Read, comment, vote, love me, and make babies with the Doctor. The picture to the side of of Genevieve. Also, of you were wondering, Genevieve is pronounced as "Jen-na-veeve" It's a name of a character on the CW show Originals and I just thought it was really cute so I used it :)

I sat on the hard vinyl chair, waiting for the detention teacher to show. Her name was Miss White and she should not be a teacher because let me tell you...Miss White did not give a single damn about a single thing. I doubted she even knew what was happening half the time in detention. All Miss White did was sit in her desk and read a book. Her obliviousness was useful at times though.

I had come 5 minutes early. I had never been to detention, but from what I heard around school, it wasn't at all hyped up like in the movies. Detention was for one hour after school. We were allowed to do homework, and then go home after time was up. Miss White was just there to make sure no one died, which I doubted would happen.

I looked around the classroom. It took place in the 11th grade animal biology wing. The desks were long with black counter tops. Jars lined the top of the cabinets. The specimens inside the glass jars were filled with some kind of yellow, distilled liquid. The strange, mutilated worms, hollow exoskeletons, and unborn fetuses gave me the creeps. I looked closer, noticing layers of dust on the jars, as if no one had ever bothered to clean up there. A shiver ran down my spine. Now, more than anything, I just wanted to go home.

Strangely enough, there were no other students in the classroom with me. It was as if everyone decided to be exceptionally good for today so they wouldn't be stuck in here. I brought out a book from my bag, still too bothered to read. I felt like someone was staring at me.

The door opened. I looked up, expecting to see Miss White come into the classroom. However, it was none other than Scar himself.

I watched in confusion as he sauntered in with his limp. He was holding a lighter in his hand. For some unknown reason, Scar decided to take the seat right next to mine even though the whole dang classroom was empty. It angered me that he would do something like that just to annoy me, but I kept my mouth shut. Miss White still hadn't shown up.

Some few minutes passed in silence. I kept glancing at the clock, but time seemed to slow down. Seconds felt like hours to me. I forced myself to read the book, but my eyes barely skimmed the pages.

While I was doing this, Scar had apparently decided that sitting next to me wasn't enough to make me mad. Oh no, of course it wasn't, not to him. Because you see, he was now clicking his lighter up and down. A continuous skit of the fire rising out of the small hole and dying instantly. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

I grabbed the book harder in my hands, trying to tell myself to just ignore him. But it was getting harder and harder for me to do so. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

Finally, I lost it.

"Oh my God, can you stop?!" I yelled, jumping up. Scar looked up at me, a hint of impish amusement dancing in his dark eyes. He clicked the lighter, letting the small flame rise, and then blew it out slowly, just to annoy me further. Scar never broke eye contact with me, a mocking torture. I wanted to take his lip ring and stab him in the eye with it. He knew what he was doing, and he loved seeing me get agitated.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down but I was seeing red. Everything Scar did, the littlest thing, somehow pissed me off to no end. 

"Why?" his voice was low and sexy, distracting me for half a tick with his musical tone. "Does it bother you, kitten?"

Click.

"Yes!" 

"Good."

I decided to take matters into my own hands. The lighter was in his palm. I reached over and plucked it out of his large hand before he had a chance to stop me. Before I could throw it somewhere, I felt his warm fingers grab my wrist, preventing me from doing so. I gasped, feeling heat go through my arm from his simple touch.

"Let me go, you butthole!" I yelped, trying to pry his death-like grip off me.

"Genevieve." his tone held the lace of a warning. I ignored the pleasant butterflies that rose in my stomach from hearing my name roll off his tongue. "Don't start anything you can't finish. Kitten."

"I am not starting anything. You're-"

"Fuck, don't start talking again." he muttered. "You can't seem to stop once you start...learn how to control that pretty mouth of yours. Let go of my lighter. I'll hand it to you myself, crazy neighbor.''

I dropped his lighter out from my hands, and he released my wrist. Quickly, I moved back, rubbing my sore skin. His grip was incredibly tight. Scar gave me a blunt look, and then threw the lighter at me. I barely managed to duck to avoid getting hit.

I clenched my fists, fuming. It was bad enough that he got me into trouble. I didn't need him to bother me in detention as well. It was as if he purposely got in trouble just so he could be here with me. Even though it was just an assumption, I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at the thought. But I was probably wrong. Scar hated me just as much as I did with him.

"Why are you even in here?" I sighed, plopping back down in my seat. "It's your first day. How the hell did you manage to get detention?"

Scar shrugged. "I was smoking in the bathroom and a teacher walked in."

"Oh my God, you smoke? Scar, do you know how dangerous that is?" I frowned. I hated smoking more than anything in the world. "There are so many diseases that can happen. That includes chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, coronary heart disease, stroke, abdominal aortic aneurysm, which would be much worse for you since you got stabbed! Your wound would heal way slower. You can get peptic ulcers. Not to menti- what are you doing?"

Scar brought out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and yet another lighter. I watched in disgust as he flicked the flame up and lit the cigarette, taking a deep inhale.

"Are you serious?" I seethed.

He turned towards me and intentionally blew a cloud of smoke into my face.

I bit my tongue hard, glaring at Scar, who had a murderous look in his eyes. I sat in moody silence. There was still half an hour left before we were allowed to leave. Miss White was still not here, and I assumed she wouldn't be showing up any time soon either.

"How old are you?" I asked. The question had been bothering me for a while now, and I decided it was the perfect chance to get some answers. I was determined to know more about Scar for some reason. It made me feel....less vulnerable.

Scar looked at me, making my stomach tumble. There was something in his eyes that told me I shouldn't have asked that. 

"Seventeen." he answered anyways. "And yes, I do live alone. No, it's not legal. They didn't know when they said I could. Didn't even ask for papers. Shows how smart cops are, huh?" he muttered.

"Why though?" I asked. "Why do you live alone?"

"Because I'd really rather not go to a foster home, kitten." he said, sounding annoyed.

"Why not?"

"Damn, little kitten. Take a break from talking. Please."

"Can you seriously not?" I snapped, totally missing the point of what he just said. "I'm not a freaking kitten. I don't even resemble a kitten, for Pete's sake. Do these hands look like paws? Are my ears pointy? Is my nose pink? No, so I would really appreciate it if you could call me by my real name." I stopped myself before I could make anything worse. Ignoring the amused  wick in his eyes, I continued. "Wait, what'd you do to get involved with the cops?"

"One more question and I won't be the only one who's been stabbed."

"Wait, just one more." I held up one finger, hoping he'd agree. Scar glanced at me warily but didn't blatantly refuse, so I continued. "What was written on the paper you threw at me in math this morning?"

Scar smiled, showing pearly white teeth. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. I didn't ask how he swiped it from Mr. Stine's desk and he didn't say. He handed the paper and I eagerly opened it.

In black ink, written in messy cursive, it said 'Did you hear about the cat that swallowed a ball of yarn'?

"Oh my God." I muttered in both amusement and annoyance.

The last line read, 'She had a litter of mittens.'