CHAPTER 61: WHEN WOLVES CRACK
ME: Haha... Sorry this is so late everyone... I last updated this on March 27 and it's now June 1...
BRICK: Where have you been? *pauses* Not that I care.
ME: I'm going to ignore that last part and pretend that you do care. Anyway, I got busy studying for exams and then a bunch of stuff happened and well...I was kind of depressed during April. I feel a lot better now though!
BLOSSOM: Well, as long as you feel better...
ME: I do, I promise. Oh, and my older brother and his father-in-law came to Canada recently so we've been going out a lot haha. It's kinda given me more time to write, although it's also taken some time away from my own projects.
BLASTER: Aww, that's too bad.
ME: Welp, let's get started right away! I only own my OC's and the story; PPG belongs to Cartoon Network—something some people seem to be regretting now that the reboot is officially out.
Anyway, please read on and leave a review!
Chapter 61: When Wolves Crack
The world was burning at his feet.
Everywhere he turned, there was fire. It was pure chaos. Everything was burning—from the floor to the trees to the cabin... Even the sky and the lake were burning, burning, burning...
Fear filled his veins and he wanted to scream but nothing would come out and he was so scared and the world was burning and—
"Vix?"
Turning, he felt relief fill his body when he saw the shape of a man he knew and loved. "Damon! Thank God you're okay. Come on, we need to get out of here!"
"Shhh, it's okay. There's nothing to worry about; I'm here for you." He smiled. "See, everything's just fine. It's beautiful out; perfect for this special occasion. Happy birthday, Vix."
"This isn't the time for that! Can't you see that everything is on fire? We need to—" He stopped, his eyes widening when he saw the shadow advancing on the other man. He lunged forward, shouting, "DAMON! WATCH OUT!"
The man looked up just as a bullet tore through his leg. He fell forward, his face twisting into a silent scream of pain as blood began pouring from his legs. They stained the ground red.
"Damon? Oh my God, no! Damon!" Vix screamed, running toward him. "We need to get you out of here! Are you okay? Can you walk?"
"I-I don't think I can make it," he wheezed. "I'm sorry."
"No, I'm not leaving you! Come on, come on; I—"
"Vix, I need to tell you something."
"What?" Vix stopped panicking to look at his adopted father, tears pouring from his eyes.
Damon gestured for him to lean in, and he did as he was told. The man whispered into his ear, "I killed Tyrone."
"What? What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered. "Don't speak—you're confused. We need to get you out of here—"
But before he could help the man up, Vix felt an insane sensation of both emotional and physical pain rip through his body. He lurched forward, coughing out blood as Damon began slowly pulling out the hand he'd stabbed through Vix's chest. "I killed Tyrone. And I'm going to kill you too," the older man whispered, his eyes turning an animalistic golden-yellow.
Vix froze. "Damon...?" he choked, eyes widening as he watched the crimson bloom on his shirt. "What... What have you done?"
"What was bound to happen eventually," he responded quietly, standing up. He stared down at Vix, sneering. "You're worthless. I never loved you to begin with. I simply used you to be my ultimate weapon, but it looks like you're useless even in that regard. Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again." He began walking away, despite having been bleeding only moments before. "I never even considered you my son."
"Wait, no! Don't go!" Vix tried to chase after him, but the flames swallowed Damon up. He took a step forward before someone stopped him by grabbing his collar and tugging—hard. Gasping for air, Vix grappled at his captor and turned to see scarred faces staring back at him. He froze. "Mom...? Dad...?"
"You did this," they answered. Their faces were marred almost beyond recognition. Their skin was burnt and peeling away, while maggots crawled through what remained of their flesh. His father hummed and smiled as his mother chanted "you did this" over and over again.
She reached upwards and stroked her son's cheek. "Vixy, come join us," she said softly.
For a moment, her mutilated face transformed into a kind smile and a serene green gaze, dragging Vix back to the past—where everything was still perfect and where he was home. Where none of this had ever happened.
"I love you, Vix," she said, petting his hair affectionately.
He closed his eyes and felt himself losing to the fantasy, the smell of freshly baked cookies and the sound of laughter filling his mind. The illusion lasted for the longest of brief seconds, until her loving hug suddenly became an iron grip. Instead of warm and caring, she suddenly felt cold and rough against his skin. He tried to pull away but she held fast, hugging him even tighter.
