Book of the Dead: AESLI-00: (A reverse harem, post-pandemic, slow-burn romance) (The JAK2 Cycle, Book 1)

by V. E. S. Pullen

  Luka finally turned his glare on me, mouth pursed. After a full minute of our stare-off, I rolled my eyes and faced forward, concentrating on the lecture and trying to ignore the eyes burning a hole in the side of my head.

  A few minutes later, Sasha passed me a note, his handwriting just as bad. “He IS a douche.”

  I sighed, closing my eyes, praying for patience. Sasha took the note back, wrote more, then set it in front of me.

  “We spent time with them when we first arrived. Him and his brother. They’re assholes.”

  I contemplated my response for a minute, then wrote, “Have you ever considered that maybe they just don’t like you?”

  His response was immediate. “No. We’re awesome.”

  I snorted, getting a glare from Mr. Kalkunen who eyed the paper on my desk with raised eyebrows, a clear warning. I nodded and tucked it into my notebook. He looked pointedly at Luka, who was still glaring at me, then finally shrugged and turned back to the whiteboard.

  I continued to ignore Luka. It took awhile, but he eventually gave up on whatever reaction he was expecting, and stared down at his notebook for the rest of the class. I know this because I kept checking on him out of the corner of my eye.

  When class ended, Luka shot up and was down the aisle and out the door before I’d even put my notebook away. I sighed, sitting back in my seat, and stared down at the strap of my backpack in my hands.

  “He’ll be fine, just give him some time,” Sasha assured me.

  I peered up at him and frowned. “Sasha,” I said carefully, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t really care.”

  “You don’t care about what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t care if he’s upset with me,” I said, earning a terrible glare from him but too bad. I said what I said. “I only care that he hit someone apparently because of me.”

  “Callis deserved it, this isn’t the only shit he’s pulled—”

  “Seriously?” I drew the word out slowly, exhausted by the entire conversation. “Don’t use me as your excuse, not ever again. Don’t pretend to be defending me or any other bullshit, when all I am is a justification for your drama.”

  “We were defending you,” he snarled, and I’m sure anyone else might be intimidated by him, but I was done with it all.

  “No, you weren’t. I didn’t need defending, I never asked for it or needed it. You used me.” I was so angry I was shaking. “I don’t like drama, and I don’t need this shit. It’d be awesome if you all left me out of whatever rivalry you’ve got going on. I’m not interested. Better yet, just stay the fuck away from me.”

  “Jesus,” he swore, looking at me closely. “You really mean it.”

  I got up, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. “Yeah, I really do,” I said. “Start bringing your own pen to class, please.”

  Sasha

  I’m not sure what to do with any of this. I’m not sure what to make of her.

  Before even the first class yesterday morning, I was already super annoyed at the whole situation. Being here in this town, being in a classroom, having to deal with all these people… what the fuck did we sign up for? Then I notice the same skinny bitch who’d played chicken with us on the street standing there staring at us, an almost constipated expression on her face, and she looks between me and Callis like we’re an inconvenience she’d rather not have to deal with. She takes a seat, ignores me when I talk to her, then falls asleep.

  I don’t know why I’m intrigued. She’s too thin, too pale. Too young. Without even speaking to her, I know she’s naive. Sheltered.

  It’s an ugly fucking world out there, and the people here are living in a bubble. No one more than girls like her.

  Girls like her.

  Except… girls don’t ignore us. Girls don’t forget our names. Girls don’t examine us thoroughly, with obvious appreciation, then dismiss us.

  Girls don’t sleep in my bed, offer a body part to study my tattoos, and then act like I’m just the guy sitting next to them in class a couple hours later.

  I know she likes us — she laughs at our jokes, she blushes when we tease her, she couldn’t stop touching Luka yesterday — but she treats us like… like we’re a distraction.

  I think we’re missing something, something huge.

