, and continued to blabber about meeting up and getting introduced to him after my Gym class.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” I say doubtfully into the receiver, glancing out my window. Snow falls from the black skies in lazy, soft tufts. It's pretty to look at, but the roads are going to be dangerous to drive on tomorrow. Terra ignores my comment, and continues to ramble into the phone. “It'll be great!” she says. “I still can't believe you got to see both of the transfer students, though. And have them both be in your class? Totally not fair.”

“Did you not hear what I said about the 'looking for me' part? You don't think that isn't creepy? Like, not even in the slightest?”

“Oh shut up,” Terra sighs, “You're probably just over exaggerating. You do that sometimes, Kat.”

“That's another thing,” I add suddenly sitting up in bed, remembering the name I'd heard in English class. “I heard that boy in our English class call me Katyana today.”

“Okay now I know you're lying,” Terra answers dryly. “I mean, it's nice to get checked out by two really hot Russian guys on your first day back of school, but you don't need to lie.”

“Who's lying?” I mumble, squirming back down into the warm cocoon of blankets I'd made for myself.

“Whatever,” Terra responds after a long moment of silence. “It's late, and I need my beauty sleep. See you tomorrow?”

I sigh, rubbing my temples with my free hand. I can hear the annoyance in her voice, and I roll over, getting ready to hang up the phone. “Sure. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“That'd be great.” Some of the venom in her voice lessens, and I smile to myself.

“Okay, I'll see you at seven.”

“Love ya!”

“You too.”

Once the line is dead, I shut off my light and settle back onto my bed. Eyes closed, I listen to the gentle wind tap against my window, thankful that I'm inside and not out there. I recall today's events, and try to make sense of the knots inside my stomach when I pull up the faces of both boys. When our eyes met, Luce had looked almost longing. nameless boy had looked hungry, and it bothers me because it wasn't a hunger for lust, like you saw in most boys. It was something...different. Unnerving.
Eventually I can feel myself relax, and as my mind drifts in and out of consciousness, I hear fragments of a conversation. It's in a different language that I don't understand—Russian?—and it sounds as if two people are arguing. Their voices echo, and I frown. Am I dreaming? Before I drift off entirely, I hear someone sigh as if in agony.

Katyana.









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