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Becoming The Bull by StepUpx_Gryffindor
Chapter 4 : One Grave Mistake
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 8

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I wake up this morning to find myself in a heap of sweat. I look down at myself, expecting to find the sheets of my four-poster tangled around my torso and legs. But alas, I’m not even covered by my duvet. I’ve kicked off my bed sheets, which are sitting lazily on the ground surrounding my bed, and the glooming sunlight from outside my window tells me it’s very early in the morning. My shirtless chest is covered in sweat but I‘m not cold. I pant and turn on my table light. My clock stares at me as I read off what time it is, which just so happens to be 5:03 in the morning.

My birthday.

May 3rd was the day my mother decided that the world was prepared to take me on. It was the day that the world decided it was ready for me. But was I ready for the world?

For the past week and a half, I’ve been waking up at the same exact time each morning. And I was quickly getting peeved.

Classes were… sustainable, although I didn’t enjoy much. Each day I went to class, it felt like the life was being sucked dry out of the room as soon as I walked in. Like every living thing was latching on to me and entered with me during every class. And by the end of the day I felt like I was sucking everything dry just by my presence. What was a sixteen year old to do? I felt like a leech. So I tried to think about other things. But that didn’t help. When you try to tell yourself to think of happy things, or other things going on in your life - just to find a single moment of solace and escape your reality - it doesn’t always work out too well.

I had no happy thoughts. Why?

Because I had nothing else to look forward to. I thought about what I had to do, just to get my mind off the fact that I felt like some life-sucking creature. But even if I didn’t willingly want to think about my duties, it would have reached me regardless. I could have tried to ignore it, and put it to the back of my mind… but what’s the point anymore? My assignment was just. It was to spy on Aiden Winthrop, Annabelle’s stepbrother. Her sibling by marriage. Her older sibling whom took her out for ice-cream when she was sick last summer. The same guy that is apparently in dire need of torture, or so Lucius reckons.

I’ve gotten to know Annabelle a little bit better since our first assigned partnership. But it wasn’t like I had gotten to know her on an intimate level, or anything of the sort. Not like a friendship, but more like an acquaintance. I made sure of it. I watched what I said and what I did, every time I was around her. Every time she told me something about her. Every time she was honest with me. Every time I made her think I was honest too.

When I was not.

She told me about her summer house and how her other siblings would come down to join her and Aiden. They were like best friends, she said. I wanted so strongly to rip my hair directly off my head every time she said hello to me in Potions. But I had no choice in the matter. I had to follow him. I had to plant the seed. I had to make sure Lucius caused him to suffer. Why? Because it was my time to evolve, and I am no longer myself. I never was, actually. I was built for a purpose. And that purpose must be sought out. I didn’t say yes and I didn’t say no. That’s what I was for. I was Lucius Malfoy’s little robot - I mean brother. Sidekick. Accomplice. All those words in the dictionary that are supposed to be part of my checklist. The things I’m supposed to become to him and to all the other older ones. He’s preparing me to be all these things. I need to be all these things.

I get up and walk past the rest of the boys in my Fifth Year dormitory who are still sound asleep. I open the door to the bathroom and when I hear the clack of the knob that signifies I am by myself, I turn around and look at myself in the mirror. For a second, I’m afraid to look up, but my eyes flutter open slowly. I’m getting very tired of seeing my face change every day.

Insomniac, my face tells me. Go back to sleep. Get some rest.

But my conscience, or what’s left of it, tells me not to. It tells me to read between the tired lines on my face. Read between the mystery that is life. The purpose of it. The full purpose of life itself. Am I meant to enjoy it? Am I meant to conquer it? Am I meant to leave it without a sound?

I shouldn’t be thinking about this. Just do it, Regulus. I tell my face to stop quivering in the mirror. Just do it- do it, Regulus, you poor excuse for a human. Do as you’re told. You were raised to be this way. You do not deceive those that take care of you. Just to those that are against you. Those that try to break you. And when one gets close enough to doing just that, to be close enough to break you - you break them first. That’s the way it goes. If Aiden, some Seventh Year in Hufflepuff, is trying to break us, the brotherhood between Lestrange and Black and Malfoy, he has to be terminated. Maybe not completely, but he has to be disposed of.