He looked around desperately. His father was reaching forward, still grinning almost wickedly. Vix's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he felt his father's nails rip into his socket. When he ripped out the boy's eye, Vix started to scream and cry at the same time, tears and blood mixing on his face. He struggled against the hold they had on him, wanting desperately to escape.
"Shhh...shhh... Don't fight it. It's okay now," his mother said, patting his cheek.
But he didn't stop fighting. He wrenched himself free and took a step back. "You're not my parents," he panted, struggling to form words despite the giant lump in his throat.
Then he turned and ran. They watched him run, a clear and constant gaze that he could feel lingering on his back. They watched him—and laughed. In fact, they began cackling so hard, chanting "you did this" maniacally as the flames began to consume them.
Vix squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the noise, but he couldn't seem to run away. He couldn't run far enough. The loud chanting filled his ears and seemed the same volume no matter how far he ran. When he felt like he'd been running for hours, he was suddenly stopped by a strong hold on his arm pulling him back.
His eyes—or rather, eye—flew open and he turned his head. The person who'd grabbed him was a large man that towered over him. This stranger had gray hair and stern gray eyes. His face looked like stone.
"You're mine now," the man hissed. Then Vix felt himself being dragged away for what seemed like eons. He tried to get out of the man's hold, but it was useless. He continued to be forced along; all the while as flames and shadows grabbed at him with invisible claws, tearing away flesh. He bled heavily and felt relieved when they stopped.
He looked up. There was a full moon in the sky. His captor was staring at it. The moon was reflected almost perfectly in his gray eyes, making them appear mystically white and without pupils. He turned to Vix. "Et sic incipit, Lupus meum," he whispered hollowly, before reaching out and—to Vix's shock—grabbing the moon. His shock didn't last though, as the man wrenched it out of the sky and shoved it into his empty eye socket. This caused the boy to howl in agony.
When the pounding pain subsided and he could finally open his bleeding eyes, he found himself standing in water. He stumbled upwards, seeing a light up ahead. Wanting to get to it, he walked until he was close enough to see what the light was illuminating. It was so warm, and there was a girl... A beautiful girl with blond hair and turquoise eyes.
He staggered toward her and she noticed. She turned around and smiled, before the pool turned red around him and she disappeared.
He woke up with a start, eyes wide and skin slick with sweat. Panting, he leaped upwards and placed a hand over his chest, where his heart was thrumming into overdrive. He was aware of one of his eyes turning white, trying to treat the dull aching pain he could feel in his socket even though there was nothing to heal. It was still dark.
He took a deep breath and turned so that he could place his feet on the floor. When he stood up, he was a little unsteady, but to his relief, the world wasn't swaying—and most of all, the world wasn't turning to blood.
Vix staggered toward the door, feeling warm and dizzy despite him being completely shirtless. Everything hurt, and yet he knew there was nothing wrong with him. It was all in his head.
It was always all in his head.
He thought back to his dream, which had been like so many others—besides the fact that it had been a giant fuckfest of all his worst fears mixed into one steaming nightmare. But there had been something else that was new: the girl.
He squinted against the darkness of the hallway as he tried to recall what the girl looked like in his dream. In his mind's eye, everything was hazy, as if a veil of darkness lingered over everything (and yet, the pain was still so real and vivid). But he thought he remembered seeing a smiling face, long hair—long, blond hair—and...was it? No, it couldn't have been. He shook his head to clear it.
Turquoise eyes.
Even as he desperately thought no, no, the veil was being lifted and his subconscious was now shoving her image in his face, screaming yes, yes! The girl with the long, blond hair had indeed had turquoise eyes.
It had been her.
Vix's mind suddenly felt less cluttered and he didn't feel as sick anymore, although he still felt scared. He couldn't find meaning behind it. Why had she showed up in my dream all of a sudden?
He was wandering around aimlessly as he asked himself bewildered questions, when he found himself stopping instinctively because a large door was now looming over him. I know this door. He stared at it. It was as if his subconscious had taken him here, knowing what he was thinking about and thinking that it knew what he wanted. He shook his head to clear it and told himself to go for it because it was already in front of him, and he'd seen her in his dream anyway so it shouldn't be a big deal...
Before he could overthink it any further, he stepped forward and opened his mouth:
"Christie...?"
The room was dark except for a dim light that illuminated a small corner of the space. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open further to peek inside. He could just make out the figure of a girl sitting at the desk with the lamplight.
He drew in a sharp breath. It was Christie, and she looked beautiful.
She turned slowly, looking up with a cheerful smile. "Hi, Vix! What are you doing up so late?"
