Chapter 8

When I was 11, I was attacked by a renegade; that's the name for people infected with the virus who can handle the physical aspect, so they can transform okay, but not the mental aspect.

There needs to be a part of the brain that holds the animal instinct and whatnot, intact. That part sort of develops with time, and those who can't handle it go cuckoo. It's like they lose themselves within themselves. The animal and human cannot be distinguished anymore, like they've gotten mixed up in each other's heads. In other words, they are unstable.

Most of them are caged upon discovery, but there are few out there, free but confused and torn between civil and savage.

My mother was that renegade.

I traced the long, dark mark. It started from my left shoulder, down my left chest, almost reaching my navel. She was trying to get to my heart, but didn't go deep enough. Luckily, I guess.

At the moment I was standing butt-naked in my bathroom, after a long shower. The aroma from the stir-fried noodles made me just want to grab that 'wok' and gobble up everything in it, but noo... 'It's not ready yet,' says the bastard.

"I hate you Mica!"

"Say that again and starve. "

I'd abandoned my work on my bed, and as I dried my hair with a towel, I stared at those papers like they were a curse. Maybe I could get the bastard to help me. How old is he anyway?

As if he knew I was thinking about him, he suddenly barged into the room, "Hey are you allergic to peanuts or any - oh..." he trailed off.

It took me about 2 seconds after he said that to shriek in who-knows-what emotion I was feeling right then. Embarrassment, maybe?

I turned about, facing away from him and wrapping the towel around my waist. "Get the fuck out!"

"Right, right. Um, " he cleared his throat. "My question though?"

"I'm not allergic, but I don't like them regardless." I said through gritted teeth, my eyes tightly shut.

"Got it... and... turns out it isn't only your screams that are similar to a girl's."

"You little - -" I didn't get to punch him before he slammed the door closed, escaping my wrath. Bastard.

I ran my hands through my black hair. I hadn't cut it in a while. Most call it procrastination, I call it the 'it's-not-that-important' phenomenon. Now it's touching my shoulders and bothering my neck.

In addition to a haircut, you know what else I need? A time machine; so I can go back and prevent that shit that just happened from happening.

I don't think I can ever face that bastard again, but I'm so, so hungry. Why did this have to happen?

I threw on some comfortable blue PJs and tied my hair at a side, grumbling throughout the process. I took my bloody assignments with me to the couch, and they were totally forgotten once I turned on the television. It'd been there, lonely and bored, since the day I met the bastard.

He walked in as I was watching Santa Claus' yetis painting Easter eggs in Rise of The Guardians.

"Shouldn't you be doing homework?" He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, placing the two plates of steaming hot Pad Thai on the coffee table.

I could practically hear a choir of angels.

"Assignment. I'm not in kindergarten." I sneered, reaching for a plate, but he stopped me before I could touch it. I scowled at him.

"Before you eat, what do you say to the chef?"

"I hope it isn't poisoned," I squinted.

Rolling his bright green eyes, he let me take the plate. "Rude much?"

"How old are you?" I blurted, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"I don't give away my personal information, little guy."

"I'm 17," I said, offended.

"I know, like I said; little guy."

"And by how much exactly are you bigger than me?"

"None of your business," he turned away from me. "Let's talk about you; didn't you have a crush on this guy when you were 8?" he gestured with a mocking smirk at Jack Frost.

My cheeks almost blew up with warmth, as I sat up in the couch, almost knocking my food away. "Wh-what? I don't-I didn't - how could I possibly - how do you know that?! "

He snickered as I freaked out, "Don't worry, we all have our secrets. Apparently, I know all of yours."

"No you don't, "

"Sure buddy. Also, personally, I'd go for the bunny. I like him."

"The bunny? Over Jack Frost? Hah! You are out of your mind."

"Says the guy sexualizing a fictional character,"

"I don't sexualize, I admire, I mean, look at those pretty eyes!"

"I've seen prettier," He said with a sideways glance at me, and my heart pattered at the subtle gesture. Then he added, "Of course, I mean the Easter bunny's eyes."

Instantly, a deep frown appeared on my face and he laughed it off, getting up. I followed him into the kitchen, watching as he loaded a dishwasher, which I'm pretty sure wasn't there a few days ago.

"Where are you getting this stuff from?" My suspicion grew again.

He sighed a melodramatic sigh, not turning around. "Let's just say I have relatives out there, 'kay?"

"If so, then how'd you end up in jail?"

"I burnt down a Clan house along with 38 people."

A Clan is a powerful group of blood-related mutants. There were four, but I'm guessing now it's down to three. They act as the governments of the divisions of Citadel. Each Clan has a place to rule.

"Why did you do that? I mean, right now you seem normal for an arsonist,"

"You're asking too many questions,"

"We're roommates now, yeah? I want to get to know you better,"

No response, and he's still not looking at me. "The press only stated what cruel things you did, they didn't mention you knowing how to cook Pad Thai. I want to hear your side of the story. You seem too nice to be the bad guy."

He chuckled darkly, sending more than chills up my spine. "Don't judge a book by its cover; cliché but true. I burnt down a Clan house, and that's not my only crime. But that's all that you need to know about me. Case closed."