He’s now a renowned diplomat who works closely with the European Union in Brussels, and for that reason, we barely see him. Maybe everything will change now the country is leaving the EU.

But I’m fairly sure he’ll find a way to boot himself someplace else. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be with us – or with Mum.

Usually, I would walk these halls with my best friend, Elsa, by my side, but since her accident and heart disease complications, she’s now resting at her house. In the meantime, I’m all on my own between people who either hate me or pretend I don’t exist.

The familiar jabs begin.

“She thinks she’s all pretty now?”

“Once fat, always fat, Kimberly.”

“Look at those thighs.”

“Elsa’s little bitch.”

My skin prickles the more their words seep under it. I try to tune them out, but like the fog, they’re impossible to ignore. They keep multiplying by the second, heightening and filling my head with those thoughts.

The grey ones that taste like bitterness and burn like acid.

No one cares about you.

You’re a nobody. Absolutely nothing.

I shake my head as I cut the distance towards the classroom. They will not get to me.

Not today, Satan. Go crawl into your little hole.

This has been my school for three years, but I’ve never once felt as if I belong in this place.

I turned eighteen a few days ago and I celebrated my birthday on Elsa’s sickness bed with Kir by my side and Dad on Skype.

No matter how old I am, it never gets easy to walk these halls, to let the knives stab me with each word out of their malicious mouths.

I wonder if they’re seeing the blood following me like a trail or if I’m the only one.

My fingers snake to my wrist, then I quickly drop my hand to my side.

For Kir, I repeat the mantra in my mind. You’re doing this for Kir.

If I get a good college and a scholarship, I’ll be able to afford a private dorm and take Kir with me, because there’s no way in fuck I’m leaving him with Mum once I’m in college.

The voices around me start blurring into themselves and I lift my head high as I put one foot in front of the other.

They’re nothing.

They’re just a ramification of the fog and I always beat down that damn fog.

Except once.

Okay, twice, and Kir witnessed one of them.

“Scarce, fucker.”

My feet come to a halt on their own accord at that voice. That strong, low voice that’s been a constant in my dreams.

And my nightmares.

Okay, my nightmares more than my dreams.

That cruel voice has ended my life over and over again when he could’ve saved me. Instead of letting me hold on to him, he left me for dead.

That voice isn’t only a part of nightmares, he’s a nightmare all on his own.

The earth tilts off balance as I lift my head. I have to keep reminding myself that gravity exists and I won’t actually fall over.

That he doesn’t matter. He stopped mattering that day seven years ago.

But maybe I’m only fooling myself, because even though I see him every day – or rather, avoid him – his view never gets more familiar or easier or fucking normal.

But there’s nothing normal about Xander Knight. He was born to become part of the elite, the ones who crush others under their boots and don’t look back at the damage. He’s one of the kings who leave chaos and heartbreak in their wake.

He’s part of RES’s four horsemen, the football team’s ace striker, and nicknamed War for his ability to destroy the opponent’s defence.

And war he is. Xander is the type of war you never see coming, and when you do, it’s already too late.

It’s already sucked you into its clutches and destroyed you from the inside out.

His golden hair is styled back but is short on the sides in a fashionable way that adds to his overall cruelty. When I was younger, I used to think he stole the blue of his eyes from the ocean and the sky.

Now, I’m sure he did, because he’s a sadistic thief.

The tame blue that used to lighten up upon seeing me is now darkening to a sinister colour.

To say Xander is beautiful would be an understatement of not only the century but of the entire common era. It’s not just because of his put-together blond look – his face belongs to models, gods, and general immortals. It’s sharp-cut with a slight stubble that adds to his charm.

Like everyone at school, I used to see that beauty. I used to stop at the step of my house and pinch myself, chanting that he’s indeed my friend – my knight – and he’s calling me over to play together.

Now, I see someone completely different. I see vindictiveness, hate, a war god out to destroy.

He used to be my best friend. Now, he’s a stranger.

A bully.

An enemy.

The boy Xander just shooed away bows his head and retreats around the corner. Being part of the horsemen, Elites’ ace striker, and the son of a minister gives him the right to a crown, one that’s crowded with thorns and black smoke.

Still, everyone around here bows down to his authority. If he’d asked that boy to crawl, he would’ve dropped to the ground without asking questions.

Xander twirls a football on his forefinger, his other hand in his trousers’ pocket as he stalks towards me with steady, purposeful strides. I keep my gaze on him, watching his every movement and struggling to suck air into my lungs. I don’t know why I think he’ll push me away, or rather, kick me down.

Not that it’d be something new. Worse has been done to me during my years of bullying – fat-shaming remarks, spilling of paint, mocking confessions, all of it.

It’s stupid to think Xan would touch me. He never has.

Not even once.

The uniform’s blue jacket stretches over his wide shoulders and muscular chest. Everything about him is – muscular, I mean. Including his football thighs, especially his football thighs.

I don’t know when that happened. Okay, that’s a lie. The development of his physique started exactly in the summer between Royal Elite Junior – our previous school – and Royal Elite School.

Disclaimer, I notice a lot of things around me. It’s not only about him. Ever since I realised my mum wouldn’t stand up for me and I’d have to do it on my own, I’ve learnt a lot of survival methods. The most important of all: being aware of my surroundings.

Whether I like it or not, Xander has always been a part of my immediate environment and he’ll continue to be until the end of this year. Then, when I’m out of this city, everything will be over.

Breathe in. Just a few more months. Breathe out.

“Are you waiting for an invitation? Scarce, Berly.”

His voice is light, but there’s nothing light about his undertone. I know he didn’t tell the boy to disappear for my sake. Xander doesn’t stand up for me, and he sure as hell doesn’t tell others off on my behalf.

If it were the old me, I would’ve bowed my head and run away crying, and his mocking laughter would’ve followed me as I sniffled in dark corners, not wanting others to witness my shame.

However, something’s changed.

Me.

I’ve changed.

Ever since I woke up and found Kir hugging me and bawling, I’ve come to an important conclusion. If I want to survive in this world, if I want to stay with my baby brother and save him from our mum, then I have to take my life into my own hands.