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6% Lycan My Crush / Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Lycanthrophobes

Chương 3: Chapter 3: Lycanthrophobes

I know I have to stop mentally spinning after seeing Felix working in the café. I have to think about something – anything – else.

I go up and order a cup of coffee called tres leches cinnamon dolce from the barista. I’m impressed when she says that she is actually the one who came up with the recipe for the drink I just ordered. It takes her every bit of two seconds after I say my name for her to realize who I am.

I get the same response as I usually do, a mild mental freak out followed by requests for either an autograph or a selfie for social media with permission to tag me. I agree to the selfie, but I tell her I can’t endorse the coffee shop. We pose for the picture, and it is on social media right as my coffee finishes perking.

The barista, Selene, makes me promise to leave a review and tell her what I think about it before I leave the café. I almost burn my tongue it is so hot, but I can tell that it is absolutely wonderful and just the thing I need to keep me focused. I take the cup over to my spot before delving into my reading for the day.

The first few assignments are simple readings from English literature passages and some introduction passages about the university and the different disciplines within the school. A lot of it is common sense. Regardless, I take notes and submit my assignments before moving on to the next assignment.

The next assignment is to read about modern events in the news. It is supposed to be some kind of engaging activity where my classmates and I will have something in common to talk about to break the ice. Naturally, I pull out my tablet and type “news,” tapping on the first link that pops up.

I regret this decision immediately. The first article I see is about a Lycan attack downtown in the subway station in New York City. The title reads, “Lycan attack – Four dead and seven in critical condition.” I click on the article and read it.

A Lycan was in the subway and suddenly, quote “for no reason,” changed and started rampaging. He clawed his way through four people who were standing nearby. “It was obvious he lost his mind,” said one bystander. Yeah. That is what they are. A bystander – someone who sees something and does nothing to help.

I feel frustration and anger.

I know exactly what bystander means, and I know the media probably swayed the story to make the Lycan more callous than he was. I just want to know if these eleven people were all innocent or if they provoked the Lycan in some way or another. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Lycans are often ostracized, being left out or bullied for who and what they are. It’s often overlooked because the argument, “Lycans need to take their medication and practice controlling themselves,” comes up. Maybe that part is true. I’ve never had to suppress that kind of anger. I’ve never had to stop myself from changing, shifting into a werewolf where my mind is ripped from me.

Still, I wonder if the Lycan was provoked and if that was why he lost control.

I can’t look at this anymore. I turn off my tablet and decide to focus on something else. I do a quick time check and see I still have about forty minutes before I need to be in my next class. Perfect. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here for so long.

There’s time for probably one more assignment before I need to get going.

Rummaging through my backpack, I pull out my folder and flip it open. Papers threaten to fly out of it, but I catch them in time and push them back into place. Everything is organized into neat little sections. I almost feel like I’m back in elementary school as I look at the color coated pieces of paper.

Still, how I feel won’t get the packet read by the next class. There are a dozen sections about student loans, degree programs, good conduct, and a few other things about the university.

I read through the section about degree maps and look at my class list. Everything is laid out perfectly in neat little columns on the almost offensive shade of lime green paper. I don’t know why, but I almost feel sad for a moment. I see the class list from now until the end of my college career. It makes me feel like my whole life is planned out for me.

The sound of harsh clattering on the ground and breaking glass makes me jump out of my skin. Heart racing, I look around the café to see where the noise came from. There are chipped and broken mugs and plates still spinning on the ground where they landed.

My eyes shift up from the broken glass to the figure who is on all fours on the ground twenty-five feet or so away from me. My heart clenches in my chest.

Felix.

At first glance, I almost want to think he tripped on the edge of a table while carrying a heavy tray of glassware. He managed to keep himself from face planting on the ground, but the tray he was carrying moments before scattered and broke almost every dish that was on it.

It is the snickering I hear, however, that immediately throws that theory out of the window.

Across the room sitting at one of the tables is a group of four male students. They’re broader and more muscular than Felix. Honestly, they look like a bunch of cliché jocks from how they hold themselves to how they snicker and lean toward one another complementing how they “got him good.”

I feel my skin burn and, involuntarily, I feel my jaw clench. I grind my teeth just for a moment before I hear my mother’s scolding tone in the back of my head that it’ll ruin my teeth.

