Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride.
Two months.
That's how long it's been since the accident took place. Fang's mom is recovering well, Iggy and Angel's injuries have healed, and although Gazzy's gash has left a silver-pink line etched across his forehead, the accident is now a fading nightmare.
During their mom's stay in the hospital, I would visit the family everyday; driving them to visit their mom (as their car had been damaged beyond repair), and watching the kids while Fang was at work. I wasn't sure what to expect between Fang and mine's interaction with one another; was it to be comfortable and filled with easy-flowing words, as it had been before, or would it be tense and awkward?
It contained equal bouts of both. This was, however, only when we were alone, which was not for every long, as the kids were always with us and we'd talk amongst them, instead of having our own private conversation. But even when we did find ourselves solely in each other's company, we seemed fixed in an ambience of tension and nerves. I got the impression he wanted to say something; when I'd notice his stare from the corner of my eye, or the way his brow would sometimes furrow, as if he were having some internal debate within himself. But he never did.
Eventually my visits grew less frequent, and they needed me less and less until their mom finally joined them back home. College then began, and any communication, for the most part, ceased between us. There's still curt nods when in passing, however, and the brief update on his family; sometimes delivered on his own accord, or after my own query as to their well-being.
I'm sitting in class right now, absently listening to Mr. Smith outlining our next assignment. My eyes linger on Fang's dark form. He's sitting a row in front of me, a couple of seats to my right. He's scribbling down notes profusely, most likely in that illegible scrawl only he can translate. I'd never seen him so committed, as I had the last three months, to learning. I thought his hard-core studying might subside after his re-sit exam came out exceptionally high, but it hasn't, overall. I still catch him scampering out the Library just before closing time.
God, I miss him. I miss the banter, his stupid smirk, and the words that could flow so easily between us. I miss the silent conversations we could have through a protracted look; we would always be on the same wavelength. But there's now a miss communication, and I can no longer discern what he's thinking and feeling.
My thoughts then flit to Dylan and how he'd approached me a couple of weeks ago, asking me whether I wanted to go out; see a movie and grab some dinner. I'd declined, however, telling him I was busy – which I was, as I had arranged to visit some of Jeb's relatives with him – and that I'd prefer us to remain friends.
It was silly, really, my whole evasion to having a relationship with a nice, caring guy. But I knew I'd never fully commit and most likely end up hurting him. I'm still waiting for Fang, as stupid as it sounds, to profess a love I know he doesn't requite.
"Class dismissed." Mr. Smith's voice snaps me from my reverie. The girl beside me – Terry? – still remains in her seat, however, while the rest of the class rushes out the door. Her head is bent over a book, and she doesn't appear to have heard the professor's dismissal.
"Um," I begin, "you know class has finished, right?"
She doesn't stir, showing no sign of having heard me. "Terry?"
No response.
Gently, I give her a poke. Her head snaps up then, and there are tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "You ok?" I ask. My voice is tinged with surprise and concern.
She sniffs and runs a hand across her eyes. "I'm fine," she sobs, "I'm just happy."
Really?
Some blonde hair slips into her vision, which she tugs back, fixing it into one of the many clips that holds her hair up in its intricate twist.
"I've just finished reading Ambiguity," she says. "Oh, Max, it's just wonderful. Did you cry at the end, too?"
I bite my lip. "I haven't actually finished reading it yet," I confess, and fish out my own copy from my bag.
She gasps. And then snatching the copy from out my grasp, she rifles through the pages until she's reached the turned down page I'd left to indicate my place. Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes still a little red and brimming with moisture.
I'll admit that it's very unusual for me to not have concluded a novel, as I always have. But, for whatever reason, I haven't been able to bring myself to finish this one - there's just something about it that's left me too nervy to turn the next page.
"WHAT?" she screeches, furiously waving the book at me. "Don't you know how it ends yet?"
I'm in the music room alone. The majority of those majoring in music are at a concert, having been encouraged by their professors to watch this esteemed pianist while he's still in town. I'd known this before I'd arrived here, but had sought some solitude and sat myself in front of one of their many pianos, playing whatever came to mind. The light is dim, as only one of the main beams have been switched on. The room is windowless, allowing the walls to be plastered in posters of musicians and theatre productions, partially obscuring the room's dark walls.
I play just a couple of bars of music before the door whams shut, indicating someone else has just entered the room. I don't turn round, just expecting it to be a returning music student.
"You play beautifully. Did I ever tell you that?"
I freeze, and my hands still atop the keys.
"Don't stop playing." Fang's voice is soft, his tread barely distinguishable as he walks towards me. "I've missed hearing you play."
I don't continue my rendition. My thoughts are too focused on why he's here, and why, after all these weeks, he's decided to indulge me with a few flattering words.
He's beside me now. I don't need to look at him to know there's a frown fixed on his face; confusion as to why I've said nothing.
He takes a seat beside me. The piano stool is only meant to accommodate one person, and so his leg touches my leg, and his arm touches my arm. My breathing quickens.
He presses a couple of notes on the piano.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, surprise and anxiety sending my voice a little higher.
Then without even casting a sideways glance at me, he halts his playing and delves into his bag, pulling out a copy of Ambiguity. He places it atop the piano. "You left this in the classroom," he explains. "Terry told me to give it to you."
"Oh."
"She looked a little upset."
I smile and shake my head in disbelief. "She's just really happy; she'd just finished reading the book."
