Wasteofspace

No smut in this chapter. This is the setup.

The Lux Academy only wants to deprive you of one thing: Your individuality. 

Why do you think they make everyone wear boring brown and plaid uniforms? No makeup, no long fair for boys, no short skirts. Oh, lord, protect their souls as they fight their mighty crusade. They have to protect our eyes from the evils of thighs.

Oh, you’re gay? Why don’t you burn in hell? Oh, you don’t want to pray? Go rest with maggots. The nuns and priests in my school haven’t said it, but I know they think those different must be thrown to a prye. How accepting and loving they are. Their God must be like that too.

If it wasn’t clear, I hate this shitty school. 

Once I saw two siblings hugging each other and a nun was scandalized. “Leave room for the holy spirit!” She said.

They were siblings. Apparently, any kind of affection between the opposite sex is downright sinful. Do they even love their dads and brothers? Or is that a foreign concept to their brainwashed reality?

Those stupid rules make it extremely difficult for me. I can’t approach Layla casually.  

“How long are you going to keep staring at her?” Winston whispers, eyes straight to the whiteboard.

Never. Layla is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Downright gorgeous. If someone told me she was a goddess I would believe it without questioning. However, I can’t answer like that.

“Shut up, dude,” I say. As I’ve been caught staring, keeping it up would alert Winston. 

Don’t get me wrong, I would take a bullet for that guy. However, I can’t shake the feeling that he is hiding something. His always looking behind his back and paying attention to what other people do. I can’t help thinking that he’s a snitch, helping the Academy by making sure we are “not led astray”. Hypothetically, if he were doing it, I wouldn’t despise him. Winston needs all the money he can get. Hypothetically, you gotta respect the grind, especially if the grind is what’s allowing you to get an education. If you ignore all the drilling and dull lessons about the Light God, you might actually learn something helpful.

It’s not the case today. The nun is talking about how said God is the reason we are alive and haven’t fallen to the temptations of sin. 

 From the corner of my eye, I catch Layla staring at me. I pretend I don’t notice, keep my face stern. Inside, however, I’m screaming with joy. For her, I would fall into temptation. Heaven is no place for me if Layla says she doesn’t want to go there.

The bell rings and I not a word the nun said stuck with me. Guess how has a crippling obsession with grades so he will have to study the material later? At least it provides me with an excuse to approach Layla without being suspicious.

“Can I borrow your notes?” I ask.

Layla nods. She doesn’t talk much, which is a shame. Her voice is a bit deep but melodious. I think she has a complex about it. That’s stupid—every part of her is perfect. No matter what anyone has told her in the past. 

That was the last class. After school, when her deskmate leaves, Layla stays doing her homework. Seeing my chance, I sit next to her, open my notebook, and start copying her notes. 

Layla doesn’t seem bothered by my presence. I am, however, distracted by hers. I don’t know what the hell the Academy was thinking when deciding the seats but they are bolted to the floor and very, let me say it again, very close to each other. 

Her leg is against mine. I can feel the warmth of her skin pressed against me. She writes in her notebook and her shoulder brushes my arm. I am a copying machine. I copy and copy but have no idea what I’m writing. How can I concentrate when Layla smells like her garden—fresh and with a tinge of lavender. 

I look at her askance. Our eyes meet and she blushes. I caught her; she’s caught me too. I feel my cheeks burning. She averts her gaze and I find it a shame. Her eyes are a golden amber, liquid gold, and her startled expression was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

We continue our routine—her doing homework, me copying her notes—until a boring priest, the one with a bald spot in the middle of his he all students hate, yells at us for not being in the library if we are studying. 

Layla says something has come up and leaves before I can return her notebook. When I try to run behind her the priest stops me and gives me a sermon: bla, bla, bla, rules, bla, bla, god, bla.

I keep my head down and apologize. That is the best part of being a good student, when you look like you are regretful of your actions, you are let off the hook. If I was a delinquent would I have gotten away with just a warning? Of course not. I would have to be a volunteer for many masses. They are extremely boring, the architecture is the only interesting thing about the school church.

I finish copying the notes at lighting velocity. I'm faster when I'm not distracted by how her smooth brown hair tickled my cheeks. 

I have to return her notebook. If it were any other day of the week, I would return it tomorrow, but today's a Friday. Next week we have a test. If I become the reason Layla fails a test I wouldn't forgive myself. The teachers' room is on the third floor.

The stairs that most students consider neverending are just a fraction of time as I think of Layla.  When I enter the office, all nuns and priests turn to look at me with scowling expressions.  When they realize it's just me, they smile and return to their jobs. Finding Mrs. White, our homeroom teacher and the nun that taught my last class is easy. She's the tallest of the nuns, her height making her stick out like a sore thumb. There are rumors going around that she's a descendant of giants, the Light God servants.

"How can I help you, Mike?"

I explain the situation and ask what's Layla's address. 

"I can't tell you her address," she says, "that's against the school policy. But as she isn't in her house, I'll tell you where she is. That wonderful and pious girl is praying at the cemetery, wishing for the people there to rest and avoiding the wake up as undead. No one ever wants to do so at our cemetery, her bravery and kindness will be rewarded by the Light God. How I wished all students were like you two.  Keep up the good work and you'll go far in the church."

"Thank you, Mrs. White," I say. 

The cemetery of Slein, our town, is a deserted place. There are few people guarding it: A paladin at the entrance and the undertaker that never moves out of a specific area. The trees are less than the tombstones,  the howling wind sounds like the wails of ghosts. 

"What are you here for?" The paladin asks.

"I want to pray for the death," I say, hiding the notebook behind my back. They won't let me in if I say I'm looking for Layla. 

The paladin smiles, "Lux Academy is doing a splendorous job." He opens the cemetery doors. "When you see the angel's statue turn left. There's already someone else on the right. It's better if more of the dead hear prayers. Thank you, kind student."

All is silent but the sound of my breathing and the crunches of the leaves as I step on them. The angel's statue is impossible to miss. It is holding a spear and its wings span five feet, each pointing towards a direction.  Naturally, I turn right.

My skin breaks into goosebumps. The cold seeps down my bones. Did Layla bring a coat? I follow the stone path for ten minutes but I don't find her. Where could she be?  

The muffled moans of ghosts make me shiver. I start praying, my body shining with a dim golden light. My spell doesn't do anything, the sounds persist. I run towards the sound, a million thoughts running in my head. Where is Layla? Is she okay? I'm not the most powerful when fighting the undead but I'll protect Layla to the best of my ability. 

Everywhere I go, I'm surrounded by tombstones. One after another. Never-ending. As the sound becomes clearer, I hide behind one. When I peek, covered by the tombstone, I expect to see some kind of undead. I couldn't be further off the mark. There's no ghost, no ghoul nor a Dullahan. There's no undead.

However, Layla is there.