Fang and I were arguing. What else was new? The same old stuff. I'm bossy, he's a jerk, I'm acting all weird, but he's the one that never talks, my stupid Voice, his stupid blog. We started to elevate the volume a bit.
"I'm sick of your shit, Fang. You make me just… want to kick your ass sometimes."
"Bring it on, Max. Sure it would make you feel big enough?"
"Why do you have to be such a dick?"
"Why do you have to be such a control freak, Max? You always have to run everything. You're practically President Max of the Flock Nation." He was staring at me, cold, his words raining on me. "Why can't you just be… normal?"
WHAT?! I mean, really. What the hell can you expect from someone who had spent the first 10 years of their young life in a fucking dog cage?! Could someone really expect that I would have a normal time adjusting to my feelings about the world, about myself, about the flock, about anything that I valued or held dear to my heart?
I was not normal. I was a freak, an experiment, a hybrid. That word, that awful idea that ruined my life and the lives of my flock (Fang included), our families, and God knows how many other kids. These scientists, these awful excuses for human beings (I know, I know. I should talk, right?) ruined any chance of a normal life that we could have hoped for. We had wings, for one. All kinds of other abilities aside, I was not normal.
And he knew this. He knew this because the same thing that had happened to him.
So why would Fang have said that?
After all that we had been through, Fang had asked me a question that should have stultified me. Although I should have smacked the shit out of him immediately, I was actually confused. Did he mean normal as in my "normal" self, the don't-take-no-shit-from-anyone, never-admit-that-I'm-scared, always-ready-to-make-a-smart-ass-remark Max, or did he mean normal as in every other 14 year-old on this clueless planet?
I walked over to him, still dumbfounded, tears welling up in my eyes, and slapped him. Hard. His head whipped quickly in the direction that I slapped him, but stopped before it looked like he had been jarred too hard. He had caught quick control of himself. He didn't move his head back to face me. Lightning fast, he clapped his hands onto my chest, grabbing the hoodie I was wearing, silently whirled me around, and slammed me into the wall, cracking the sheetrock behind me.
"What more could I have done for you, Fang?" I asked him, tears spilling over onto my face. I pursed my lips hard, trying to keep my face stiff. Something flashed in Fang's eyes. Some of his intensity appeared to have lessened, and he opened his mouth, as if to say something, but remained silent, maintaining his grip on my shirt. "I love you. I love all of you. You know that I would die for you without having to think about it. I'm only the way I am because I want to protect y--"
I was cut off. Fang had brought his head down, and crashed his lips into mine. It was like being hit by a car. He instantly pacified me, sucking the negativity and anger that I felt toward him out of me. There was nothing that I wanted more than to spend eternity with him, standing right there with his hands on my sweatshirt, clenched, as if he were about to throw me across the room. I reached my hands up, gently, and set them on top of his, making his hands relax, allowing them to leave the front of my shirt and travel down to my waist, where they made their what seemed to be ergonomically designed hold around me. My residual tears smeared his cheeks, though, I was not crying anymore. Fang broke the kiss.
"I'm sorry. I mean, I, uh…" He trailed off.
"It's fine." I said, smiling warmly. "Why don't we continue this a bit later?" I suggested, just as Gazzy and Iggy walked into the living room, no doubt with mischief fresh in their minds.
"Fang?" Gazzy asked, noticing his close proximity to me. "What's… up?"
"Nothing, Gazz. We were just… having a conversation," Fang replied. Iggy scoffed, brushing his hair out of his face.
"What?" Fang asked Iggy.
"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean that I'm an idiot. Gazzy, out." The Gasman left, unquestioning, but looking a bit suspicious. "You two have been throwing around all different kinds of vibes lately, and I know exactly what those vibes mean."
"Iggy, I— " He cut me off.
"Max, it's alright. I don't mind. I just … I just wish that it wasn't so… obvious." He smirked, but not in the interest of humor. He had the look of someone who was being very honest, and was just realizing the facts themselves. He turned and walked out. I wasn't sure how I should feel.
"Fang, I think I need to talk to Iggy."