You guys are so awesomely awesomesauce and Bacontastic I don't even have words for it.
And I'm SO SORRY about the wait- my sisters won't stop playing World of Warcraft. -.-
Fang: You mean you won't stop playing World of Warcraft…
Me: -whacks Fang over the head with hammer-
Iggy: -pops out of nowhere- STOP. HAMMER TIME.
FangPOV
I yanked my sleeve down over my arm and whirled around, leaning against my desk to hide the knife. The person in my doorway was… Dr M?
We interrupt this program for a spaz attack from your author.
AHAHAHAHA YOU GUYS THOUGHT IT WOULD BE MAX DIDN'T YOU HAHAHAHA OH MY BACON THIS IS JUST TOO FUNNY –wipes tears of laughter from eyes- Okay, I think I'm under control now. Back to the story!
"Oh, you're awake," she said warmly. "I realized that I forgot my driver's license right after I dropped the boys off- that could've been bad. But I decided to check on you… Are you okay? You were asleep for a while."
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, struggling to keep my tone neutral- she'd caught me way off guard. "Just tired."
"Okay, well, I guess I'll be going now," she said, smiling again, and waving at me. I waved halfheartedly back, just to be polite.
Big mistake.
Her gaze zeroed in on my hand. "Hey, you're bleeding!" she exclaimed, rushing over to me. Shit, shit, shit- a little blood had trickled down form my arm and onto my palm. "What happened?"
I put my arm behind my back. "It's nothing," I told her quickly- maybe too quickly. Her eyes got a little suspicious.
"Fang, let me see your hand," she commanded in such a tone that it was almost Max-worthy. I very, very, reluctantly and slowly stretched out my hand to her, praying she wouldn't push back my sleeve.
She examined my hand carefully, turning it over slowly. "I don't see any cuts- did you have a bloody nose or something? Well, you couldn't… I don't see any blood on your face… Is it further up on your arm?"
"No, don't-" I started. But it was too late- she had pushed my sleeve up to my elbow. And now she sees the cuts.
I am so screwed.
"Fang, did you do this?" Dr M asked shakily, staring down at the pattern of slightly pink scars that crisscrossed on my flesh (the almost healed ones)- and the three red, long ones I had just made.
"Um… no?" I answered weakly. She suddenly pushed me aside, craning her neck to see what was behind me on the desk- which would be the knife and blood.
Again: I'm screwed.
I just stood there, frozen- Dr M was looking openmouthed from me, to my arm, to the knife, and back again. Then she stopped, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a headache. "I don't know what to say about this," she muttered. I heard her say something like 'these kids' under her breath.
Suddenly, Dr Martinez looked up at me, staring me right in the eyes. "Explain yourself."
Where to start, where to start… "Do I have to?" I know I sounded like a little kid then, but oh well.
"Yes. Actually, you know what? Don't. I'm going to set you up with a therapist."
Not a shrink, dammit! "Don't," I growled. I mean, how would you like to have to tell some complete stranger practically everything about you? Hell no!
"I'm going to- you need help, if it's come to this. Do I need someone to watch you 24/7, Fang? A babysitter, to make sure you don't hurt yourself again? Because I'm not sure how much I trust you anymore. I'm very disappointed in you."
Damn. How is it that adults always know exactly what to say to make you feel like crap? "I don't need help," I protested.
"Obviously, you do. Now tell me the truth: you don't have any other sharp objects hidden away, do you? And if you're lying, I'll know. Trust me." She made quotation marks with her fingers when she said 'sharp objects'.
"I don't," I mumbled- but truthfully, I didn't. At least, not that I know of. But man, this isn't good… now Dr M knows, and I have too see a rapist. Well, not really a rapist, but… you know what I mean.
"Good. Now come with me; I'm going to clean those cuts up- and trust me, I'll be checking you every day for any new ones."
I followed her to the bathroom, where she Band-Aid-and-hydrogen-peroxide'ed the shit out of my arm. She then left to go run her errands, with a promise that no, she wouldn't tell any of the other kids and a warning that yes, I would be in a lot of trouble if I cut myself again.
So here I am. Sitting on the couch 'n being bored. And then Max comes in, cheeks pink from the chill outside, slipping off her jacket. "Hey, I'm back," she called. I just nodded aimlessly in her direction, not feeling like talking, dread swirling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of a therapist.
"Well, someone's certainly a quiet little emo boy today," she said playfully. My head snapped up. Did she know? How?
She looked at me strangely, noticing my gaze. "What? I was joking. No need to throw a hissy fit," she said, smirking. Max sat on the other end of the couch, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Ugh. I hate cold."
"Someone's certainly a talkative little… um… girl today," I said lamely. FAIL, FANG, FAIL.
Apparently, Max was thinking the same thing. "Seriously? Girl? That's the best you could come up with?" Her laughter rang throughout the room, making my mouth twitch against my will.
Suddenly, she sat up, looking at me curiously. "What was that?" she asked me, her tone slightly suspicious.
"What was what?" I was panicking inside- did Max see blood or something? I checked my hand for any, but there was nothing there. (That paranoid child...)
"I could've sworn I saw your mouth twitch- almost like you were gonna smile. But we all know that when you do, the world will end, just like if someone divided by zero," she said dryly. Oh. It's just that.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure. Did they give you too much medication at the mental institution today?"
Max reached out and punched me on the arm, hard. The one with the cuts. Ouch. I winced involuntarily. "What, you can't take a little punch?" she snickered.