My order was to spy on Aiden and find out what the hell he was doing following us, and what he was actually figuring out. Did he know about Him? About the powerful wizard that started this journey for me? Because in actuality it was He that set everyone’s fate in stone. And Aiden’s intentions can’t be good if Lucius is telling me to follow him. Surely the Dark Lord ordered Lucius to keep tabs on Aiden, right? Or was Lucius doing this for his own personal gain? Perhaps he’s noticed something He has not, and he’s trying to make sure there are no bumps in the road. I guess he’s just…taking care of it.

I used to think ‘taking care of it’ meant making things less disastrous. How foolish I was. Because now that I’ve reached the age of consent for the brotherhood, ‘taking care of it’ meant disposing and getting rid of things that could destroy our path of conquer.

I don’t know why Lucius wants me to do this. I mean, I do - but I don’t know the full story. He couldn’t tell me much, that day in Hogsmeade. He said so himself. He's tell me more when need be. I was never taught to question things anyway. I was told what to do. Big difference.

So in conclusion, I never second guessed what Lucius had in mind. He wasn’t specific. He just said to keep tabs on the Hufflepuff, and to try and find out what his plans were with us distinct Slytherins. There had to be a reason for what Aiden was doing. Rodolphus made sure to pound that message into my brain. He practically barked at me last night for asking if I had to keep tabs on Aiden until told otherwise. I wish I didn’t say that out loud. Of course, I have to keep tabs on him for as long as Lucius desires. Sometimes my thoughts get the best of me. Rodolphus’s answer was something along the lines of: You do as you’re told, and don’t ever ask me a stupid question like that again.

I look at myself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. I blink and I see an eyelash fall off my face. I look at it falling, falling, falling. It lands on the cold white sink and I look up at my reflection. I almost laugh at myself. Reflection? What reflection?

Do this, Regulus. Come on. You can do this. Lucius is waiting for a report. This is part of your training. Man up, damn it. You stupid sack of shit. This is your first mission and you are not going to screw up. You were built for this, I tell myself. You were born for things like this. Prove your loyalty. The elite people that you spend every waking moment with are waiting to find out where your allegiances lie. They are preparing you; after they graduate, Regulus, you must take over.

I stare at myself stupidly in the mirror, as if I’m waiting for my face to explode. Anything, anything at all, and nothing, absolutely nothing happens. I wait for it, but no. Nothing. I wait for it again. For me to feel something. I blink and I can’t see myself anymore. There is no mirror in front of me anymore. I’m looking at myself in a pathetic manner; my eyebrows put down, a frown on my face, disappointment in my eyes. I blink again, forcing something to happen. But nothing does. I continue to look at myself in the mirror.

I’m not there.


She loops her Gs when she writes.

It’s something I’ve noticed Annabelle do during class. When ever we are assigned essays or group work, I look at her when she writes. NO - I meant… I meant I look at her write. Anyway, she loops her Gs nice and big. Elegant like, in a way. Sometimes I can’t even tear my eyes away from her penmanship. I wish I knew why. She takes her time when she writes, like me. It isn’t relatively neat, her writing, but it isn’t sloppy either. It’s just how she writes.

I would furrow my eyebrows every time she’d loop her Gs until I came to the realization that I did that too.

Of course, my writing is a lot different than hers. I was purposefully taught to take my time as I wrote. Annabelle seems to do that all on her own. My manners with the quill were no joking manner; as soon as I was young enough to pick up a glass of water, quills were being thrown into my once fragile hands. My style with the pen had to be perfect and unfaltering. Another thing that was demanded from me: good penmanship. That was the difference between Annabelle’s writing and mine. My writing was much more…Pureblood.

I am momentarily swindled back into reality as soon as Annabelle takes a seat next to me.

Potions class has just begun and students are gushing inside the classroom.  And I ask myself where the hell I've been. What was I doing? Thinking, dreaming, or fantasizing? At least I was thinking about Annabelle, my Potions partner, instead of her brother.

“Good morning,” Annabelle chirps, throwing me a smile.

She’s really starting to act too polite towards me.
I’m not comfortable with this.

“Hello,” I say lazily, trying not to look her in the eyes. I will feel many things today throughout my classes and my spying on her stepbrother. I don’t need guilt to be one of them.

“Good morning, class!” Yells Professor Slughorn. “Take a seat, everyone. Sit, sit. Today we’ll be pairing off with our partners. I’ve written notes on the board that need to be copied. After you and your partner are done with that, just sit quietly until everyone is up to speed.” He waves his fat hand around, firmly grasping his wand. He mumbles an incantation and the writing appears on the board. The font is almost microscopic, as there are three boards and each are completely filled with notes; a loud groan is emitted by the class.