"I could ask you the same question." He pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside, trying to ignore the way the light lit her up. Her nightgown accentuated her figure and her pretty features were suddenly so much more visible and her lips looked startlingly pink...
Vix shook his head to clear it as she began talking again, turning away to lift what she'd been working on before he'd entered. From where he stood, it looked like a large swath of—oh. His mind reeled. Yellow fabric.
"I've just been working on this for hours now," she stated, wording it as if it were a complaint, even though she sounded like a giddy schoolgirl.
"Is that...?"
"Yup! My present to Blaster!"
"Oh." Vix could hardly warrant more of a reaction, but he didn't think she noticed.
She was standing up now, holding up the jacket. "Could I have you try it on?"
"Uhh, sure." Days ago, him being shirtless might have made her blush. Or, made her uncomfortable, at least. Now, she was totally at home with him despite his lack of clothes. It was a weird thing to notice, but he noticed.
"Hold out your arms," she ordered softly, looking happy as she reached out.
He did as he was told and waited patiently as she fitted it onto him. "It's a little small for me," he said, flexing his fingers.
"That's perfect! Blaster's smaller than you. I think that's about right."
Oh, right. This isn't for me. Vix shrugged the jacket off, wanting to shrug off all his sudden pain along with it. This newfound pain was different from the one he'd experienced after his nightmare, though. This one was...indescribable. It didn't feel like it was from being burned alive or being cut up or even being betrayed by your loved ones. It felt...aching, almost dull, in a way.
Christie took the jacket, handling it as if it were her child, not seeming to notice Vix's more careless attitude toward it. She began sewing almost immediately, looking more confident about the stitches now that she knew it should fit Blaster.
"Has he..." He paused, hesitating. "Has he answered your feelings yet?"
"Hmm..." She set down the jacket she was making, knotting the stitches before cutting it off. "Almost. He accepted my feelings, but"—here she smiled—"he was so embarrassed. It was very cute."
"...Oh." Vix felt his entire being begin to wither. He clenched his hand into a fist, holding it over his heart. Why do I feel this way?
Oblivious to his internal pain, Christie moved on to another part of the jacket, still talking: "He's so sweet and cute, I don't know why I ever saw him as vile. Or rather, it's hard to imagine I ever felt that way." She giggled, in an almost embarrassed, shy manner. "I'm so stubborn, aren't I?"
You're not the only one, he thought, feeling as if his heart was being ripped from him.
"He comforted me when I felt sad, and made me feel better. He gave me a jacket just because he was worried about me. He talked to me when I felt alone. He listened when no one else would. He understood when no one else could. He made me feel like I didn't have to be angry all the time at the world, and at Damon and his people. He taught me what it was like to forgive. He made me remember what it was like to know good people. Blaster was so patient, caring, and kind... He made everything better."
I tried to do that for you. Really, I did, he wanted to scream, even though he kept his mouth shut. I tried to listen and comfort you and remind you of the good and I tried to protect you and keep you happy and make sure you weren't upset or angry and I tried to remind you that it was okay to accept and forgive the Rowdyruff Boys and—
"Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't realize my feelings earlier," she laughed.
—...I'm surprised I haven't realized my feelings earlier too, he finally thought as he deflated, ending his internal rant. He felt defeated for some reason, as if he'd just lost a great, important battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting.
As she kept talking about Blaster, Vix slowly came to a conclusion that scared him. He tuned out, starting up his own speech in his head. You are stubborn, Christie, but...you're not as prejudiced as you think. You may have tried to dislike Blaster despite his kindness, but you still accepted him in the end. And besides that, you accepted me—when no one else would. I'm really thankful to you for that. You cared for me. You were more than just a great friend. Without me even noticing it, you became something more. To me...
You became the girl I like.
And that was when, for around the fourth time in his whole life, Vix knew what it was like to be truly, utterly, devastatingly heartbroken.
Morning came and passed like any other day at home. Her sisters ate and chatted while the Professor fluttered about like he usually did, with well-natured concern and love. It wasn't until she got to school that everything routine about her life unfolded into chaos.
When she got to the school, she saw Vincent walking in the hallways and he said hi, which made her say hi shyly back. As she then made her way to her first block of the day, she was stopped by someone with red hair and redder eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
She frowned, taking a step back. "I was just saying hello."
"Oh, is that so? Why is it that you've avoided me since you got here, but you're saying hi to him, of all people?"
"He said hi first," she said defensively.
