The Prey 4

⚠️ Trigger Warning: This post contains sensitive content that may be distressing to some readers. Proceed with caution.

Against my own better judgment, after a minute of contemplating, I followed him outside the tuck shop. I knew I shouldn’t have. But when I saw him outside the computer lab, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, smoke curling from his lips, I couldn’t look away. 

The arrogance he usually carried was gone. This was different. Stripped-down. Raw. His fingers stayed steady holding the foil, ember glowing briefly before fading. His exhale came slow, practiced, like he was burying something deep. He didn’t look like a man indulging, he looked like a man searching for quiet.

<3

I hesitated, caught by the clench of his jaw, the faint shudder in his frame before he stilled. Then, as if sensing me, his head snapped my way. For a second—just a second—surprise flickered in his eyes. Then it iced over, smothered by something colder.

Without a word, he crushed the foil in his palm, shoved it into his pocket, and pushed the door open. He stepped inside and I followed. The door swung shut behind me.

He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge me—just braced his hands against the counter with his head bowed. The room smelled faintly of electronics, undercut by smoke clinging to his clothes.

“Why are you here?” His voice was quiet. Flat.

I swallowed. “You left.”

Silence stretched. Then he turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the sharp cut of his jaw, the tension in his throat. His lips parted, like he might speak, but he stilled—shoulders tense, fingers gripping the counter like an anchor, like if he didn't hold onto something he might drown.

“Why are you here?” Sharper now, frayed at the edges.

I stepped forward despite the warning in his tone. “I thought I did something wrong.”

He exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “Adaukwu—”

It was the first time my name fell from him without that distant authority, that practiced indifference he wore like armor. It should’ve shrunk me. Instead, it twisted something low in my stomach.

I crossed my arms. “I saw you leave. I was scared you were mad at me.”

“And you decided to follow me? What if I was mad at you?" He shook his head slowly then added, "No... No, I'm not mad at you, Adaukwu”

This was also the first time my name was leaving his lips in such frequency, he usually ever called my name once or never did at all per day. 

I should’ve looked away, ignored the obvious war in his body, his restraint. But I couldn’t. There was something pulling me in the way a child is naturally drawn to fire. 

His jaw tightened. “I need you....to leave. You should leave.”

My voice wavered. “Do you want me...to leave, Senior Abraham?”

A flicker crossed his face. Raw. Jagged. “Adaukwu.” My name left his lips again but this time rougher, almost pained. “Abraham. Drop the senior from now on.”

Oh? 

In the history of lackeys, I'm certain no one ever called the prefect by their first name, in fact in the history of this school, I'm certain no one ever called a senior by their first name. 

The knowledge fueled a newfound audacity within me, so I pushed, steadying my voice. “Now you’re just confusing me—” I hesitated, glancing at his hand, the slight tremor before he curled it into a fist. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“How am I the one confusing you?” He asked, emphasizing on the pronouns like they hurt. 

I had no answer. Not when I stood this close, barely any space between us. I felt it—the shift in the air. His body was rigid, tight, holding something back. But his breathing which were too measured, too deliberate, betrayed him.

I should step back. I should leave. But I didn’t. I couldn't. 

His gaze locked onto mine, and the world faded away. Heat curled around my spine. He smelled of smoke, sharp and bitter beneath it. His lips parted slightly, pink and full, and I noticed everything—the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his fingers at his sides, the flicker of his eyes to my lips.

The fast beating within my chest. 

No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

He wasn’t just Abraham Sawyer—he was the Senior Prefect Abraham Sawyer. Part of the system. Regulating it. And I—I should be disgusted. The predator-prey game tied back to him. He didn’t start it, but he didn't just participate in it, he also ruled it. 

If they weren’t about his looks, the whispers about Senior Abraham were never good. They said he was possessed, they drew analogies between him and how the devil himself was also attractive. 

I should be furious. He was brutal when angry. I should not want this feeling in my body that was creeping upon me, slowly spreading like a pulse of its own. 

But the way he looked at me—like he saw me, wanted me—unraveled something in my chest. I'd never felt this way before, all that has ever consumed me had been books and movies and never a boy—a man. 

My breath hitched. I clenched my fists, willing myself to move, to break this. But my body wouldn’t listen.

I was trapped in his gaze, the quiet sound of his breathing, the humming danger in the air. His eyes dropped to my lips again—slow, unmistakable. A warning. A question.

I should’ve pulled away. Stepped back. Instead—I leaned in. Barely a shift, a breath, but enough.

His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched. I could almost taste the smoke on his lips, feel the heat rolling off him. 

His jaw clenched. Then, hoarse, ripped from him sounding like a frustrated groan, “Fuck.”

Then he tore away, shoulder brushing mine as he stormed past, shoving the door open with force. No hesitation. No glance back. Maybe, because I could tell it took him everything was why I followed him outside. 

A child drawn to fire, curious about the bright flames, curious about the warm temperature.  He turned, glaring, hands curled into fists, like he was holding something back. For a long moment, he just looked at me.

Then, barely a whisper—“Stop following me. You shouldn’t even be here.”

I frowned. “What do you mean I shouldn’t be here?”

Abraham exhaled, running a hand over his face like he was tired. “You just shouldn’t. You’re a fucking virgin surrounded by heroin, coke, weed. Tochi is actually crueler than I thought.”

Tochi?