He turns back towards us. “Students!” he says strongly. “This is Potions, not choir practice. Need I remind you that this course is not just about mixing ingredients, but about the art of creating in itself. One cannot do that, achieve both of these parts, without the proper knowledge of the ingredients and the equations to go along with the mixtures. Mathematics is also key…” Professor Slughorn continues to drab on relentlessly about how Potions is the greatest thing in the world. I tune him out almost immediately.

A half an hour passes and I’ve already finished my notes. I look at Annabelle. Then I mentally slap myself and look at her writing. Her Gs are looped, like always. She feels a set of eyes on her and her green ones flutter in my direction. She throws me a smile before returning back to her notes. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Annabelle nudges me in the arm. I look around the room to see if anyone else is done copying notes, besides us (or me, rather, because I write rather quickly, even thought I take my time), and almost everyone seems to be in quiet conversation.

“So, excited for the Quidditch match tonight?” She asks.

It takes me a couple seconds to remember there’s a Slytherin versus Gryffindor match at six. “Oh. Right, the Quidditch match…no, I don’t think I’ll be going.”

I barely ever go to Quidditch matches. I wasn’t part of the team, and the only other person I knew that played on Slytherin was Antonio. If anything, I’d go to see him play once and a while. But other than that, I was usually in the library by myself reading. Or if Lucius, Narcissa, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix needed to talk to me, or discuss with each other (you know, about confidential/important things) that would be what we’d do during that time. It was either one thing or the other, when it came to skipping the matches. I had one of two choices:I could read in solitude, or when the time came that we needed to have a meeting, we’d have the whole castle to ourselves.

We’re just so exclusive, it’s comical.

“What? Why not?” She looks disappointed.

“Matches aren’t my thing, really.” I think that is one of the only things I’ve told her that's true.

“You don’t like sports?”

“Not that much, no.”

She throws me a disbelieving face. With an eyebrow raised, she turns to me and says, "You have an older brother in Gryffindor and you’re in Slytherin. Even sports can’t stop nor encourage sibling rivalry."
I am instantly entertained. I position myself facing her and stare as she continues.

"It’s either there for eternity, or not there at all. The two most opposite Houses, that are so unlike each other, are being brought together competitively tonight. This should be the match of century, whether your brother is playing or not. And you’re telling me that Quidditch matches aren’t your style?"

A bit taken aback my her somewhat surprised outburst, I blink in response. She knows Sirius is on the Gryffindor team? Alright, maybe that isn’t too hard to figure out; he’s been on the team since Third Year. But it looks to me like she knows what position he plays, and what every other player plays too.


Annabelle looks down, a bit embarrassed. “Er, sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

“It’s okay,” I give her a small smile in the hopes of concealing my chuckle. How random. She looks like the type that knits, not the type that watches people fight on broomsticks. “People rant sometimes. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Meh…well, I don’t really rant all the time. It’s just with Quidditch, really. I promise,” she laughs. “It’s one of the only things I can really lose myself in. Sports are great. Even some of the muggle ones, but Quidditch is just something else entirely. And I really enjoy it. I don’t know, I guess it’s uncommon for me when I find someone, let alone a Slytherin, not interested in the sport.”

“No, it’s a good thing. I mean, it’s a good sport. And I probably wouldn’t have expected you to be such a big fan. It’s understandable to freak out when you find someone, like me, not interested in Quidditch,” I tell her. “Especially when I have family members that have both been on the team and still are on the team.”

“Thanks. Aiden makes fun of me all the time for it,” there it is, that stabbing feeling in my chest again, “He says I’m like this tiny fighter just waiting to explode, ready to kick someone’s arse when it comes to competitive sports. What can I say? I’m a lover and a fighter.”

“Nothing wrong with being both,” I comment, resting my arm on the desk. Talking with her instantly makes me comfortable. Is that a bad thing?

“So if you don’t go to matches with the rest of the school, what do you do?” She asks me curiously.

I try not to look her in the eyes. "It depends if they- Um, actually I just stay in and read. Yeah, just stay in and read," I convince myself. "Catch up on some paperbacks I haven’t had the time to finish."

“Oh,” she mumbles wondrously. “Wow, you read for the whole length of the match? That’s all you do?“

I nod, “Basically.“ Unless I’m ordered to go to a meeting about spying on your stepbrother.

“Nothing else? There are so many games a year… you must finish a book within weeks. Days, even.”

“Yes, well, I like to read,” I shrug, “And besides, it’s nice to have the castle all to yourself sometimes.”