"I'm quite sure I said hello to you," he began scathingly, "and you didn't respond. Why did you ignore me?"
"Because of this," she snapped back firmly, even though in the back of her mind she felt panicked. "I didn't want to deal with all of this."
He was seething now. "Oh, I see. I see how it is."
"What are you talking about? Stop being so petty."
"I'm being petty?" He laughed, sounding as if he were in disbelief, which he probably was. "I'm not the one being petty here."
"I just said hi to him," she said again, and again in a defensive manner.
"That's not the only thing you did. When I tried to message you on Facebook asking if you were there, you typed back 'no'. You didn't even ignore it; you just typed back 'no'!* Did it ever cross your mind just how hurtful that feels?" He paused, red eyes now looking sad. He looked like he was choking on his words now, which came out in a softer, more painful tone: "Why are you doing this to me, Blossom? Why are you tearing me apart like this?"
Despite her guilt, she felt the need to continuously defend herself and not admit she was wrong. "You're the one who was hanging out with some other girl—"
"You're still going on about that?" he said in disbelief.
"Yes," she answered, feeling a little offended that he thought it was okay to just brush it off.
He laughed again, shaking his head. It sounded like it hurt him to chuckle at her words. "You're not hearing yourself right now, are you? You can't hear all the ridiculous things you're saying." She got ready to defend herself again, but he just shook his head even more and said, "No, don't say anything. I'm done. I'm so done."
She clamped her mouth shut, guilt swirling around in her stomach.
He stared at her. "Unless... No. Never mind. I'm going to guess you don't have anything to say that could make this all better, do you?"
In response, she averted her gaze.
"...Ha. Haha, I knew it." He swallowed, looking sad. "You don't have anything to say that could make this better." He took a deep, shaky breath. "I really do like you, Blossom. You know that. So why...why would you do this to me? Why would you tell me you like me too; that I'm the only one for you, only for you to string me along like this? Are you trying to break me, Bloss? Because it's working. You're tearing me apart here."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Forget it. I'm done." He turned around. "I'm going to my class, and you should be too if you don't want to be late."
"Brick, wait—"
"No, you wait. Wait until I'm gone to keep talking because I really don't want to hear any of your bullshit anymore."
Taken aback, she recoiled and said nothing more.
He stared at her for a few seconds longer. Then he flew away, leaving Blossom to stand there as the bell began to ring.
Brick's words stuck with her all throughout class. She ended up being late, but her mind was on other things for the rest of the lesson. She could feel the guilt and knew that in reality, she was in the wrong. But she was too stubborn to admit it and Brick was avoiding her anyway, making it hard for her to even try and apologize.
When lunchtime came, she was putting books into her locker in a daze when a boy's voice sounded beside her.
"Hey, Cherry Blossom."
She looked up, startled, and managed to smile. "Hi, Vincent."
"Are you okay? You seem kind of upset," he offered.
"I'm fine. I'm just...having trouble communicating with a—someone, right now," she answered awkwardly, unsure of what else to reveal. She certainly didn't want to tell him that he was the cause of her inner conflict—and her conflict with Brick.
"Oh, that's really too bad," he said sympathetically, looking actually apologetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No," she sighed. Except if you stopped talking to me. And then a small part of her whispered: But I wouldn't want that. She pushed the entangling thoughts away. "Don't worry about it. It's my own issue."
"Alright, if you say so," he said slowly, looking unsure. He ran a hand through his long red hair. "If you ever need help—"
"It's fine," she promised. "Really." She smiled then, trying to steer the conversation away from her troubles. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
"I just wanted to remind you that tonight I'm putting on a special performance just for you." He stopped combing his hand through his hair to smile back at her. "I hope you haven't forgotten."
"No, I haven't." She giggled, feeling a little lighter than before. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Vincent leaned against the locker, his smile easygoing and casual. It really was quite warm and comforting. "I'll be at Michael's house tonight for a party, so you should come."
"Sure. Where's his house again?" Blossom raked through her brain but realized that despite getting closer to Michael's family and friends because of her sisters (and the Ruffs), she hadn't quite been to his house herself before.
"Oh, I'll send you the address on Facebook." Vincent bent forward a little closer to her, and whispered in her ear: "Meet me in the rose garden square at 8:00 pm."
She shivered. "Alright," she whispered back, "I will."
He smiled again and leaned back. "Awesome. I'll see you then."
"Bye," she called after him as he walked away.
He waved a little to acknowledge her farewell and disappeared into the crowd. Blossom gazed after him, before realizing someone was staring at her from behind a wall where Vincent had vanished.