Fang's lips tug upwards into his signature half-smile. My heart gives a tight squeeze; an indicator that I need to get up and leave because pining after this guy will just result in more hurt. But then his head tilts to the side and he fixes me with dark, intense eyes. "And what did you think of the ending?"
I shrug, trying to ignore the nerves bunching in my stomach. "Haven't finished it."
"Don't you want to know how it ends?" His gaze flits towards the book before snapping back to mine. "I could tell you, if you like."
I shake my head and stand up, manoeuvring myself to the other side of the piano, resting my arms on top, while he remains on the piano stool. I want the space, because in that too-close proximity, I was bound to blush or stumble over my words.
"I'm not sure," I answer truthfully. "I kinda like the idea of having my own ideal ending."
He studies me for a moment. I blush, uncomfortable under his gaze.
"How would you have it end?" Fang asks, standing up, plucking the book from off the piano. His eyes never leave mine as he comes to stand beside me.
"How would I like it to end?" I murmur, repeating his words. "Well," I begin, "I'd have Samantha explain to David why she felt so compelled to lie to him; to tell him why she 'led him on'."
"Isn't it obvious?" he whispers.
"Not to David," I snap. "We're not all mind readers, Fang."
At this his shoulders slump, his head bows, and he takes a deep breath. But when he brings his head up, resignation has been displaced by determination.
"Can I read you something?" he asks. He flips through the pages of Ambiguity, eventually stopping, having found his desired page, and awaits my approval to go ahead.
I nod and he clears his throat. He reads:
Samantha needed David by her side; teasing her and laughing with her, supporting her and loving her. There was no way she could let him go a second time; the first time had been to protect him, ensuring his life wouldn't be hindered by hers. She saw now, however, that she'd been wrong.
She needed him and he needed her.
So why should she subject them both to the pain of rejection and loneliness by keeping them apart any longer?
It was a chance, yes, but one worth taking, because she loved him unconditionally and would, surely, forever.
Fang closes the book, takes a few tentative steps forward, and gently places it in my hands. He doesn't retreat back, remaining close by, right in front of me, his eyes watchful and filled with...
His brow furrows slightly, probably at the abject confusion alighting on my face. I place the book on the stool behind me.
"Please understand," Fang whispers, "that I never 'led you on'; I meant every gesture and every word. But at the time, what with everything going on, you'd have done better to stay out of my family's mess. It was already screwing up my life; I couldn't let it do the same to yours."
Hope floods through me like a cool, freezing solution: stilling my breath and slowing my thoughts.
And then his hands, warm and familiar, settle on my shoulders. They slide slowly down my arms, capturing my hands with his, entwining our fingers together.
His touch sparks a jolt of realisation, and suddenly his words hit me hard; he never rejected me, he was just trying to protect me. I feel my mouth drop open; stuck for words. And then rising excitement and hope take me over.
"Don't push me away again," I order. "It's my choice as to whether I put up with your annoying self, ok? Not the other way around."
He's grinning as he gently tugs me closer, resting his forehead against mine. He murmurs: "Don't think I could again."
My heartbeat quickens.
I'm struggling to catch my breath.
And then he whispers: "I love you, Max. So much." His lips twitch upwards. "Always have; even when we were kids, and I'd tell you how much of a pain you were."
I narrow my eyes, gracing him with a mock scowl. But it's futile when my lips are forming a slow smile, so I slightly shuffle back, impacting with the stool. Something smacks against the floor – the book? – but is soon forgotten when his lips swoop down to meet mine.
He kisses me sweetly, and I wind my arms around his neck, bringing us closer, eliciting a more passionate kiss.
After several moments, we part, but keep our arms locked in place around the other; my hands remain linked behind his neck, while his remain placed on my back, rubbing slow, soothing circles in between my shoulder blades.
His face shines openly with elation and exhilaration, stretching my goofy grin even wider. A hand slips from behind my back to remove a stray strand of hair that had slipped in front of my face. He positions it behind my ear and fleetingly rests his palm against my cheek. His forehead lightly touches mine as he whispers, "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that." And then his lips are once again on mine.
Eventually our kisses slow, halt, and I place my head in the crook of his neck. This feels right; to be in his arms, feeling safe and loved.
And since I'm done with ambiguity, I tell him, "Love you, too."
An extract from the final chapter of Ambiguity
Samantha lies on David's browbeaten couch, her head resting against his chest, his arm encircling her waist. A blanket stretches over them both, warding off the mild chill that shrouds the apartment. She listens intently to the thud-thud of his heartbeat and his steady, rhythmic breathing.
Sleep won't come, as her mind is still a whir of thought and contemplations. Her mother's death still ways heavily on her; the painful hole it had torn still achingly fresh. But with time, David and Jake would heal that. The mention of her younger brother sparks a jolt of panic to run through her at the thought of planning the funeral and a new home and…
His arm unconsciously tightens around her, dulling her rising alarm. Because with David by her side, Samantha felt a little more prepared to deal with whatever fate had to throw her way.
Thank you for all the reviews I've received over this story – they've been really appreciated and very helpful, particularly in regards to grammar.
I hope you've enjoyed this ending - they're finally together! I've certainly enjoyed writing this story, and I've learnt a lot from doing so.
Let me know if you'd like an epilogue to conclude the story. It may be that you believe it's reached an appropriate end, and that a 'year on' chapter may not be necessary.
Thanks for reading.
Peace, love, and coca cola!