“Have you ever been to a game?” She looks up at me sheepishly, as if afraid she’s offended me. I guess the fact that I don’t go to matches bothers her to some extent, she just has to find out more on that subject.

I look at her, amused. “Of course I’ve been to a Quidditch match. Once and a while I’ll go see my mate play when Slytherin's on the Pitch. But that’s just a couple times a year.”

“I see,” Annabelle says softly, her eyes trailing down to her lap. She folds her hands together in thought. “You know what? You should come with me to the match tonight!”

My face instantly falters. “Uh,” is all I can mumble. I start to look around the room.

She frowns instantly. “Unless, you don’t want to go with me… in that case-”

“No, no! It’s not that…it’s just- I, well, I might be busy that day. And it might not be the best idea for all involved if I be seen with you.” I say this to her without realizing how rude I'm sounding.

“Excuse me?” She asks, looking at me impossibly.

“I mean- wait a minute. That’s not what I meant. At least not in that degree. It’s just that there would be some people that wouldn’t approve of me hanging out with a…I mean, you.” I restrain from replacing the last word with ‘friend’. But alas, my stupid gob opens again and before I can stop myself, I just let it loose. “Mainly because you’re a Ravenclaw. I don’t mean this in an offensive way, it’s just that I already have a lot on my shoulders, and hanging out with people that aren’t a part of…well, what I’m trying to say is-”

“I get it,” Annabelle says sadly. “You can’t be seen exclusively with someone that isn’t a Slytherin.”

I feel like my chest is being pulled apart. You should see how sullen and upset she is right now, although she’s hiding it very well. But I can see past her façade. Why? Because I was bred on them.

I look around the room for any support at all, any inkling of disclosure or revelation to pop in my head and fix what’s just happened. There are many reasons to why I cannot hang out with her publicly. One, I can’t be trusted or relied on. I am depended on by only four people. And those four people control my life at this moment. Two, I have responsibilities that would become a million times more difficult to obtain if I got closer to her. Three, people can get suspicious pretty quick, and I don’t want to bring a never ending wave pool of gossip and drama her way. My family has a history, and members of that family go to this school. Things can get messy. Four, I don’t have that many friends. And I’d like to keep it that way. The fewer people I’m closer to, the fewer people miss you when you’re gone.

And who knows when my ship is set to sail.

“Annabelle,” I blurt out almost desperately. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just not a social individual and I wouldn’t be comfortable around a bunch of people that don’t know me. It’s not you, and it isn’t a personal thing-”

“It’s because of them, isn’t it?”

I almost swallow my tongue. “Er, sorry?”

“Those four friends of yours.” I look at her when she says this, to find a sign of disdain or disgust or betrayal but her face is wondrous, almost forgiving, like she doesn’t care that I’ve blown her off. Like she instantly understands where I’m coming from, but just simply wants to learn and know more about the situation. And that maybe, just maybe, she respects and understand me. 

"Lucius Malfoy and his mates?"

“The Elite,” she corrects. “That’s what everyone calls them.”

“Uh,” I gulp. Why am I so nervous? Am I ashamed or afraid? “Something like that, I guess.”

“You don’t want to upset them,” she finishes. “I understand. Some people are just more secretive than others. I can respect that. I was just offering something we could do to kind of get to know each other better. But if you don’t want to be friends because of your little club-”

“It’s not like that, I do want to be your friend,” I comment, and I regret it instantly. “Besides…It really isn’t a club.”

Members usually have a choice. I don’t.

“Then why can’t you have other friends?”

I sigh. “I can,” I mumble. “There are just some restrictions that I have to follow.”

She doesn’t respond. I look at her and she doesn’t seem alienated in any way. The girl probably thinks I’m part of some sort of cult. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. Just what I need.

It’s quiet for far too long. Professor Slughorn comes down from his office to check up on our class. When he sees everyone is at the same pace, and every one of his students is done with copying notes, he addresses the class again.

“Now that we’ve all spent some time copying notes, I’ve assigned group work with your Potions partners. As this time you may all take out your Veritaserum projects and work on it for the time being.”

Potions partners are connected and scattered throughout the room and everyone instantly takes out their papers for our Veritaserum project. As soon as some laughter is heard, Professor Slughorn comes out from his office as fast as a tiger pounces on it’s prey. “In silence!” He slams the door without a word.

“Okay,” she whispers to me, “So what you’re saying is that you’re part of the Elite, or some sort of important factor to them. And you can only be seen with certain people because of some unknown cause… it still doesn’t add up.”