It was Brick.
His red eyes looked stormy, and his lips were set in a frown. He looked disappointed. Angry. Upset.
She opened her mouth to call out to him, but then he was gone. And the only thing he left behind was his angry red streak.
"He'll be okay, won't he?" she asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," Ross answered reassuringly. "Don't worry about him, Buttercup."
But she couldn't help but worry. The image of Darkai's bruised and bleeding unconscious body wouldn't leave her eye. She could tell that it was hard for Ross too. He told her it would be fine, but he didn't look like he believed it.
She glanced at the far end of the table, where Bunny was sitting, staring sadly at her tray. "Can't I tell her? She's really upset."
"No!" Ross said quickly. "I don't want to worry her. Darkai... He was really injured that night."
"But she thinks he doesn't like her anymore!"
"Well, we can't really do anything about that." He shook his head. "I don't know what Darkai was thinking. I don't believe he doesn't like Bunny anymore, but with him being unconscious, we can't prove anything. Telling her about his condition would be useless."
Buttercup bit her lip, frowning. She wasn't sure she agreed. She hated these secrets that even Ross insisted on carrying. Deciding that unless she could cheer Bunny up by the end of the day, she would tell her sister the truth about Darkai's absence from school. "Fine," she said, "but it doesn't mean I have to like it."
He looked relieved. "Thank you, BC. I'm glad you understand."
"Anyway, I'm going to talk to my sister." She stood up and walked to where Bunny was, not wanting to talk to Ross anymore. She had worked so hard to keep him as a friend, but she didn't want to deal with his secrecy.
Bunny jumped, looking up in a startled, wide-eyed manner as the green Puff sat down beside her. "H-Hello," she stammered.
"Hey," Buttercup responded. She leaned against the cafeteria table. "You okay? You've been sad all day."
"It's Darkai. I'm worried." She buried her face in her hands. "He's not here today. He's never not here. He's hardly ever been absent—and certainly not since I started dating him. I've been doing my best to heal him, and then—and then—" Here she was breaking down into tears. "He stops talking to me and doesn't even come to school! I'm worried but I know he should be fine because he'd come to me for healing if he wasn't, but then I think about how he's not talking to me so how would I know if he's okay? Then I wonder if he's not at school just because he doesn't want to talk to me? It's ridiculous but it seems like such a big possibility! And then I don't want to worry about him because he's left me behind, but I can't help but worry and feel upset and I'm just—I'm just so emotional today," she blubbered.
Buttercup glanced at Ross, but the boy was shaking his head sadly. She cursed under her breath as she rubbed Bunny on the back. "Look, it's okay..." she said awkwardly. She had no idea how to comfort the emotional purple Puff. Surveying the room, Buttercup's gaze landed on Bandit, who was staring.
He looked away.
She mouthed to him, "Comfort her."
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, clearly hesitating.
"Comfort her," she repeated, still mouthing the words.
He hesitated some more before nodding curtly.
Satisfied, Buttercup leaned back and stopped soothingly stroking her sister's hair. "It's okay," she promised. "I'm sure Darkai still cares about you. Something probably happened that prevented him from coming to school."
"He would've told me then," Bunny sniffled, wiping her eyes.
Buttercup wasn't sure what else she could say, so she just said, "Come to me if you need to talk. Meanwhile, there's someone else here to see you."
"Who?" Bunny looked up. "I just want to talk to Darkai and get everything sorted out, but the idea of it is—oh."
"Yup." Feeling like she did a good thing, Buttercup stood up. "He'll help you feel better." She sidled a little further away.
Bandit was standing above them, an awkward look on his face. Bunny just stared at him. He coughed and sat down, and she winced.
Buttercup chalked their awkwardness up to Bunny's shyness and Bandit's inability to be sympathetic, but she knew the two were close so she figured that once they got the ball rolling, they'd be fine. She continued to sidle away until she bumped into someone.
"Oof," they both said. She looked up. The guy she'd bumped into was Butch.
"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, blinking at her with his forest-green eyes.
She stared back. "Umm...hi."
"I see you got Bandit to talk to her again," he commented, nodding at the two awkward purples.
"Yup. It felt like the right thing to do." She smiled slightly. "They have a lot of stuff to work out."
He nodded. "Agreed." Butch paused. "And...err, do you think we have things we need to work out too?"
"Do we?" She suddenly realized how awkward the atmosphere had become.
