The girl I know is sweetheart

Prologue

Dear Diary, I don't know what the devil looks like... To be honest I think nobody does.

One time, my Sunday school teacher had shown us pictures and blatantly told us the grotesque figure with sharp teeth, claws, and hideous pitch eyes were the devil.

It'd made sense to me and later that day in school, (that is the public school I attended before I got a scholarship to Evans high school, a private school for the elites and a hell for the not so lucky) I'd called Bethany, the weird brunette who had been my lab partner for two years and have an endless supply of mucus on her nose, a devil. She'd cried and cried, so much so that guilt had clenched my soul in a vicelike grip even as I notice the hate for me that dug deep into hers.

Well, let's just say that was the last year she was my lab partner. That had prompted my earlier rooted belief that okay maybe the devil was indeed hideous if just the mere mention of his name had invoked such strong emotions.

Another lesson I learned about the devil was a total discrepancy. I can't remember where I have come across this particular slice of knowledge.

Maybe it was Belle's uncle who wears a white robe that made the "satan" in me get thrilled at the thought of dipping my hand into scarlet paint and ruining his white.

Of course, that was a thought I never shared but I was eager to see if his tainted garment would make his so very high shoulders normal like the rest of us.

He was a priest, I think that was what I've heard few of the women call him, so it made a great deal of sense if he was the one that told us the devil was Angel Lucifer, the morning star and so beautiful with a glorious voice that made Heaven swell.

Another lesson had taught that the devil was anything that tempts, I guess Brittany the blonde with fake extensions, well, was one since she had posted that unflattering picture of me in the sixth grade on Instagram and had tagged me in it!

The devil was not all that when he met me, He was Law Tyler, the sullen-looking boy with stormy grey eyes that always kept to himself but somehow was at the popular's table. Everybody wanted to figure him out, the girls too and so they'd come in their numbers, clinging and falling but he'd not even spared them a glance.

He was the Devil and I don't mean figuratively, I mean Satan, Lucius, Morning Star.

Whatever you call him is in Senior year with me, Row 5, Seat 17.

Two seats away from me sat the devil with grey eyes that turn pitch black when no one was looking.

Chapter 001|The reason why the word monster was created

~Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near.

~Wanna feel alive, outside I can't face my fear.

Billie Eilish - Lovely

I remember the day I had been given a scholarship to Evans high school, almost like it was yesterday. How elated mom had been and how overjoyed everyone in my public school had felt.

Rob my older brother, who is now in jail, had ruffled my hair and for once had given me a little smile. He didn't get into an argument with Mom that night and the night after that, Because he avoided the pub.

I knew why he had done it, it was the same reason why mom had used up a huge chunk of her saving to buy me a beautiful backpack and a new pair of sandals. We had chicken wings for dinner, later that day too and Mom hadn't said a word even when Rob had opened a bottle of beer, it was to mark my success.

I was lucky, everyone had muttered and I had believed them. It was hard not to when you see the envious, wistful look on their faces.

Going to Evans high school: A school for the rich, powerful and famous was a big deal. It was not every day, that a child from a ghetto-like neighbourhood like mine gets offered that kind of an opportunity.

Alas, how wrong we had all been. Because what everyone thought was the best thing that had happened to me brought a trail of other horrid happenings that became normalcy in my fucked up life until I met Him...

I woke up with a start and even without peering at the alarm clock that I had forgotten to change its battery the following day, I knew why it had not rung.

Consequently, I was late. Damn late.

My room was one in three places of our classroom at Evans high school, which had high ceilings and you could hear giggling behind while girls talked about their weekend escapades which involved Paris and an insanely amount of money used to buy something as petty as a purse or lipstick while I spend my time mentally calculating just how much problem that money spent on such trivial nuisances would have solved a problem or two at home.