To Hell - Bonus Prologue - Faye Pierce

To Hell – Bonus Prologue

Virgilio

15 years earlier

Talent show, my ass.

I glare at a schoolmate as he approaches me with a sheet and pen, and then backpaddles.

I slam my locker door with ferocity. I hate this school. I hate the noise right now. I hate the buzz. And I fucking hate that one person in the distance laughing so fucking loud like life is indeed a bed of roses.

Zoe Gray.

Just a few days after she asked me to be her model, and I’m still wondering why the fuck I ever agreed to that. For the money, no doubt, but her vanilla personality makes me wanna puke.

I sneer at her with narrowed eyes, standing at the entrance of a corridor, surrounded by a bunch of equally annoying-looking girls hankering for morning gossip—her group of friends.

The school bustling with life and students hurrying through the hallways, their laughter and chatter filling the air, do nothing to make my gaze falter.

If I’m going to be working with her, I need to make sure she understands some things. I start towards her, tsking at the walls adorned with colorful posters announcing the upcoming talent show.

The closer I get, the louder her stringy laughter rings out like blaring music. She’s the center of attention, her radiant smile and infectious joy drawing everyone in. She’s dressed in a vibrant outfit of blue jeans and a bright yellow sweater that matches her lively personality, every bit the life of the party.

My irritation skyrockets as I watch her laugh, her ocean-blue eyes glinting with a bubbly emotion that feels mocking.

Life is tough.

But how would she know this when she has fucking two-hundred-and-fifty dollars lying around to throw into something as stupid as a fashion competition?

“Zoe,” my tone is sharp, and her head snaps toward me. She keeps her smile unwavering even as she notices my grim expression. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I sneer at her friends, and they exchange curious glances. I don’t talk to any of them. I don’t talk to anyone. Perhaps this might be the reason they’re so curious.

“Sure, Virgilio.” Zoe shrugs and trails after me as I lead her to the side, a little away from the gnawing buzz.

I crowd her, but she doesn’t seem intimidated by my height or unhinged by the sourness of my expression.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” I snick. “Do you ever have a single serious thought in your head?”

She snorts, then does the annoying thing of laughing louder. “Why do you care?”.

I search her eyes and, very quickly, something somber flickers in her eyes.

“Because it’s infuriating,” I feel affronted. I’m struggling to get away from my father so I’m selling some of his drugs to make money, but she, like most of these kids, has been handed life on gold plates. I hate that she is rubbing it in. “You walk around here acting like everything is perfect. Like you don’t have a single problem in the world. It’s superficial and immature. You have no idea how tough life really is.”

Her eyes meet mine, her gaze unwavering. She holds still for a quick second, the air swirling around us, fuming with unspoken confrontations.

She chuckles, and her face melts back into her usual soft expression. “Thank you.” She smiles even brighter than before.

I blink at her words. “What?” Her response and reaction take me aback.

She shrugs, “What did you expect to hear?” She scoffs. “It was nice chatting with you. I should go now.” She sighs, then spins and heads back to her cluster of friends.

I tsk, folding my fists.

Perhaps I do not hate her.

Perhaps I’m jealous.