Felix, obviously frustrated, pushes himself up onto his knees and gives the four students a dirty look before leaning back onto all fours to pick up the larger pieces of shattered glass.

“Look at that. A pup who can clean after itself,” sniggers one of the boys. The others join in with their obnoxious nasally laughs. I see Felix’s body tense, but he says nothing. He just takes it.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Everything in me flips and churns, making me feel like I want to throw up. No doubt those guys are Lycanthrophobes – people who dislike and/or have a prejudice against Lycans.

Sadly, there are a lot of Lycanthrophobes out there in the world. Even though Lycanthropy can’t be spread, as far as the science has shown us, it is the simple fact that they’re different that causes this hostility.

The boys must have known Felix from before and knew he was a Lycan. Why else would they make that comment? I dig my nails into my skin as I hear them pipe up again.

“Oi,” says one of the other guys before he starts whistling as if he were trying to get the attention of a puppy. “Missed a spot over here.” I see Felix take a breath before nodding.

“Thanks,” he mutters, that smooth and velvety voice with just the slightest twang of a country accent sounds tired and broken.

My heart flutters and aches. I have half a mind to go over and say something just as my alarm to go to class starts buzzing. I almost ignore it when I once again remember my mother’s stern words.

By being a public figure, everything I do is a statement. If I endorse a product, it could influence others to buy the same thing without receiving any monetary compensation. With a single message on Shine or my other social media platforms, I can make official statements that could help or hinder my career.

Part of me doesn’t care about any of that. Something wrong is happening in front of me and I feel compelled to do something.

The other part knows my mother and other advisors would give me an earful by making a scene without consulting them first.

I grind my teeth and watch Felix stand with the tray of broken glass. His pale blue eyes look so sad, even at this distance.

Curses! I hurry and pack my things before storming out of the café.

I’m such a hypocrite. Here I am hating bystanders and here I am being one.

I need to do something about this, but what?


next chapter

Chương 4: Chapter 4: Perform

“Alright, class. Today, we are going over the elements of performance. What do you need when you are performing?” asks my professor. He stands at the front of the room, bow tie and vest making him look like someone straight out of the 1920s in America. In all reality, he is an excellent base player in the orchestra here at the university.

I hear some of the other students’ comments and answers to his questions, but I’m too busy scrolling on the margins of my notebook where I keep all of my experimental lyrics.

Dozens of lines are crossed out and, on one side, I scrolled Felix’s name in every handwriting style I know. Cursive. Bionic. All capital letters. All lower case letters. Crazy to think I saw him only four days ago.

Another lyric set comes to me, and I scribble it as I hear my professor ask the class another question.

~Placed on a pedestal because I am forgettable. How much of me do you really see? Real eyes realize real lies. It’s time I told the truth; I’ve fallen for you. The others don’t see what you mean to me. ~

“So, with all of that being said, it’s time for your first practical.”

My professor’s words eke through my swirling thoughts and bring me from my creative place in my mind back to the classroom. The class collectively shifts while some of the obvious upperclassmen moan. They know what this means, as do I.

A real performance.

According to our syllabus, we are supposed to go out five or six times throughout the semester and perform spontaneously in different parts of campus. It is supposed to help us get over our nerves and potential stage fright.

This part makes me smile a little. My mother managed to get that out of me years ago. I glance to my left and see some of my classmates looking nervous. We are dismissed and I waste no time in grabbing my bass guitar from my music locker as well as the portable amplifier.

I already have the perfect spot in mind for a performance to get over stage fright. I don’t bother putting my headphones in. It will only distract me from the task at hand, which is picking a song to perform.

I could choose one of my favorites. It is just for a class after all. I probably wouldn’t be pegged for copyright since it is a public performance and since I would just be covering the song. On the other hand, I could choose one of my own, but I almost think that is too self-serving. It would also cause a stir on-campus.

I decide to play one of my own. It has a special meaning after all.

There. I see the spot I want to perform at just ahead. It’s a beautiful place under a white oak tree. The spot is by the sidewalk just a little off to the side which is close enough to the main drag by the library and the outdoor study sessions to be noticed but not cause a ruckus.

