killua kravitz. d4. [fin]

[bailee]

killua.
17.
d4.

[bailee]

She was honestly so beautiful.

Never had Killua seen such beauty in his life. And she was all his. He could not take her eyes off her. Her commanding presence just lit up the whole room, any man would be lucky to have her. Yet, she chose him. Killua's gaze narrowed as she approached him, her smile and her grace softening his furrowed eyebrows. He knew he couldn't resist her, she knew exactly how to manipulate him into getting what she wanted. He reached out for her, his hands gripping softly on the back of her neck, and pulled her in closer. His eyes drifted to her lips. God, she knows that's my one weakness, he thought, as he closed the space between them and allowed their lips to lock. Sparks flew. But not quite enough to ignite.

"Shit," he thought, as he shook his last remaining lighter in a desperate attempt to create a flame, as if the lighter fluid would magically appear at the bottom of the barrel. Killua looked longingly at Octavia, his second most prized possession, and groaned. His knuckles turned white as he balled his fist, proceeded by a slam on his desk and a flurry of curse words. He threw the now useless lighter across his bedroom floor, disgusted even by the look of it. Now was not the time to be inconvenienced by a stupid broken lighter, he groaned, knowing what he would have to do next.

Killua's father was an overweight, balding man who rarely put much effort into anything but his research. He was blessed with his mother's good looks, thank goodness. It was no question why Killua's mother was with him. His mom was severely lacking in book smarts, however she was street smart. Coming from a family of poor fishermen, she knew if she wanted to be successful, she would have to find other means to do so. And that ended up being getting knocked up by one of the most successful doctors in the district at the ripe age of 19. He admired his mom for that. Marrying Killua's dad must have been the ultimate sacrifice for living comfortably amongst the wealthiest in the district.

Killua found him in his usual spot, at his desk in his study, reading a study on the apoptotic response as a result of neurodegenerative diseases. Whatever that meant. Killua cleared his throat in an attempt to get his father's attention. Nothing. "Dad," he grunted. His dad looked over his shoulder at Killua, with a stern and annoyed expression on his face as his reading glasses snuck down the bridge of his nose. "Could I bum a lighter?" He hated having to ask his dad for things. In fact, he hated even having to interact with the man.

"You know you're going to end up brain dead, or worse, stupid from all of that weed you smoke," his dad lectured, but still reached into his pocket and threw it at Killua. He caught the lighter, and promptly flagged his dad the bird, but it was too late. His dad was already nose deep in his research again, as if Killua did not even exist. His father wasn't much of a parent. He mostly just shoved money in his son's face, hoping that the more money he gave would help keep Killua occupied and out of his way. Killua knew this wasn't the life his dad envisioned for himself, but he had grown to find out that the more he bothered his dad, the more materialistic he got. And most of that went towards funding his smoking habit. He had no problems manipulating his dads emotions (or lack thereof) into getting what he wanted.

Finally achieving a lighter, Killua packed Octavia carefully into his backpack, alongside his notebook and slung it over his shoulder. He figured he already troubled his dad once today, it was probably best to leave the house and get out of his hair so he doesn't get too annoyed that he refuses to shove money in Killua's face. Just as he managed to turn the door knob, a familiar shrill voice piped up behind him.

"Where are you off to?" his mom asked, with a voice sounding so soft Killua could almost be convinced it was a genuine question.

"Just gonna go hang out with some friends," he replied. They both knew it was a lie. He didn't have any friends. None of his peers ever understood the complexity of his thoughts. He even prided himself on the fact that he didn't associate himself with his incompetent peers, especially the ones who became slaves to the capital through the growing fish industry of the district. And don't even get me started on the careers.

"Be safe," she smiled, and put a soft hand on his shoulder. He sighed and shrugged it off, leaving his mom behind as he stepped out into the brisk, coastal air. It wasn't that he didn't love his mom, he did. But his mom was the one person he couldn't get a read on. He never knew what her motives were, what she had planned next, and what she was thinking. In all honesty, he really didn't trust her.

Killua found his usual spot, a shaded spot underneath a palm tree just outside of his property line. Killua's complexion was cursed with his father's genetics, a long line of doctors who rarely ever left the indoors leaving him vulnerable to the ozone beaming down on his pale skin. With his newfound lighter in hand, he pulled Octavia out of his backpack and got down to business. A familiar high calmed his senses, allowing him to finally relax and sink into the tranquility of his environment. 

He pulled out his notebook and fingered through the pages. The messy ink scattered along the page recording years of his findings. He finally flipped to a fresh page, where he scrawled the date in the top right corner. With pursed lips he wrote the heading. A girls name. Particularly, a girl he had met the day before at school. And he wrote.

Timid, shy. Holding a vintage romance novel, so most likely enjoys romanticizing life. Above average intelligence, but lacks the ability to take social cues. Picks her eyebrow when she's nervous. Not very pretty. Lacks confidence. Could not hold a conversation. Likely a fisherman's daughter. Poor. 

And finally, he pressed his pen to the paper for a final time that day.

Gullible.

He carefully shut his notebook and shoved it into his backpack, as he pressed the back of his head against the tough bark of the pine tree and shut his eyes. Living is tiring when you can't trust anyone.


 

[bailee]

ripred_bot

[bailee]

bump!

[Tom]

A great bio! Welcome back, Bailee!