I look at her, bewildered by her boldness. “It’s not supposed to.”

“Look, I’m not here to meddle with your life, or ask questions. I just want to, I don’t know, understand you, yeah? We’ll be seeing each other a lot this year. I might as well get to know you better.”

I purse my lips, thinking about what to say back to that. She’s the type of person that reacts quickly to things… and doesn’t worry about pushing buttons. You give her an answer and she decides whether or not it’s enough. And I have no idea if I like that or not.

“Okay… if you’re so intent on getting to know me, just don’t worry about it. Because no matter what, we’ll have to spend time together anyways. We’ve already talked enough as it is; and my group of friends have nothing to do with you and me precisely. It’s just that things are different in public. Look, it’s hard to explain-”

“You’re a man of mystery,” Annabelle whispers to herself, although her eyes are connected with mine.

Maybe I should try being honest. “You’re very understanding. I’m surprised that I haven’t freaked you out yet with my… lifestyle. Why is that?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs with a small smile. “I’m an understanding person. I know not to take everything on a personal level. When you said it wasn’t because of me, I believed you. Because before this project, we might have never gotten to know each other. I always saw you with those older students, but I never thought anything of it. I guess I assumed you were a recluse. And, well, who am I to change your ways? Obviously they’re important to you. And we don’t have to hang around with other people in public so quickly, if that bothers you.”

I blink about ten times, raise my left eyebrow, look off to the side, and ask myself: Where do girls like this come from!?

We’ve chatted. We’ve talked. We’re acquaintances, sure. But I never got to know her on this level. Who knew she could be so…down to earth, yet exquisite? Annabelle is the kind of person that genuinely likes people. And she accepts things quickly, from what I can make of it. Something tells me that this girl doesn’t let stuff get to her. She’s always positive. And isn’t nosy. She’s like the perfect friend.

The perfect friend that I shouldn’t have.

“Wow,” I exhale. It’s all I can manage.

“What?” she asks innocently, in a voice lower than a whisper.

“So…” I begin. “You’re telling me that you aren’t going to judge me, and you aren’t trying to change me. All you want to do is get to know me better. And only in any which way I find comfortable?… For the time being?”

“Yes,” she says strongly, very sure of herself.

I look down at my shoelaces.

No. No, no, no! This can’t be done. Regulus, you fool- 

“You promise not to ask questions?” I bite my lip and look at her.

“I won’t ask you anything you wouldn’t want to confess to me at any other time,” she promises. And I know she means it.

You can’t be friends with her, you moron! You complete imbecile! You’re letting her feelings get the best of you! So what, she wants to be friends? Tell her no, and move on from it! Who cares if you disappoint her- 

I care. For some ungodly reason, I feel like I need to do this.
Is it a need to make her happy? Or is it a personal gain for me as well?

“You won’t feel obliged to ask me things when you really, really want answers?”

She gives me a more concerned look this time, and then adds. “You won’t hear a peep.”

I’m starting to sweat. Oh, Merlin. I’m sweating bullets.

You fucking disgust me. You stupid teenager. You are letting your own selfishness take over. How could you break your own rule!? You said you’d stay away from her- 

“Come on, Regulus, I’m not poison,” she assures. “Hang out with me. If not with my friends at a Quidditch game, then at least with me.”

“I don’t know…” My mouth is getting dry. What have I gotten myself into? This is ILLEGAL.

“What are you hiding?” she pushes playfully. “What's with these people and why do they have such a hold on you? I’m just asking for a night around the castle to catch up and talk. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

When Annabelle speaks I feel so secure that everything she says in meaningful and genuine. She really wants to get to know me. She wants to learn to feel comfortable around me. Heaven knows, I’m not the best at relaxing those around me. I shouldn’t be so hard on her. I can always keep my distance if things get too dangerous.

I look at her and she’s in the middle of writing down ingredients from her textbook. My eyes knit in confusion. Weren’t we having a conversation? Why isn’t she facing me?

And then it hits me - I've spaced out again and thought about the future again. I spaced out, thinking about things, for so long…I never answered her. Oh.

I was thinking about everything through Lucius’s eyes. All the horrible things that could possibly go wrong. Every single person I’d let down if things didn’t go according to plan. Each moment of my life destroyed so that no good memories would be left to reminisce, if I let things slip.


Annabelle’s quill comes to a screeching halt. She doesn’t move her head but her eyes reach mine and she is beaming.