He coughed, laughing a little bit in an uncomfortable, forced manner, as if he regretted asking. "I don't know. Do we?"
"Don't ask me." Buttercup ran a hand through her short black hair, sounding a little exasperated, but not unhappy. "As long as you're not mad at me and I'm not mad at you, we're cool."
"Yeah," he agreed. "I guess so. Sorry. I just wanted to double-check, especially since the last time we talked I kinda flirted with you." He chuckled. "I'm just glad you're not pissed at me."
"Yeah, well, Ross is talking to me again, so that put me in a good mood for today." She smiled.
Butch's smile vanished a little bit, but he held onto it. "Oh...yeah. I noticed. I'm...glad to hear it."
She paused to stare at him. "You're not going to be pissed off at me for that, are you?" she asked incredulously.
"No, of course not," he responded, although his tone wasn't very convincing.
"Seriously, Butch—we're just friends. You know how it feels! You wouldn't want Ross to stop talking to you either, right?"
Her counterpart didn't reply right away, maybe trying not to admit it. He didn't want to give in to the whole "Ross is great" business Buttercup was sprouting, but he finally nodded with a sigh. "Right."
"See? There you go." She paused. "If anything, I deserve to be pissed at you more than you get to be at me."
He raised an eyebrow. "And why's this?"
"Because as you mentioned, the last time you talked to me," Buttercup began, putting her hands squarely down on the table, "you flirted with me.* What's the deal with that?"
He groaned. "This was exactly the kind of thing I didn't want to get into."
"Then you shouldn't have asked," she huffed.
"No! No... That's—not what I meant. I just meant that... This is really awkward," he coughed.
"Well, why'd you do it?"
"I just wanted to have some fun, okay? I hadn't had a really good day that time and it was nice talking to you. I wanted everything to go back to normal." He finally looked at her. "I flirt with every girl. You know that."
For some reason, the words kind of stung, as if Butch were saying she was just another girl, that it didn't matter, that she was like all the others. Buttercup mentally smacked herself, reminding herself that Butch was right. He did flirt with every girl, even her. He was a player through and through, and she and he were just friends anyway. There was no reason for her to expect anything else from him, and yet she couldn't help remembering wondering where the real Butch had gone when he'd smiled and took her hands that time.*
Butch gave her a loose, sheepish smile that almost seemed apologetic. "You're not mad at me for that, are you?"
"...No, no, I'm not." She coughed. "Of course I'm not angry."
"Cool." He held up a french fry. "Here's an offering of peace."
"Thanks." Buttercup took the salty snack and ate it slowly, watching as Butch gobbled down more fries.
He was talking to Mitch now, and the two were laughing like there was no tomorrow. They tossed food at each other and hollered over one another. It was so juvenile, and yet somehow, it made Buttercup feel kind of...warm.
It'd been a long time since Butch had seemed so happy and relaxed. He'd had so much happen to him, she was just glad to see him enjoy himself for once, without a care in the world. Her mind flashed back to all the nightmarish near-deaths her friends had recently suffered, and something hit her. Hard.
Horrific images of bleeding Rowdyruff Boys and Ross and Darkai filled her head, reminding her that they'd all suffered through a gruesome shooting or attack. Quite a few of them had gone close to just dying. The idea reminded Buttercup of how upset and scared she'd been during those days, and all the trauma from each individual moment just seemed to catch up with her in one giant mess of tangled fear. She could feel her eyes begin to water, so she jumped up from the table and just ran.
She could hear her sisters and friends calling out to her in startled concern, but two voices rang out over the rest: Butch and Ross.
Buttercup flew toward the girl's washroom, wanting to hit herself for her own inability to stay strong. She'd tried so hard to maintain a grip on reality, and had even succeeded. But when she really thought about it, her friends suffering such near-death experiences like that was enough to awaken trauma.
It was when she was almost at the door of the ladies' room that a dark-green streak joined her own lime-green streak, and someone rammed into her. They skidded to a stop as she felt strong arms wrap around her, causing them to spin and stumble. The person managed to catch her before they fell over completely though, leaning against the wall.
Buttercup struggled before finally slumping against the body of the person holding her, allowing some tears to streak her face.
"Shhh, what's the matter, BC?" her companion whispered, stroking her hair.
She wanted to scream at them to let her go, but she couldn't. She was too busy remembering all the blood and closed eyes and pale faces and dark rooms. She was too busy remembering the agony of waiting for those bleeding, pale-faced, close-eyed boys to wake up again. And everything was hurting. She knew she was breaking down—and she hated herself for it.