"Please. I'll show you who can't take a punch." I lunged for her, knocking us both off the couch and onto the ground. I hovered over her body, making sure not to actually touch her, my hair hanging in her face. "Wanna take that back?" I whispered.
"Never," she said, smirking up at me. "And Fangy, didn't mommy ever teach you not to hit a girl?"
"Mommy's gone now," I muttered. "Fangy?"
"Yup."
"Then I'm calling you Maxie."
"Fine. Get off me, Fangy."
"Technically, I'm not even touching you…" Max rolled her eyes and pushed on my chest with both hands, making me land with a thud on the ground. I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating my fate from here on out. Now that Dr M knew, would she want to put me back up for adoption?
The thought caused an uneasy feeling in my stomach, so I shook it off as I heard Max sink down onto the couch. I stayed like that for a while in silence, hands behind my head- until Max spoke, trying to fill the awkward silence that was probably my fault.
"So how's the rather sucky existence we call life?"
I rolled over onto my side. "Suckier than ever," I said flatly. She has no idea… "You?"
"Meh." How very intelligent and descriptive of you, Max.
Silence.
"Care to elaborate on the suckishness of it all?"
"Meh."
"You stole my word!"
"Meh…" I heard her stand and walk over to me, and I rolled onto my back once again. Max lay down on her side, propping herself up on her elbow about a foot away from me, and I could feel her curious gaze on my face. I flipped over to face her, and she looked down, long lashes casting shadows on her cheek.
"So, what's so meh about your life?" I asked her quietly. "You've got it all. A nice family. Big house. Friends."
Max's eyes snapped up to meet mine, a little fire in them. "You've got all of those too-" DAMN YOU, LOGIC- "-and anyway, I'd think that you of all people would understand that those aren't everything."
"Meh."
"That word is now dead to me forever. But… I mean.. There's a reason that I was adopted. That we all had to be adopted. Your life is 'meh' all the time, knowing that reason, whatever it is."
"You've got a point," I admitted. "But why won't you tell me yours?"
"We've been over this," she sighed. "I thought you were done with it…"
"Nah. I don't think I ever will be."
"Jerk. I'm not telling you."
"Why not?" My question seemed to catch her off guard a little.
"Because I said so," she told me simply.
"Oldest excuse in the book."
"This conversation is over, Fang. As of now."
And suddenly, an idea formed in my mind. "Sure, Maxie," I said, smirking and knowing that would get on her nerves. I stood and stretched. "Whatever you say…"
I have to get Max to tell me everything… And I know exactly how to do it. It's not very nice, but I'm gonna go through with it anyway.
Just when I will is the real question…
MaxPOV
For the last two days…. Fang has been acting extremely strange.
Extremely.
You see, when we all first got here, he spent a lot of time in his room, and didn't talk a lot. He said a few words, sure, though not many. But over the next two months, he actually talked to people, got a little friendlier.
And now? Well, he's been absolutely mute for the two days he's been this way- and he only comes out of his room to eat and probably use the bathroom… which I don't want to think about.
It also doesn't help that at two in the afternoon today (which would be the Third Day of Fang's Ultimate Strangeness) Dr M practically had to drag him out to the car, and she left without answering any of our questions of where are you going, why is Fang going with you, can I make some bacon (Iggy), and the like. She was back ten minutes later without him, left again approximately an hour and a half later, and came back with an extremely pissed looking Fang.
And except for those two, none of us have any idea why.
It's beyond frustrating.
FangPOV
I just got back from my first therapy session.
And I'm in the mood to kill something.
For one, the guy wouldn't stop calling me Nick, no matter how many times I insisted that my name was Fang. He said that a name like that would 'only drive me further into depression.' I tried to punch him. He muttered something about 'violent tendencies' and scribbled it down on this little clipboard.
I have to admit, it was pretty funny when he tried to get me to tell him stuff… You know, like blah blah blah, why do I cut, things about my family, all that crap. I answered every question with an insult. His face was just about purple by the time I was through with him.
I tried to convince him to just tell Dr M that I was getting better after every time I came here; he gets paid and not insulted, and I don't have to tell him anything. Win win, right?
Wrong.
He told Dr M that I would tell him nothing and that I tried to fool her; she was pretty mad. But the guy said 'Don't worry, Ms Martinez, I won't give up on him'- talking about me like I wasn't even there. So apparently, I have to keep going until I tell him something, and I'm 'better.' These people just don't get it…
Actually, Dr M told me there was one alternative. If I talk to someone, anyone- well, anyone that she trusts- then I won't have to go anymore. It makes me wonder if she trusts Max… but no, I couldn't risk telling Max that. I mean, she'd probably hate me for it and never, ever speak to me again. It's just one of those Max-y things that she does.
But there's a little voice in the back of my head, telling me that she'd understand, she wouldn't judge me… even though I know for certain she would.
I'm definitely not talking to Dr M about it in any way, shape, or form. The only other adult I really know even the tiniest bit is Brigid, and she makes me want to puke. Ig or Gaz- out of the question. Nudge, Ella and Angel? Well, it goes without saying that that right there is a flat-out NO.
So what do I do?
Yes, guys, what does he do? Tell me in the reviews- do you want him to tell Max or not? Whatever you say won't set it in stone- I just want to know what you think.
Oh, and I should clear something up, because someone said that Sam should date Max.
Sam is in his late twenties.
That would make him a pedo.
-Sierra
