Deviant Academy

The Refugee Roommate

Payton’s POV

I’ve never really liked Seth Oliver. He’s a decent teacher, and a skilled Telekinetic, but there’s something about him that’s always seemed… off to me.

I’m sensing it more than ever from the way he’s looking at Harley now.

Given that I’m a Psychic, by the way, I tend to be right about these things.

“You don’t have to go to class tomorrow,” he’s telling her. I can’t quite tell where his eyes are looking, but it’s not at her eyes. Her lips, maybe? She’s got a big, old gash in them—wonder what that’s from. “You can explore the town, and the grounds. Get your bearings.”

We’re in my bedroom—which, if you ask me, is a place my teacher shouldn’t be. I’m seated on my bed, but Harley and Seth are still standing. She’s pressed up against the back wall, and he’s, well… a bit uncomfortably close to her.

“I’m eighteen, you know,” she says to him. “I shouldn’t ever have to go to class.”

“The Academy goes well past high school in our curriculum. We have students here who are twenty-one, twenty-two—even twenty-three. We don’t kick anyone out. Once you’ve learned all you can learn from us, you’re invited to stay as a teacher, if you so choose.”

She grimaces. “Not likely.”

He chuckles. It sends shivers down my spine. “Right. Well, in any case.” He pulls something out of his back pocket—a phone. “Take this. My number’s programmed into it. Call me if you need anything—anything at all.”

She’s gotta be picking up on the creeper vibes, right? I’m not getting much of a read on her, which makes sense, since she, too, has psychic abilities. We know how to keep each other out.

“Thanks,” she says shortly, taking the phone from Seth.

“Of course. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you, and again in the evening.” He turns to me as if having forgotten that I was even here. “Payton, why don’t you take the day off tomorrow? Help Harley get the lay of the land around here.”

I don’t particularly want to take the day off tomorrow, but I’ll say whatever it takes to get him out of here at this point. “Sure, Seth. Sounds good.”

He nods, turning back to Harley and reaching out to give her a weird squeeze on the shoulder before leaving.

I don’t miss the flinch this causes her, and neither does he.

When he’s finally gone, I spit it out: “How creepy was that?”

She smiles weakly. She doesn’t look particularly bothered by it. “That’s how most men are around me. I’m not a real person to them—just a sexualized embodiment of their fantasies.”

I blink, jarred by her honesty. Not exactly what I was expecting. “Wow,” I manage. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs, taking a seat on the bed and glancing around. “Nice room.”

I glance around, too, and this time it’s my turn to shrug. I guess any room would look nice to someone who’s been on the run for years, but it’s pretty boring, as far as rooms go. “Thanks. They’re not all like that, you know. The teachers.”

She looks as disinterested as ever. “Do you know where I can find clothes around here? I didn’t exactly pack any bags.”

“Oh—you can borrow mine for now.” I gesture to the wardrobe behind me. “When I show you around tomorrow, we can stop by the store.”

“Thanks.” She frowns. “I don’t have any money.”

“There’s a card. For the, er… refugees. They’ll get you set up with one soon, I’m sure. In the meantime, I can lend you some.”

She doesn’t seem to like much of what I just said. “Refugees?”

“Well… you know. The people who narrowly escaped incarceration in America. That’s technically what you are, isn’t it?”

But she seems to like that even less, and she rises from the bed without another word, heading for the shower.

- - - - -

We don’t talk much the rest of the night. I loan her a set of pajamas when she gets out of the shower, and she stays up later than me, curling up near the window and silently staring out it until long after I’ve fallen asleep.

When I wake up, she’s sound asleep.

She continues sleeping for the next two hours—until she’s startled awake by a rapping at the door.

“You want a minute to get dressed?” I ask her, glancing backwards at her as I make for the door. The PJ’s she borrowed from me are sensible enough—a baggy Ramones t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts—but her rather significant-sized boobs are very clearly bra-less, and I want to give her the option of alleviating that problem.

She shrugs, though—her staple move, I’m learning—as she sits up in bed. “It’s fine.”

I nod, reaching for the door and opening it.

The first thing I notice about Seth is that he’s even better groomed than usual—a fresh, clean shave, product in his hair, and a far-too-potent cologne to boot.

The second is that he’s horny as f**k—and clearly not for me.

For the record, the guy doesn’t actually have a boner, or anything. I’m just that good of an Empath.

“Harley,” he greets when I open the door, looking straight back at her and not acknowledging my existence. “How are you feeling?”

She smiles politely, making no effort to get out of bed. “Fine. Tired.”

“I’m sure you are.” Creep. Creep. “Well, I brought your Refugee Card, and a little iced coffee to help you wake up. You can use the card to get some new clothes today.” He eyes my baggy t-shirt and adds, “Maybe some that fit you better.”

Creep!

“Thanks,” Harley says shortly, stepping out of bed to accept the coffee and card. His eyes go straight to her bra-less t**s, but she doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Anytime.” He flashes a grin at her. “I’ll see you tonight. Have fun today.”

And he leaves without so much as a glance in my direction.

I glance at her, giving her an invitation to speak freely, but she says nothing, turning instead to get dressed.

I expect her to get dressed in the bathroom, but she doesn’t. Instead, she goes straight for my dresser, pulls out a pair of jeans and a tank top, and changes right there in front of me.

I can’t hide my sharp intake of breath when she removes her shirt. It’s not her breasts I’m shocked by—they’re about as annoyingly round and perky as I predicted—but the giant, blackened bruises covering her stomach and rib cage.

“Jesus,” I can’t help but say. “How did that happen?”

She glances down at her stomach as if having forgotten entirely about the bruises, then shrugs. “Altercation with the cops,” she says shortly, and finishes changing. “You ready?”

I’ve been dressed for several hours, just waiting for her to get up, so I nod. “Yeah—sure. Let’s start with breakfast.”