The Alpha's Mute

Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Niklaus Wade

     "Gnashton is so hot."

"Gnashton is a douche."

"Did you see Caspians face? Gnashton belongs in a mental institution."

"He's a freak show."

"Who?"

"Both of them."

Giggles after giggles, gossip after gossip, the school is a buzz. It's only the first day and word already spread around about what happened or at least what was passed around which was altered Information mixed up with over exaggeration of what actually happened. This is such typical high school theatrics.

People saw Caspians face that's bandaged up and people started talking and spreading lies with their mouths as if they really knew what happened but it wasn't like Caspian wasn't thriving off of the attention. He acted like he hated it but I knew better as did the two closest people he hung around with, Hunter and Archer, as well as Gnashton. 

Caspian didn't even have a bruise left, he's healed because what happened was a week ago and although he wasn't an Alpha nor an upscale werewolf, he's still much more than an omega like I am. 

I didn't want to point fingers at him and label him what's been running through my mind so I minded my own business. If this is what he wants then so be it, it's not like I cared. I'm not related to him, the only thing Caspian and I shared is a home and adoptive parents. That's it. 

My schedule, printed on white smooth paper is in my hands as I navigate through the large school in search of my first period class. The halls are filled with students chatting amongst each other, maybe if I spoke and actually had friends that could be me but people were usually fake...much like Caspian. Not to throw shade. 

Room 134. 

That's the room I entered that held no more than four other students but the bell didn't ring announcing it was time for first period to start so I didn't really expect many students to be inside to begin with. I didn't see name tags on the desks so I hoped the teacher didn't assign seats. Last year most of my teachers did and it was hell. 

Either I sat next to someone who reeked of weed and was just an airhead who constantly needed answers for everything or I sat next to someone who bullied me because I didn't speak to them and so I became a mute freak to them. 

I walk all the way to the back and sit in the last desk in the row closest to the door. The desk weren't separate which I hated because there was never enough elbow space and I always ended up near the edge of the black desk because I didn't like people touching me or coming near me. It would send me into a frenzy and I didn't want all these immature teenagers seeing my panic attacks and using that as even more ammunition to ostracize me. 

I lay the side of my head on the palm of my right hand and gaze at the teacher who is busy writing down the warm up for today. 

Now that I think about it, Gnashton came awfully close to me the day I had my little incident but I didn't freak out like I normally did. It was weird that he got that close to me and nearly touched me but my body didn't respond in terror like it should have. I was grateful that I didn't spazz out but it was just so confusing and I didn't know why but I didn't want to dwell on something I didn't have the answer to. 

The bell rings and students start flooding into the classroom. A lot of them are tall, many of them have on a tan that looked fake but I couldn't be too sure. Many of the students were female but then again AP Literature and the English subject was more of a woman's favorite subject, that's a statistic I didn't know and didn't care to know but Easton, a student from my class last year and Hazels brother, told the class that when he was having his babbling moment as he was presenting his final project. 

I stiffen as Weston, my infamous bully from freshman year enters the class. I swallow, trying to hide my face as my heart races while confusion swirls within my head. 

He moved. He moved so how—why was he here now? I'm so pathetic. Weston isn't even a werewolf and yet he tormented me as if I was gum beneath his shoe. Maybe this is why I'm such an easy target. 

My hair covers most of my face as I try to hide my face, anticipating what was going to happen if he recognized me but it's been three years. Maybe he won't be able to tell it's me, I have grown an inch since freshman year and my hair grew a bit, my eyes might be a bit more blue now. 

Peaking through my fingers, I suck in a breath as I make direct eye contact with him. He squints a bit before realization crosses his dark brown eyes. A smirk slips across his face and my breathing becomes erratic as I notice there's a chair available at my desk. 

No. 

This cannot be happening to me. What did I do to deserve this? Oh right, nothing. Life just loved knocking at my door and handing me a basket filled with struggle and no remorse. 

He starts to walk towards me, down the small space that separates other black desks from the others. He licks his lips, eyes shining with the torment that he's just awaiting to unleash onto me all year. He's closer now, only one desk away from the desk I'm sitting at. 

There's a smug look on his face and I watch in horror as he pulls the chair out that's beside my chair. He's preparing to sit down when someone else bumps into him, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. 

I instantly look up at the guy who knocked Weston off his feet and my eyes widen when I see that it's Gnashton. He plops down onto the chair and scoots up, he spares me a single glance then drops his head into his arms and closes his eyes. 

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Gnashton is in an AP class and is sitting next to me when Weston leaps up from where he fell and realizes the class is snickering while the teacher awaited for the students to get seated with irritation on her face. 

"Sir behind the last desk, take a seat. You're interrupting the start of class," she says in her nasally voice. 

I'm thankful for the teachers command because of the sheer amount of anger Weston displays as he glares at me as if he had something planned for me after class. He begrudgingly walks all the way to the front of the class and to another row beside the row I'm at. His desk is parallel to the teachers and far from where I'm sitting so I'm completely and utterly grateful for Gnashton though I would never tell him that. 

I look down at Gnashton who's eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted as he releases and intakes soft breaths. Looking at him this closely I realize how long his eyelashes are, like holy cow his eyelashes are long and they're so separated. Hazel would kill for that, she always gushes gently about how eyelashes like that are so delicate and well, I turn my head a bit, she's right. 

Piercings aren't that attractive but the silver ring piercing that pierces his right nostril is really something. Besides his nose piercing he also has both his ears pierced with silver rings that were tiny. 

Unconsciously, I lean over to look closer at him and I see a tattoo that crawls up his neck. It's black and I can't make out what it is but I'm curious, as a reflex I reach towards his neck then jolt and shake my head as I swallow and feel the heat on my cheeks.  

