April 15th, 2011

Rogue's Tattoo

Samael: Chapter Three, Page One

Going with the previously-mentioned plan of posting chapter three, and getting up the edited version of chapter two when I'm done with it. Darn having a life! It takes away my writing time!

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Working days at the bookstore was at first pleasant for Michael.  It was routine and familiar, just like the store itself.

            He had, however, mostly lost interest in cultivating friendships.  He was pleasant to his co-workers and customers, but the idea of bringing people into his life was no longer as attractive as it had once been.  What was the point of meeting people when he was so busy right now?  And besides, anyone could be one of Jin’s lackeys—it was best not to get too close to anyone until Samael had taken care of Jin.  Then Michael was sure he’d get his life back, and he could return to being social.

            To Michael’s astonishment, his new aloofness brought him more attention than he’d ever had in his life.  Suddenly girls were swarming around him with soppy smiles and high-pitched giggles.  They found unbelievable reasons to be near him.

            (“Oh, Mr. Andrews!  I can’t read the ISBN on this book, can you?”)

            Worse, Michael could swear they were multiplying.  It was as though someone had opened a fan club and was taking new members daily.

            He made the mistake of complaining to Sensei Barrie.

            “You are the classic bad boy, aren’t you.” She wasn’t asking.  “All broody and maudlin, with this air of ‘I’m so lonely, please save me,’ just floating around you.  And you have an edge of…something.” Michael was made distinctly uncomfortable by the way she stared at him then, as though she was trying to see inside of his soul.

            “It’s because they can feel there’s something dangerous about you,” she finally said.

            Then she grinned mischievously.  “None of which would mean a damn thing except that you’re all hot.”

            Michael was amazed that building some muscle tone and killing a man had turned him from a social pariah into some sort of chick magnet.  It disgusted him.  Were women so shallow that they didn’t want to associate with a person earnest to know them, but loved someone dangerous and detached?

            He knew it was the fantasy of him, and not the reality, that interested those girls.  They read about the brooding heroes in those romance novels his mother had loved who were saved by a heroines love, and they wanted to transfer their fantasy onto him.  God, what a group of idiots.  All he wanted from them was space.