  And I don’t know if that’s real, or that feeling is only a justification for getting distracted ourselves the first day out. For my brain trying to make sense of getting drawn in to some bullshit competition with Callis over a girl none of us would pay five seconds of attention to on the outside.

  She’s pretty enough, but nothing I’d ever really notice anywhere else. Intriguing attitude, and nice fucking legs, but nothing to hold my attention until she says “I’m not interested,” and then I’m about on my knees begging to know what it would take to make her care.

  And it isn’t just me: Luka is a fucking mess, turned inside out, and Sev is completely withdrawing. He could easily go to extremes in the other direction to prove to the world he doesn’t care, and the irony is that she probably won’t even notice.

  Me? I always have a fucking pen. Always.

  Chapter Eight

  Azzie

  Lunchtime. Thank God.

  I’d refueled at the house this morning, then again after my oil change, but I was already starving. I’d missed too many meals yesterday, already been awake for too many hours, and having to deal with these guys was wearing on me.

  There’s something going on between the triplets and Jason, and probably his brother, and it predates Geography class on Monday and whatever territorial bullshit sprang from that. Somehow I’ve become a part of their little game of tug-o-war, though I’m not naïve enough to think I’m the trophy here, I’m the object the dogs are tearing apart between them.

  Because if they knew me—

  If they knew me even a little, they’d know I struggle. Just to get through the day, I struggle. And that’s front-and-center with me, the sticker on my chest proclaims “Hello, my name is Azzie, and I have issues.”

  If they paid attention, they’d understand I can’t handle this, physically. The stress has been constant. If they cared at all, they’d back off. I don’t need to be involved in their games, all they’ll do is break my body and my heart.

  Once their competition is over, they’ll move on and leave me behind; it doesn’t matter what the game or entertainment or sport is, I can’t keep up, and I’m not the girl anyone stops to wait for.

  Mouse would ask me if I wanted them to, as if it was up to me.

  She’d get angry with me when I avoided the question but what am I supposed to say? Do I want someone to care about me besides her, someone that actually wants me around? Do I want someone that I can share myself with, all my secret dreams that I know I’ll never get, and all my darkest fears that seem inevitable?

  Of course I do. Of course.

  This life, it’s fucking hard. I try to remind myself that I have important responsibilities, that I’ve been given a gift, but that only makes it somewhat more tolerable. It doesn’t make it any easier, and it doesn’t make it any less lonely.

  This group of boys is dragging me into their games with no thought about what they’re doing, what it does to me to have this kind of attention. They treat me like I’m important — like I matter. Like they see me, and they like what they see.

  …and then I walk into the cafeteria and Luka has Marina Thomas on his lap and he’s kissing her.

  Clarissa is pressed up against Sev as he feeds her a french fry off his plate, whispering in her ear and making her giggle.

  Sasha has two of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen hanging all over him, and they look enough alike that they must be sisters. He stands at the head of the table talking to Jason Callis (Emma Charamut five seconds from humping his thigh), and a guy I’m assuming is Ryan Callis, who seems pretty happy to be sandwiched between two Bellas (Zubeck and Serra).

  The girls with Sasha are elega
nt in a harsh way, one blonde and one brunette, both with hair and makeup on point, their clothes perfect and just a step above everyone else. Sasha has his arms around their waists like they belong there, and unlike my familiar classmates who seem like accessories clinging to the brothers, these girls are just as engaged in the conversation as Sasha and the twins.

  Like they’re important. Like they matter.

  It’s not like there’s only two spots available that we’re competing for — although Sasha does only have two arms — but in what world am I an equivalent option to these girls? No world. Not even the darkest timeline.

  And as for my classmates… I can’t help it, I absolutely think less of anyone who chooses to spend time with people like Clarissa or Marina. The only satisfaction I get out of the shit-show on display in front of me is that Tyler Wentin, Jeremy D’Amico, and Danny Phillips are fucking furious. Since I hate those douches, that makes me smile. But then Clarissa squeals and Marina laughs loudly, making sure — if only for a few seconds — that they have all the attention, and I’m reminded of how forgettable I am.