What the hell, Nik?

Never have I ever wanted to touch someone, ever. The thought of touching anyone or anyone touching me had my heart going into an overwhelming frenzy and my anxiety flaring up to monumental proportions. 

So why? Why am I like this? 

It's September tenth, time is ticking and my birthday is coming up. This must be birthday jitters. 

"Your first warmup of the year is for you each to stand up and introduce yourself and tell us something interesting about yourself," the teacher begins talking and I snap my attention to look at her, "for example, I am Mindy Fidel but you will address me as Ms. Fidel. An interesting fact about me is that I was raised by racist parents—"

The class begins to murmur and stir. The black, Asian, Middle Eastern, and Hispanic students give her an incredulous look as they begin to form friendships off of their already shared dislike of Ms.Fidel. I roll my eyes, out of all interesting facts, why say that your parents were racist? This is an example of saying too much. 

"But!" She cuts off everyone's chatter off with her loud interruption, "I have two black friends so I'm not racist myself."

My jaw drops. Did she really just—she really did that. This is another example of digging yourself into an even deeper hole. 

The students begin to get hysterical as they make fun of her and start joking about her physical appearance and other things much unrelated to the little we know about this woman. All I know is that Ms. Fidel will definitely have difficulty controlling this class. 

A kid raises their hand.

Ms. Fidel coughs before nodding towards the student.

"Have you ever said the N word?" The kid asks her.

She blinks and it looks like she's debating whether or not to answer the question. I play with my fingers and hope she shuts her lips and doesn't answer but she does and my hopes are shattered as she loses respect from everyone in this room when she says:

"I mean, well, yes. My black friends gave me a pass so that means I can. It's not a big deal."

The class gets louder in their conversations and I overhear a beautifully dark skinned girl with her hair pulled up in a puffy bun say, "if I hear this Hillary Clinton look alike say n**** I'm transferring out of this damn class." 

I would've laughed if I was able to and if I was sure she wouldn't have been able to tell that I heard her. 

"Quiet down now," she tries to get everyone to stop talking but it's hard. 

It takes maybe ten minutes before the class dies down in conversation but even now there is still hushed murmurs leftover. 

"We will start from the row near the door and work down and repeat row by row for your introductions. Make sure you stand and speak loudly, I have hearing problems," Ms. Fidel announces and looks at the first person sat at the desk of two. 

The person begins then the second person at the desk goes and it continues like that until the person sat at the desk in front of me stands to give their introductions. 

My hands are sweaty, my nerves pricking my skin and creating goosebumps along the skin of my arms. Time ticks and I wish for class to end but my wishes aren't about to be answered as the second person sitting at the desk in front of me stands and quickly gives their introductions. When they're done they sit and I watch everyone's eyes shift to look at me and my heart beats quickly. 

I shake as I stand up with my fingers on my left hand playing nervously with the dead skin that's flaking off the thumb of my right hand. I peel it off as a nervous tick and hiss quietly as I draw blood and begin to bleed but I wasn't fazed because I did this often which was horrible but it was better than my old habit of chewing off my fingernails until I bled. The sight of my own blood made me so lightheaded that I was unable to look at the blood the dripped down my thumb even now. 

People begin to whisper as I stand but didn't say anything. I didn't know what to do except pull out my notebook with shaking hands but I saw some of the blood drip onto the pages I flipped over and I inhaled a sharp breath while stumbling backwards into my steel blue chair. I couldn't look at my journal, I—

"Just skip him, he's just a mute freak Ms. Fidel."

I know that voice. That's Weston. He remembers me, he remembers everything and just hearing him call me what he used to—a mute freak—made memories of freshman year flashback vividly. 

I couldn't relive that, I couldn't go back to that, I can't. I can't, I can't. 

There's a slam and I shake out of my in-head mantra. 

My eyes widen at what I see. 

Weston's head is slammed against the desk he once sat at and Gnashton is the culprit. Gnashton slips his fingers into Weston's brunette tresses and I see how he roughly pulls against the strands with enough force to lift Weston's head as the boy cries out in pain. Then Gnashton's lips twitch and he slams his head forcefully back onto the desk.

He does this once, twice, six times and I see the consciousness leave Weston's eyes. 

The class is screaming in panic while some have pulled out their phones and are recording the whole thing. Ms. Fidel is holding the school phone and I see her frantically talking to someone but I can only vaguely make out that she's contacting the main office security. 

I rush over to Gnashton who's eyes flash into a look I've never seen before but the darkness scares me and it takes everything in me not to stumble back like a wuss. Trembling with courage I didn't know I had, I grip his shirt tightly and tug his shirt hoping for some kind of response that wasn't him pummeling me into the ground and leaving me for death. 

Gnashton slips his fingers out of Weston's hair with his brown hair strands still sticking onto Gnashtons large hands. He looks at me, his dark eyes cause my hands to shake but my hand never leaves his shirt as I tug him away from Weston. I didn't expect him to budge but he does and I flinch as Weston's body slips off the desk and falls lifelessly to the floor. His body turns and I see a glimpse of the blood that drips down his neck from his head and I feel the overwhelming need to throw up. 

Gnashton steps in front of me, blocking my view of Weston and I shakily lift my head up to look into Gnashtons eyes that were no longer black but a dull, emotionless green and my fingers that weakly held his shirt slip off and almost weightlessly sling back to my side. 

Three security guards all burst through the door and each try to take hold of Gnashton but he throws them all off him as if they weighed nothing and he walks out of the room. 

The only question I had was, 'why.' 

But that question would never be answered...

Would it?