"Buttercup, I won't know what's wrong unless you tell me." The voice came out cracked and sad, pitiful and hurt.
She wanted to tell them to stop pitying her, but instead she just shivered and cried. They stroked her hair soothingly the entire time, whispering calming things in her ear. When she finally recovered enough to stop crying, she said hoarsely, "I remembered all the pain."
"What...?"
"I remembered how much it hurt just waiting for Brick and Braker and Ross to wake up. How traumatizing it all really was. How each and every single one of them suffered through someone trying to kill them."
The person holding her stopped petting her hair. "Buttercup..."
"I remembered the fear."
The person heaved a deep, shaky breath, before burying their face in her shoulder. "Oh, Buttercup..."
She thought they were crying.
Just then, another voice called out for them: "Buttercup; Butch...!"
Her companion quickly let go of her and disentangled himself from her. She looked up at him, and was startled to see a stone-cold face. He'd been crying only a second before—she was sure of it. And yet there he was with one of the most blank expressions she'd ever seen him wear.
Ross appeared. "Are you guys okay?" he gasped, running forward and grabbing her hands. His emerald-green eyes were wide and filled with concern. "Buttercup, what happened? You just suddenly ran off—"
"I'm fine," she interrupted awkwardly. She didn't want to worry poor, sweet Ross. Not when he'd already suffered through so much. Butch is the one you should be asking if he's okay, she added quietly in her head.
Just as she thought that, the green Rowdyruff Boy muttered, "I have to go." Then he marched away stiffly.
Buttercup and Ross watched him go, and she tried to imagine all the pain her counterpart was feeling. The idea squeezed her heart until it felt like it was bleeding. Is this how Butch feels? she wondered. She felt Ross squeeze her hand and when she looked up in surprise, he gave her a weak smile.
Buttercup managed a small smile back, but another thought sent her mind reeling again.
What if Butch got shot?
All the near-deaths that had already happened—like Ross' shooting—already felt like the worst possible thing. When she had heard about Ross and Braker, she hadn't known how she would ever recover. It was as if life had hit rock-bottom and couldn't get any worse.
But if Butch was almost killed, what would she do?
They sat in an awkward silence so thick you could choke on it. Bunny hadn't forgotten all the things Bandit had done to her. Kissed her, abandoned her, confused her—he'd done everything he could ever do to hurt her. And yet...she couldn't bring herself to stay angry at him.
He coughed quietly, almost as if he was scared to approach her. "Are you... Are you okay?"
She took a deep breath, quickly wiping her eyes so that he wouldn't see her tears—but he did see. And it made his heart break a little as he frowned. "I-I'm fine," she stammered, mustering what resembled a smile—a weak, pitiful smile—but a smile all the same.
"Bunny..." Bandit's deep purple gaze softened and he leaned in closer until they were eye-to-eye. "Please don't pretend to be happy."
The words hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her eyes to start watering again. She turned her head away and began trying to wipe away the tears. "Then please don't ask," she whispered back.
Looking hurt, Bandit pulled back and turned his head away. He was silent for a long time, before he finally said, "...I'm sorry."
She paused, blinking in surprise.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice a little less hoarse. "I'm sorry for everything I've done. I know I haven't been the best—friend in the whole world. I've flopped between letting you in and shoving you back out, and I know I've been a huge jerk. I just—I don't want to hurt you. I don't ever want to hurt you, Bunny."
"But you're doing it now," she whispered back. The words left her lips before she could stop herself.
Bandit flinched as if she'd just screamed at him instead of murmured the ruthless words. "I know, but...I see you right now, sitting here hurting because of Darkai—and that's the exact kind of thing I never wanted to do to you. Darkai let you in and now he's shut you out and I can see how much it hurts you and I just—this hurts me and—"
"Don't."
He stopped. "Bunny...?"
"Please don't." Taking a deep, shaky breath, she lifted her head. Bandit flinched when he saw the tears running from her lilac-purple eyes. "Does that reason make you ignoring me okay? Does it make all the times you chose to close the door in my face when I tried to enter suddenly okay?" She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her voice begin to stumble. "Does it make you feel better? Was it worth hurting me the other way around, Bandit?"
He looked conflicted. "No, I—I can't find an excuse for what I've done to you. But I never meant to... I didn't want you to be attached to me when you got hurt by me. All I need is for you to not want me to let you in and the pain will never be as bad as when you care about me and I close the door."