  It’s cool. I didn’t have expectations.

  Certainly my interactions with all of them so far today couldn’t possibly lead me to believe that I was someone to them, so this shouldn’t hurt. I told Sasha I didn’t care about them, who am I to blame them for feeling the same? I’d be a hypocrite to be hurt by this. I’m not hurt by this.

  I’m not.

  I’ve. Survived. Worse.

  But it is good to know that they are just as led around by their dicks as anyone else in this school: it doesn’t matter if a girl is as mean as a snake or as dumb as a rock, as long as she’s pretty. It never bothered me in the past because the guys here are just as repugnant, but with them? I guess I expected better of them.

  But why should I expect better of them?

  It makes sense if girls are interchangeable, they’re the exceptionally hot new kids in a school desperate for excitement and novelty. They’re like criminally good looking, and every one of them is tattooed and pierced and edgy in a way that makes girls cream their panties. On top of that, they’ve got attitudes like this is all a cosmic joke, and that’s attractive as hell when they point their attention your way. It’s like the rest of this may be shit, but you? You’re worth pursuing.

  I felt it too. Goddamn did I feel it. No one has ever made me feel like that before, like I was a fucking prize, like I was worth something more than my disease.

  Fuck them for treating me like I’m interchangeable. Expendable.

  I know I pushed them away but from what I’m seeing, I wouldn’t be one of their choices anyway. I’d never be their trophy.

  But at least I get to keep my dignity. I pushed them away first. And I matter.

  I matter.

  Priorities, I remind myself. No distractions.

  With that thought, I let it all go.

  “Hey, Miss Azzie, you’re lookin’ a little pale.” Miss Elyse was the head lunch lady, and the keeper of my smoothies. She watched over me, always fussing, trying to get me to eat things that she thinks would be good for me regardless of whether they really are.

  She’s got this idea in her head that I should be packing in super high calorie foods that are generally way too rich for me, and it’s usually something involving fruit. I can do fruit in small amounts, but not when it’s sugary sweet, combined with a lot of fat, or really cold — all those things are hard on my spleen, which is already struggling, and I need my spleen. Not only does it deal with bacterial infections, it cleans dead or dying cells out of blood and having exponentially more of those than other people means mine works overtime. Since Miss Elyse’s whole goal in life seems to be getting me to eat a giant strawberry sundae, it’s a constant battle to stay respectful while absolutely refusing to give in to her.

  “Yeah, it’s been a rough week,” I agreed, my smile so weary it felt like a grimace. “Can you hook me up?”

  She finished consolidating the taco meat in the case and washed her hands before disappearing into the back to track down my lunch that Rachel provided. I could hear her ordering people around, a queen in her kingdom, as classmates flowed around me with trays laden with meat and cheese and whole pieces of vegetables, nothing pulverized into paste. They had things made from chocolate, and pieces of cake, and beverages that bubbled. I tried not to pay attention.

  As delicious as it all looked and smelled, it wasn’t worth the pain I would go through, but I still didn’t want to see all the things I couldn’t have. I never eat in the cafeteria, I’m not into self-flagellation, so I go to the library or sit in the hall by my locker.

  “Are you going to sit with us?” Luka popped up, causing me to jerk in surprise. He stood next to me, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the case at the taco meat. Apparently I was forgiven for earlier. “Where’s your tray? Why don’t you have any food?”

  “It’s in the back,” I said, trying really hard not to say something snarky.

  “That’s weird.” He hadn’t moved, still staring at the spicy ground beef fogging up the glass, then I realized we were reflected in it. A little warped because of the curve of the window, but it was still a pretty clear image.

  I shrugged. “You are.”

  He grinned at me through the window. “Yeah, probably. What was that face about?”