I start my setup, tuning my bass before plugging it into the amplifier. I listen hard to the notes, making sure it’s in perfect tune before turning up the volume.

I can practically hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head saying I need to make some kind of shoutout or post about performing out in public. At the very least, I need to include this in my vlog.

The camera comes out of my bag, and I press the little red button to start recording.

“First class of the day just ended, and we have been sent out into the wild to perform. Let’s see how this goes, yeah?” I make sure I extend my arm as far as I can to show off my amplifier and my iconic base, a sleek little midnight blue number that is a bit beat up and nothing too special, but it was still my first and, therefore, sentimental.

I set the camera up on the stand that is affixed to the head of the base. I exhale, preparing my mind for the performance. For some reason, my fingers always get cold right before and during a performance. I feel that now right as I scrape my dulled pick along the ridges of the thick, metallic strings beneath my fingers.

I start with a simple riff. Just a couple of simple rhythms to get myself in the mental zone of music. Even through the thick callouses on my fingers, I can naturally feel where my fingers need to press into the fret. I mix picking with slapping the strings, letting my fingers find a couple of patterns I was working on the other night.

It takes less than a minute for people to start noticing me. I see those black lenses come out like a thousand eyes staring at me with each camera. They’re smiling. Every person who starts to walk toward me while listening to me jamming away starts whispering and cheering.

There it is again. Another lyric.

~Lidless eyes smile and pry. Denying me fear and the right to cry. ~

Other students start pushing forward so they can take a selfie in front of me. I smile as much as I can before my cheeks start to hurt. I keep smiling though. It does make me happy to see so many people coming out to support me. Still, do they remember that I’m human too?

Instinctually, I start singing one of my songs, fingers falling into a natural rhythm.

“Starting from the beginning. Out there you think I’m winning. Sing it with me!” I say, getting the crowd to participate and say, “Ha ha, fools.”

I lean into the base and toss my hair back and forth. Now the crowd starts jumping, preparing to sing along with me. I make sure to aim the camera toward the crowd as I look into the lidless, unblinking black lens of an eye and wink.

I keep singing. “Wouldn’t you like to know, the mental places I go? I used to see my face at the only place where I could be more than me.”

The crowd sings with me, jumping with glee and headbanging with the rhythm of my fingers against the metallic strings. The energy around me surges as everyone sings the chorus with me.

“I wanna be you. I wanna be me. I wanna be the cute guy across the street. I wanna be blue. I wanna be green. I wanna be the sweet girl next to me. I wanna shout from the rooftops and through every gosh darn door – I wanna be yours.”

I start dancing with my base as I see the crowd has now doubled in size. I lean into the base, letting the vibration of the amplifier reverberate in my chest. In that fraction of a moment, I open my eyes and almost fumble the notes as I make direct eye contact with none other than Felix MacKay who is standing in the crowd.

I’m instantly absorbed in his pale blue eyes that remind me of shards of ice. Do I look away? I can’t stop playing. But what if I did stop playing my base and didn’t finish the song? What would happen?

I sing the second verse without even knowing it before going into the bridge, which is a bit of a call and response.

“I let you see the happy part of me – front door, back door, what’s it all for? Would it be terrible to show that I’m breakable – to let it all go?”

I go into the chorus again, stopping from my base playing. Someone in the crowd starts clapping as I sing the chorus acappella. Was that Felix who started clapping? I look back through the crowd and see him there, eyes locked on me.

Oh gosh. Does he recognize me? Will I get a chance to thank him for coming? What was that line I was going to use? Hello, my name is… Wait. What is my name? Something about goggles?

I finish my song and lock eyes with Felix once again, but my gaze is quickly broken by other students crowding around me. No. Wait. Come back!

I feel a heavy pang in my chest as I want nothing more than to run to Felix and use that line I have been practicing for way too long. My heart physically hurts not because of the jitters or nervousness built up from the performance. I was able to get rid of most of those feelings years ago. The pounding in my chest is a hollow reminder that, once again, I missed my chance.

I curse myself because it feels like my chance to talk to him is slipping further and further away. He is right here on campus, and I don’t have the guts to go and talk to him.

Something needs to change. I need to change. I’m not going to be a bystander anymore. I need to treat this like a performance. I’ve talked to thousands of people. What’s one more?


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