I don’t think I could possible hate myself more than I do right now.
Words cannot describe how much self loathing I have built up in me.
Since when did I go from being the mysterious guy she didn’t know, to her supposed friend? 

Why the fuck did I let this happen?

I pass by a couple Slytherin alpha males on my way up the stairs to my Fifth Year dormitory. I swing the door open forcefully and I rip off my tie, kick off my shoes. Some people give me curious glances but I respond with an unemotional look; like stone. A face carved out of marble. I don’t give them one hint or clue that I’m somewhat unstable. I grab two towels out of my trunk and dash to the bathroom. I turn on the hot shower and strip off my clothes at a lightening speed. I need to feel scalding water on me so I can focus on something else, other than my horrid mistakes.

The room turns muggy with fog in no time. The steam makes it impossible to see through the mirror above the sink. I welcome it like a child welcomes the sunrise in their youth. I step inside and my skin is obliterated. The only thing that calms me down other than talking with Antonio and playing wizards’ chess, is a nice hot shower. I let the water trickle down my body and I try to get my mind around the fact that I’ve messed up. I’ve messed up so badly that not even water can wash it away.

I put my whole body under the showerhead and I close my eyes as the scalding water hits my face like a hotplate to the cheeks. I welcome it. Putting my hands out in front of me, I lean on the marble stone wall of the shower.

School is over. My classes are completed for the day and I have the rest of the afternoon to do as I please. I am a free bird from school classes at the moment, until I have to wake up tomorrow bright and early and repeat the cycle, and do this all again.

Ever since Potions, I felt like the sun was going to fall down to Earth all day. My life was over as I knew it. For one stupid minute, I had let my emotions get the best of me. I let Regulus, the kindhearted teenager one, come out of his shell for just a moment. And it only took a split second for him to throw away all my barriers and just agree to be friends with Annabelle. Just. Like. That. A snap of the fingers was all it took. I grit my teeth and hang my head, letting the hot water collide down my back like a waterfall. I push the palms of my hands further into the wall. I lean so hard against the wall with my arms, I can’t feel my wrists or fingers.

I want to move this wall. I need to pummel it to the ground and burn it with a torch. Destroy the marble monstrosity in front of me, with my own two hands. One day it will happen.

Was it worth it? The title of Annabelle calling me a ‘friend’. What it worth it, to throw away the wall I had purposely put up to somehow protect her and me? I made excuses for myself so that I could find a way for this to be okay. But as soon as I left that Potions room, it really hit me what I had done. Was her presence so intoxicating to me that I forgot to be Regulus Black, the cold recluse, in front of her? I cannot forget to be that kind of Regulus again. He is the only option for me at the moment. I can’t let my guard down in front of her. At least, not too much. She needs to see I’m human (what’s left of me), and that I can hang out with whom ever I please, it just needs to be done quietly. Friendship outside the so called Elite has to be executed out precisely so.

There’s this vein in my body, around my neck, that’s pulsating under my skin, telling me, that what I’m doing is more than wrong. It’s… doublesided.

How horrible is that!

There are two sides now. You know what happens to things when they become doublesided, don’t you? They have twice the chance to be annihilated into dust. Two sides, two parties, two worlds. I’m friends with her. I’m friends with Annabelle. I’m friends with Annabelle Nastusia. I feel like a young schoolboy whose made a new friend in toddler daycare. We’ve made an agreement. And it is to make an effort with each other, to get to know the other person better. But according to what she stated to me, she says that we can be friends the way I want to be friends. So under my rules, as long as I’m comfortable, I can be a friend of hers and she can be a friend of mine. This feels surreal. Almost too good to be true. Could she really want to get to know me that badly?

She said she thought I was this sort of quiet hermit before she met me, I wonder what she thinks of me now?

I slam my hand against the marble. I grunt loudly in my own disappointment. Such stupidity, what am I thinking? Who cares what she thinks of me? That is of no importance to me. What’s important to me is that I watch myself from now on. I need to be a certain away around her. I can’t let her know about me. I’ve paved my path to hell already. And all I can do now is be on both sides for the time being. Friends with Annabelle, and friends with the coven. To be frank… I feel a physical tug in my chest that’s warning me about this. Why? Let’s just say that something about this soon-to-be friendship is making me believe that the path to this hell is paved with blood and betrayal.

There are no good intentions. Just hidden agendas.




Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates, guys. But I won't be updating this story for a while :/ Life's become pretty hectic.

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Becoming The Bull: One Grave Mistake


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