Thank you to the AMAZING @ADreamingReality who made this amazing teaser trailer for Downright Misfits!

https://youtu.be/uARdrjrVHJE

I feel naked when Wren's eyes find mine.

Cheeks flushed, no pants, Cora straddling me. His icy eyes look like a blizzard storm as they narrow.

"Don't think he liked that," Cora smirks, climbing off of me.

My insides feel cold. Wren storms over and pulls me up by my arm. He stares down his nose at me.

"This is what goes on when I'm not around?"

I can't meet his eyes. I numbly reach for my pants and step into them.

"Fuck off," Cora rolls her eyes. "You're not even dating. What she does is none of your concern."

My hands shake as I try (and mainly fail) to get the button of my pants done up. I feel sharp spurts of panic spiking through me.

He whirls around, glowering at her. Heat radiates from him, filling the room, making me feel nauseous.

"What happens in this room—my room—is my concern," he growls at her, his scabbed hands fisting at his sides. "Now get the fuck out."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes once more, before she fumbles for her shirt, pulling it over her head.

"Come on, Addison," says Cora, inclining her head.

Wren turns to me. I stare between them. Both of them look equally pissed off.

Harlow and the others make themselves busy, trying to act like they're not listening to us.

"Addison," Cora says again. "Let's go."

"You know what? I'll leave," Wren spits, eyes flitting between the two of us when he notices my hesitation. He stalks out of the room and slams the door hard behind him. I feel myself inching for the floor, my knees going soft, the ground rushing up. Cora's arm is around me, leaning me into her. She wipes my hair from my face, her palm on my flushed cheek.

I'm not here anymore. I'm back in that room. On the bed. Face flattened, his body on mine.

When my eyes re-open, I'm in my dorm, Cora's face hovering over mine.

"Do you often blackout like that?" she asks in concern, her peppermint breath washing over me.

"It's becoming a weekly occurrence."

"Did this happen because of Wren?"

"No," I say, quick enough for her to know it's a lie.

She blinks. "Sure."

I try to tug at my sleeve and realise I'm not wearing a long-sleeve top today. Sweat gathers at my neck and my fingernail scratches my skin over and over until I feel the skin slit open. My breath hitches at the pain but I don't stop.

Cora isn't paying attention; her eyes are exploring my room again.

"Let's do something about this," she gestures to the walls. "We could be creative."

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

When she gets to her feet, her back to me, I look down and see the blood on my wrist. I dig and dig my fingernail in until the pain brings tears to my eyes.

Wren hates me. Wren hates me. Wren hates me.

I scratch harder and faster and deeper, watching the blood ooze.

"We could definitely make something in art, string it across the walls here," she says, pointing, but I don't follow. My eyes are trained on white and red and white and red.

"And here we could—what the fuck?" she exclaims when she sees what I'm doing.

She rips my hand from my wrist and pushes it hard away. I swallow thickly and stare at the ceiling.

I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.

Cora is shaking my shoulder. She's talking to me, I can hear her, but no words are forming inside my head.

She backs away for a moment and stares at me. I move my hand back to my wrist.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Red fills my vision.

And then nothing.

***

"Think you're going to earn some frequent flyer miles!" the ginger-haired nurse says to me when my eyes finally open. "You must really enjoy my company."

Infirmary. Again.

"Was there another riot?" I try to joke, but it comes out deadpan.

She gives me a pitying smile and sits at the edge of my bed. Her nails are painted bright orange and I wonder if nurses are allowed to have their nails done like that, or whether it doesn't matter in a school like this one.

"Honey, I think you need to talk to someone."

My eyes are watery and warm. I look down at my wrist, which is bandaged. I touch the material.

"I'm too broken for help," I whisper.

Her face falls, and she touches my knee. "No one is ever too broken, darling. I have a friend who comes here a couple of times a week, you should make time to see her. I think it could help. How do you feel about that?"

I look to the bandage again. My chest tightens. "Okay, I guess."

"I'll organise it?" she presses. "For this week?"

Mutely, I nod.

"I really hope it makes you feel better," she says kindly, her eyes twinkling with moisture. "Your own mind can be a dark place."

On my way back to my room, I hear the party is still in full-swing in Harlow's room. I step inside. There are many bodies crammed into the room and the stale air is polluted with smoke and body odour. The first thing I notice, Wren isn't here. The second, Cora is underneath Harlow, her legs wrapped around his waist. They're kissing, sharing a bed with another guy and girl who are perched on the end, talking, not caring that Cora and Harlow are basically undressing beside them.

I'm too numb to feel sick right now. I'm not surprised Harlow is doing this. It wouldn't be the first time. I feel pain for Constance, but tell myself to mind my own business.

No one notices me. Silently, I snake around to the bed where the suitcase of liquor is sitting. I enclose my hand around two bottles. I'm out of there, quicker than a blink.

I've hidden the alcohol and am in bed by the time Constance gets back. I close my eyes and hide my body, hoping she doesn't hear about anything that happened today.

***

I look for Wren all morning.

I had given up when Brea exits a classroom door. She has a smug look on her face when she notices me. She wipes her thumb across her lips, winking at me, before strutting down the corridor.

Wren appears a moment later. His hair is ruffled—is it more dishevelled than usual, or am I thinking this because of Brea? I already feel sick about yesterday—this was the last thing I wanted to think about. Wren with her.

Switching my gaze to the floor, I act as though I haven't seen him. My hands curl around the straps of my bag and I keep my eyes on the ground as I weave through people.

A hand touches my arm, and I flinch, recoiling out of instinct. Wren quickly drops his hand and steps back, an apologetic look passing over his face.

"Sorry, I shouldn't reach out to you like that."

"It's fine," I say, but my voice is too quiet. I clear my throat and hate the harsh sound that escapes me. My thumb begins furiously rubbing against the material of my bag strap. "Were you just with Brea?"

"She asked me if I had last week's homework?" he questions, furrowing his dark brows together, looking annoyingly adorable. "I'm barely at class, let alone do homework."

"Any excuse to get you alone," I say.

"About yesterday—" he begins, before his gaze zeroed in on my bandage. He reaches out again without hesitation, taking my arm in his hands. "What happened?"

"My life is just a series of fucked up events," I murmur, using his own words.

His thumb brushes over my fingers. "So is mine."

My mouth feels paper-dry and I try clearing my throat again.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

I exhale, tilting my head forward, letting my hair blanket around my face. "Not exactly on purpose. I don't know. It's just something that happens when I'm... overwhelmed."

He rakes my hair back from my face with his fingers. I relish in the intimacy. His icy eyes are searching mine, bearing into my soul.

"I'd really like you to come to me if you feel that way again."

"I can't run to you to fix all my problems. You'd get sick of me quickly."

He shakes his head, his hand moving to touch my cheek. "I don't think so."

"I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't like how I was acting. It was disrespectful to you."

"To me?"

"Yes," I nod.

"It doesn't matter what I think, Madison," he says and he smiles when he says the wrong name. I don't yell at him this time and almost laugh. His hand gently moving, his warmth seeping into my skin. I place my hand over his, loving the feel of his hand in mine. The rest of the school has melted away. The corridor is almost empty. We're late to class.

Nervousness tidal waves through me as I stand on my tip-toes. I softly kiss his cheek, a lingering, intimate kiss.

"Yes," I breathe. "It does."

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Thoughts?

I'm curious, what star sign are you all? I'm a Cancer!