Chapter 8 (a full-length chapter this time, for I have time)!

I must warn you, a serious topic is mentioned in this chapter, though details will not be provided extensively. If it upsets you, I'm sorry, but it happens, it's real, and it shapes the story. I, once again, remind you that I no way support this because I talk about it. I tell this to inform you.

I do, however, encourage your thoughts on the subject. Review! I didn't think it'd matter, but knowing what readers are thinking really helps me write the story. It gives me inspiration, knowing opinions and beliefs, not just on my writing or my story but even on the topics or situations described within my writing.

I'd never thought I'd be one of those writers that do this, but…

REVIEW (again)!

:D

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of Maximum Ride, nor am I James Patterson.


FPOV

Horrified.

That's the emotion running through my mind.

Ashamed.

Small.

Broken.

I feel like insects are running up and down my skin.

I want to scream.

Cry.

Die.

I feel…

It takes a few moments to form the word.

Failure.

I feel like I failed.

I couldn't stop this. I just let her…

No.

There was nothing I could do. She drugged me.

That's why I feel like I failed.

I always believe there is a solution, an escape plan.

But I couldn't find one.

That's why I failed.

I didn't fail Angel; I managed to keep her safe.

I failed myself.

The horrible crawling feeling all over makes me feel diseased, like it's marking what's happened to me.

I lay curled in a ball in the corner of the shower, naked, letting the water pound against my skin. I've showered about five times, trying to wash away the feeling of bugs on my skin. But it's still there, on my skin that's reddened from how raw I've rubbed it.

It won't go away.

I can see the pile of my clothes in the corner, as far away from me as possible. It's like I can see the bugs crawling over them, screaming "You failed. You let her take control of you. You let her win. You lost. You are a failure. You're a piece of trash, unwanted. No one will want you now, you broken failure."

I can't tell if I'm finally crying, of if the shower water is running down my face.

It doesn't matter which it is. It doesn't help anything.

She still won.

No, I can't quit. Angel…

I have to let this go, to protect Angel. I may have broken, but I haven't failed in protecting Angel.

I just have to duck tape the pieces of my soul back together and suck it up. For Angel.

For Angel.

I get out of the shower, deciding it's not going to magically wash away at this point. I find some clean clothes, throwing my other clothes in a trash bag. I pull out some dark jeans, my black sneakers, a black long-sleeved shirt to cover the scars.

I stare at my reflection for a moment, then roll up the sleeves, showing my heavy scarring and bruises.

They already know by now. No use in hiding them now.

My overlong hair brushes against my face, tickling it. It reminds me of the crawling feeling over my skin, and I decide it has to go.

I grab scissors from the kitchen and go back to the bathroom. I haphazardly cut my hair shorter, wanting it to not touch my face. I end up with a short, shaggy style. I can see my ears, the back of my neck, my hollow cheeks. I can see how truly sharp my face is, how thin I am from scanty eating so Angel can always have food.

I can see the scars.

I bring the scissors to the last piece of overlong hair, my bangs. But before I cut them, I decide not to, just trimming them jaggedly, letting them swoop across my forehead as they always have. They hide my eyes, helping me keep my emotion hidden. But it also shows my defiance, my refusal to bow to my mom. I can feel the tingling, but I'll stand it and persevere, showing I will survive cause I'm strong.

I'm still fighting. For Angel.

I'll never stop.

My haircut symbolizes that I've been changed. But it shows that I am that much stronger for rising above this event.

I toss the hair in the garbage bag with the clothes and carry it outside. Dumping them onto the ground, I take out a lighter and light the heap on fire. I watch the smoke cloud spiral up, rising up to the sky and disappearing in the air, carrying my grievances on the event with it.

Goodbye.


Walking down the hallway to my first class, I feel the stares of many.

It must be my scars. They just don't know what to think of someone with that many injuries.

But there is something different in the girls' stares… it's shock, but there is something more to it. I don't know what it is, though.

I sit down in my seat by the window, as usual. I feel the crawling on my skin, and I feel like everyone must see it too, and know what's happened to me, and must believe I am a piece of trash.

I shove the thought from my mind. No, they can't see this. It's just me. Just keep a blank expression.

Max and her posse enter the classroom. Max looks at me briefly, eyes wide. Then, her eyes seem to flash in recognition, and she looks away.

What?

Oh. The wings. I showed them to her. Right.

I wonder if she's told anyone. She probably told her posse. I'm probably going to hear about it in a few seconds.

Her posse of clones is staring at me in bewilderment. It must be the scars.

But when Max Clone 1 speaks, it isn't about my scars.

"Who decided to give you a decent haircut, wimp?"

Okay, what? My hair?

I was not expecting that one.

I'm not really in the mood to backtalk, but I do anyway, to keep up appearances. I have to act as if nothing has happened.

"Why? So he can fix your hair?"

As predicted, it angers her. However, she doesn't give a comeback, still staring at my hair.

"What? Is there something on my face?" I ask, emotionless, but on the inside uncomfortable with the unusual silence and their continued staring… well, except Max, who keeps sneaking glances at me, but tries to look anywhere but me.

"No…," Max Clone 3 says, slightly spaced, "…you just look…"

"Hot," a voice answers.

I turn my head toward the voice to see a dark-haired girl with blue eyes.

"Jasmine," the girl answers, smiling a pretty smile. Her hair hangs straight around her pale face, and she has dimples. She is…

Pretty.

I give a small, tentative smile, unsure how to respond.