  “Hmm?” The blender started up. Miss Elyse should be back in a minute or two.

  “When I asked if you were sitting with us, you made a face.”

  “Did I?” Fuck!

  “You did.” He waited. I didn’t say anything. “Well?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Clearly it’s something or you wouldn’t be avoiding telling me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Aaaaaaaazzzzzzzie,” he groaned out my name like it was an impossible task, dealing with me.

  “Dramatic much?”

  “Tell me what the face was about.”

  “I’m not going to say it. It’s unworthy of me. Petty.”

  “Even better. Tell me.”

  I pursed my mouth shut and shook my head. He tilted sideways towards me, us still eyeing each other in the glass, and growled out of the side of his mouth, “Tell. Me.”

  “It was judgey, and I’m not really like that.”

  “You’re just creating hype now. It couldn’t possibly be all that.”

  I shrugged. “Exactly. The moment has passed.”

  He pouted. It was a really effective pout.

  I sighed in defeat. “Fine. You asked me if I was going to sit with you.”

  He nodded. “Yes. And then you made a face.”

  “I made a face because I was confused. I wasn’t sure how you expect me to fit at your table.”

  “There’s room.”

  “Really? Because space is already so tight Marina has to sit on your lap.”

  There was a moment of silence then he doubled over shrieking like a hyena being strangled, hanging on to the edge of the counter to stay on his feet. Miss Elyse emerged from the back right then, passing my smoothie and little sack of extras I could never eat over the counter, perplexed at why there was a blonde boy gasping for air and about to drag her hot bar over.

  I gave her a small smile in thanks and walked away, thinking today was a hallway day.

  Sev

  “Where’d she go?” Luka was confused then pissed as hell, looking around our table and openly dismissing all the honeys that were clamoring for his attention — our attention — in pursuit of the one girl who gave no shits about us. I didn’t get it.

  Really, I didn’t. And I certainly wasn’t doing the exact same thing.

  “She left,” I said, tucking Claire’s hair behind her ear and nipping her earlobe. She shivered, her hand squeezing my thigh.

  “Who are you talking about?” Claire asked, her voice already grating against my ears.

  “Azzie,” Luka said distractedly and I could have smacked him. That was our business.


  “Why do you care about her?” What had been a contrived pout was now a bitter whine.

  “She’s cool, and our friend.” Luka glared at her. I dipped a french fry in ketchup and ate it slowly, thinking about what he just said.

  “She’s a freak,” Claire spat out, and that was that. I couldn’t exactly push her away right this second — not without her slug brain drawing conclusions — but she’d made some offers for after school that I’d been planning to take her up on, and now I was very much done with her.

  “Who’s a freak?” Jason Callis asked. I narrowed my eyes at him, knowing damn well he’d heard the whole conversation.

  “Azzie Vokaty,” Marissa said, rolling her eyes. She patted the bench beside her and smiled coyly at Luka.

  Jason scoffed and rolled his own eyes. “You’re just jealous,” he said, tossing gasoline on the fire.

  “WHAT?” Claire shrieked as Marissa recoiled like he’d just slapped her. “I am not jealous of that reject,” she spat out.

  “She really is weird as hell,” one of the dudes spoke up, then shoved another taco in his mouth. He’d started with about six of them, and a double order of fries. I thought back to that one winter when we found that warehouse that supplied pet stores, and felt lucky to eat dog biscuits and birdseed for a month. I don’t think any of them have ever gone hungry for one single day.

  “Yeah? How so?” Ryan asked, baiting the shithead.

  “You know how,” a different dude said, really jockish, leaning forward like he could join the conversation. “I heard you licked her neck and she freaked the fuck out and bashed her own face on a sink. How is that not weird?”

  “First of all, that wasn’t me,” Ryan drawled out, “that was my brother, and his mouth is like a fucking Komodo dragon so I’d freak the fuck out if that tongue touched me too. Take note of that, ladies.”