"That feeling in your stomach

and the pounding in your chest when someone asks

"What's that on your wrist?"



The hallways are crowded with people as I try to make my way to Psychology class, making it almost impossible for me to squeeze through the itty bitty spaces between people's bodies. With the newly-gained wounds, I'm afraid to open them – that would be a disaster with a capital D – so I'm trying to play it easy, not putting any pressure on my arms what's-so-ever.

Speaking of pressure.

Without warning, something clasps tightly around my wrist, causing me to cringe noticeably, and I'm yanked into a janitor's closet, completely and utter darkness around me.

"The hell?" I breathe, eyes scanning helplessly around.

Someone snickers, "So even the kind and caring Cyan Quinn cusses." A deep male voice resonates around me, "That's kind of hot."

My eyes widen. I'd know that sarcastic voice anywhere.

I squint my eyes to at least make out his outline, but it doesn't work, "What's wrong, Nykulus?" I try, softening my voice, "Is something wrong?"

"Actually, there is." He says, "Something's been bugging me since I left the game last night and I was wondering if you could help."

There's something in his voice (knowing maybe?) that makes my stomach churn, but still, my face never changes from the warm smile.

"Sure." I say brightly, "What's up?"

There's a click and light floods the room, filling it with sudden dim light. So sudden, I have to blink to adjust to it.

As I thought, Nykulus is standing in front of me, his defined arms crossed with a sexy smirk on his lips. With the hot weather, he's wearing a short-sleeved Asking Alexandria shirt with black skinnies. His black hair is parted to the left, covering his icy eye almost entirely, his shiny grey snakebite studs shining in the little light that we have.

He grabs my wrist again, his fingers curling around it with unneeded force, causing me to cringe, "Can you tell me how it is that someone who's so fucked up in the head became Riverwood's number one girl to go to?" He asks. Without missing a beat, he yanks down the sleeve of my clouded jacket down and stares, mouth opened.

He looks up at me, eyes meeting mine, "And this time," He states, eye smoldering me, "the lie better be pretty damn good."

Fair warning. This story will contain graphic material (especially in Nykulus's point of view) with strong language (Nykulus really does love his cuss words) and possible sexual content (he also loves his women. What can I say?) Some readers may also find some material triggering so read with caution.

This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever hurt themselves and wished someone would save them. To anyone who's ever been made fun of because of the way they look, act, or even for who you are.