He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck—a frustrated tic I’d started to notice. “You’re messing with things you don’t understand, Adaukwu. Someone like you was never meant for this. You don’t even understand. There’s no fucking virgin in my entire class—”

“I’m in SS1; it’s normal to still be a virgin in my grade.” I rolled my eyes. 

“I lost my virginity in SS1, Adaukwu. You don’t get it, none of the girls part of this world in my set made it past SS2 with theirs. None. The fact that you’re still untouched? They’ll see it as an invitation, an opportunity.” He chuckled slowly, bitter and sharp. "Is Tochi a witch? She was sacrificing a virgin, a fucking virgin to Akas? Gambling on my predictability with a fucking virgin knowing Akas? The fuck?”

What was he even talking about? How did whatever he was rambling on about affect me? 

I could tell there was a sexual undertone but it was still all so confusing. 

Sacrificing a virgin? Did Tochi even know I was a virgin? 

“You’re messing with things you don’t understand,” he repeated.

I scoffed, feeling frustrated by the coded language. “Then explain it to me.” 

A child seeking to get burnt. 

His head snapped back, blue eyes dark with something I couldn’t place. “You really want me to explain it?” Low, dangerous.

I swallowed, held my ground. “Yes.”

Burn me. 

He stepped forward. I stepped back. He kept moving—slow, steady—until my back hit the wall. My breath hitched. He placed a hand beside my head, leaning in, his warmth brushing me. His scent—chocolate and burnt foil—wrapped around me.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “You want to know why I walked away, why you should not have followed me, why you should not be standing this close to me again? I should spell it out for you?”

This moment really felt like playing with fire, it was cliché and reckless. But above all, it was curiosity. I was curious—I wanted this to its end. I wanted to know what the feel of fire would feel like against my skin. I wondered if it would tickle a bit before it scorched or if it would immediately burn. So I nodded.

His gaze fell—to my lips, then back to my eyes. The air shifted. Thickened as I felt each second pass. 

Then, with a bitter chuckle, he pulled back. “That’s exactly why.”

I exhaled, shaky. “I still don’t und—”

“I’m not a good person, Adaukwu. You've heard the rumors already, haven't you? You're new but you're not deaf.” Cold now, detached. “You should stay away from me.” A pause. Softer, like he didn’t mean it.

I lifted my chin. “I can’t stay away. People don’t pick on me anymore, some even try to get on my good side. All because of you. Being the Senior Prefect's lackey comes with all pros and zero cons.”

His lips twitched, like he realized he was trapped too. Then, with a slow exhale, his gaze softened, just for a moment, just enough for me to see it. He cared.“ Don’t let anyone else find out you’re a virgin. There’s no fucking virgin in this world; don’t put a target on yourself.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he pushed off the wall and walked away. This time, I didn’t follow.

After that night, we never mentioned it. No stolen glances, no teasing. Just silence, thick and deliberate. Like we both knew acknowledging that night meant stepping into something we couldn’t undo, meant taking it further than where we'd—he'd left it. 

By the time the school quiz rolled around, Abraham had turned into something else entirely: sharp, focused, relentless.

“You highlight too much,” he muttered one evening while we were in the library, watching me drag my pen across a paragraph. He plucked the highlighter away and leaned closer. “You’re supposed to pick key words. Look, like this.”

He marked my notes—sharp, precise, mechanical. “That makes no difference,” I said.

“It does,” he replied simply. “Your brain doesn’t like clutter. It’ll absorb things better this way.”

I didn’t argue. I knew better than to argue academics with a person who scored 100% on a life or death exam, a person who had more school awards than I had underwear, of course Abraham was right, anything that had to do with knowledge and he was definitely right. 

We fell into a rhythm—studying, talking, sharing space without awkwardness, even spending our evening preps together on days I didn't have to deliver the pads. It was nice, feeling normal again.

When the quiz ended, I didn’t wait for results—just slipped back into Abraham’s routine: errands, deliveries which he immediately paused once the quiz begun. But today, we ate dinner together for the first time in the cafeteria, and I felt acknowledged at his table, a prefect passed me—an SS1 student the salt! Unbelievable.

That's why, walking to deliver the pads I’d wrapped, I felt ecstatic—until Senior Akachukwu found me.

I felt him before I saw him, a prickle at the back of my neck, the way the air shifted like something sour had slipped into it. He didn’t just step out, he emerged, slow, deliberate, like he’d been waiting. Like he’d known I’d come this way. “Long time, new girl,” he said, his smile sharp, but his eyes stayed cold.

I gripped the pads tighter, kept walking. “Good evening, Senior Akachukwu. I have somewhere to be.”

“Back to your new master?”

I didn’t stop, but he blocked my path. “Abrams is using you, you know,” he said, voice low.

Abrams? 

Akas?

“People like him don’t keep people like you around. He’ll discard you when you’re no longer useful.” Senior Akachukwu smiled, slow and knowing. “You have a bounce in your step, don't feel too important. You think because he’s Senior Prefect, he makes the rules? No. He just enforces them. And when he steps out of line, people like me remind him who really runs things.”

My heart thumped—Tochi’s bruised skin flashed in my mind. ‘I was eaten alive by Akachukwu,’ her voice echoed.

“Thank you for the warning, Senior. Can I please go now?”

He tilted his head, like he was considering it. A slow smile crept in. "Nah.”

Then he reached for me.

<3

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