"Thanks?" I say, the question in my voice.

"You're welcome," she replies, laughing.

Her laughter is sweet sounding, and I find myself smiling a little wider, truly…pleased.

"I'm not sure what to say," I admit.

Jasmine chuckles a little. "It's my fault. When you have three older brothers, you tend to get a bit frank with people. I forget not everyone is like that."

She looks down and sees the scars on my hand. "How'd that happen?" she asks innocently.

"Paper cut," I say, a horrible lie, waiting for her to call me out on it like Max usually does.

"Well, you've got some vicious paper. Remind me never to borrow from you," Jasmine responds, joking. "So what's your favorite food?" she asks.

I look in her eyes, studying her. Her eyes show concern, but she truly is willing to let me not tell her the truth and move on.

"What?" she asks.

"You're… not like everyone else," I admit.

She grins hugely. "That's why I'm so cool."

And I laugh.


Jasmine sits with me in the courtyard during lunch. We just talk, which I surprisingly enjoy. We get a lot of glares from girls. I don't get why, though.

I find out her favorite color is green, she dances, is a horrible runner, couldn't live without strawberries, and wants to be a pilot, because she loves the sky.

She doesn't ask me much, but when she does, I tell her what I can. I tell her my favorite color is actually blue, my little sister is Angel, and I tell her my belief on how the sky is the one place you can let yourself go in.

I don't mention the wings. Or my mom.

We laugh a lot.

The only problem occurs after one of our laughing sessions, when she reaches and grabs my hand. A simple, harmless gesture.

But I'm still twitchy from what Mom did to me, and I spaz, ripping my hand out of hers and practically leaping away from Jasmine.

"Sorry," she says, looking down.

I instantly feel bad, and ashamed. I told myself I was going to get over this, and I leap away from someone just touching my hand? It wasn't her fault I was a freak.

"No, my bad. I'm just touchy," I say, swallowing my feeling of bugs across my skin and taking her hand in mine and squeezing it. She grins, and I find myself giving a small smile in return.

I turn my head back to a forward facing position.

To see Max glaring at me across the courtyard.

As soon as she sees me look, her face is looking elsewhere, instantly striking up a conversation with her clones, trying to remove the expression off her face.

What's her problem?


I pick up Angel after school. As we are walking back home, I spot Jasmine sitting on a bench in the park. She sees me as well, and gets up, walking over to us.

"Hey, Fang!" she says.

"Fang, who's that?" Angel asks.

"Friend from school. Jasmine," I reply. Then, a moment later, I add, "She's a dancer."

Angel's eyes go wide, and she looks up at Jasmine with the fateful Bambi eyes, asking her to teach her some stuff.

Angel's always wanted to be a ballerina, as most seven-year-olds do, I guess. But unlike other seven-year-olds, she didn't get to take classes because I didn't have the money to put her in classes, what with Mom consuming money for drugs and my minimal wage jobs I get periodically.

Of course, Jasmine complies, because no one can refuse Angel, especially with Bambi eyes.

Her and Jasmine go off to an open area far away, and I see them with my raptor vision (acquired with the wings), but the average human wouldn't see them from the bench where I sat.

"Fang," I hear.

I turn around to see Max standing by the bench, an uncomfortable look on her face.

I raise my eyebrows in question to her appearance.

She rocks her weight back and forth between her legs before saying, "I just wanted to offer… I mean, if you ever need Angel watched again… for –" she pauses, "- work, then I'll watch her."

"…Gazzy likes playing with her," she interjects after a moment of silence.

I pause, studying her face. Finding what appears to be an honest offer, I give her an answer.

"Thanks," I say. "That means a lot."

But I caught the earlier stumble in her words when she said that my conflict was work. She was going to say something else.

She was going to say "for when you're getting abused".

She knows. If not knows, she assumes.

Great. She knows even more of my secrets.

The wings, because I stupidly showed her in my doomsday mindset.

The abuse, from the scars or the doctors' talk of cruelty.

But it gives me somewhere to place Angel if I get caught off guard. Plus, it gives Angel someone to play with her age – it lets her have a friend.

I look away, expecting her to leave now that her obligatory words are finished, but I am surprised when she continues.

"Sorry," she says.

Sorry.

Huh?

"What?" I ask in confusion, bewildered, looking at her.

"I'm sorry for ending our friendship," she says, looking down.

I expect to feel acceptance. I mean, that's what you're supposed to feel when someone apologizes. I could have my friend back.

But instead, I get really, really angry.

"A little late for that," I say coldly, snapping out the words more than I intend.

She continues to stare at her feet. "I know," she replies. "Just thought I should say it."

Then she walked away.

I want to continue glaring away from her, but instead I find my emotions conflicting as I turn my head to follow her departing form.

I still want her friendship.

I'd never wanted us to stop being friends.

But I am so angry that she thought an apology would solve this. And that she just now decided it was worth apologizing.

Because she thinks I am pathetic, now that she knows/assumes I am abused.

A charity case.

I feel the anger grow inside me. I want her to be angry like I was for years.

I think back to lunch, seeing Max glare at Jasmine and I together. If that made Max mad, I am going to make her furious.

I am going to make Max see what it's like to want a friend and then be rejected.

Like I felt way back then.

I feel shock run inside me as I realize I wanted revenge, because I never thought I'd sink that low.

But didn't I say that I was a new Fang, after last night?

I guess new Fang wants revenge.


This chapter is dedicated to Flowers for a Ghost by Thriving Ivory.