"So you want me to hate you?"
"No! No... I would never want that, Bunny." His eyes were starting to tear now as well. "I'm unable of wanting that. I just don't want you to feel betrayed by someone you thought you were close to, like you are right now—"
"You've already done that to me!" she cried out, interrupting him. The tears came down like waterfalls now, tasting salty on her tongue. "I liked you Bandit, a long time ago. But even back then—even when I was young and naïve and innocent and so stupid—you shut me out and locked the door and wouldn't let me back in no matter how hard I tried!"
Taken aback, Bandit tried to reply, "Bunny—"
"I thought you were better than that, Bandit. I thought you actually cared about me. I was so scared back then—scared of messing up, scared of everyone hating me, scared of me—all because of my original, beastly form. You knew I could turn back into that girl who was big and unintelligent and clumsy and incapable of basic comprehension of right and wrong. You knew and yet you looked past that and saw me. You helped me and comforted me and made me feel confident—but then you suddenly kicked me out and slammed the door shut in my face. You became silent, distant, cold, angry, and bitter... And things got better over time, but they never went back to the way they were. We didn't hang out the way we used to anymore. In fact, we hardly hung out at all. You had your friends, and I had mine.
"And every time I transformed back into that other girl, that other Bunny, that other me—you weren't there. You were never there anymore."
Bandit closed his eyes and ground his teeth together as he tried to keep the tears from falling. "I'm sorry for those times. I know what I chose to do is inexcusable—"
"No." She took a deep breath as she interrupted him. "I forgave you, Bandit. I forgave you for all of that a long time ago."
He stared at her, shocked into speechlessness. "Bunny...?"
"But now you're the one digging your own grave by opening all these old wounds again—because you can never let anything go. Because you can't open up. Because you refuse to let anyone else in." She sniffled. "Because you've always refused to let me in."
Bandit looked away.
"I just want to know one thing..." She reached upwards, touching his cheek with her hand. "What happened, Bandit? What was it all those years ago that made you so bitter and upset? What made you want to shut me out?"
He flinched, startled. As he stared into her soft purple gaze, he felt himself begin to loosen but his walls started closing in all at the same time and all the chains around his heart began tightening and tightening and—
"Bandit, please... What happened?"
—And then they loosened. He stared at her, his eyes searching every inch of her face. They found every detail, every surface, every crevice. They noticed the way strands of her hair fell out of her ponytail and curled around her face. They noticed the way her eyes shone with concern. They noticed how even when she was confident, a constant shyness laced her gaze and her words. They noted that even when bitter, she was sweet. And that no matter what, she was beautiful.
He loved her.
He remembered when he came to the realization. When he first wanted to chase after her and do crazy, irrational, love-driven things like let her back inside and to hold her and kiss her and make her his own—before reality had hit him again and reminded him that she deserved better than him. She had Darkai. She didn't need all of Bandit's secrets dragging her down.
Bandit closed his eyes and touched her hand, turning his head away just slightly.
Her gaze turned to disappointment and she began to pull her hand back. "I knew you weren't going to tell me," she murmured.
His eyes flashed open and something inside of him snapped. He held onto her hand fast, not letting her pull away.
"Bandit...?" she questioned. "Bandit, let me—"
He kissed her. He kissed her with the ravenous hunger of a wolf, who was always alone and independent but was now lonely and desperately seeking company and love. He kissed her with desire as fiery and passionate as a flame. He kissed her with meaning.
He kissed her because he loved her.
But he'd forgotten one thing. She didn't love him. At least, not anymore. She liked Darkai now, and he was sure she actually resented him much more than liked him. And what she did next seemed to prove his belief.
She slapped him.
It wasn't a harsh slap. More like a weak, shocked hit that didn't hurt more because the person delivering the blow was too stunned to make it any harder. Indeed, Bunny was quivering and her eyes were watering and she looked like she couldn't believe what he'd just done.
Disgusted with himself, Bandit pulled away. He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth and willed himself to calm down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that—"
"Y-You're right. You sh-shouldn't have." Even her voice was quivering. She slumped, still shaking, as the tears came even faster and harder. "Why do you do that? Wh-Why do you a-always have to mess with me so badly? I-I can't ever tell how you r-really feel about me because you keep doing th-things like...like this!"
"I'm sorry," he repeated, wanting her to slap him again—harder, because he knew he'd fucked up. "I-I can't justify my actions."
"That's what makes it so much worse," she agreed, rubbing her eyes. "Maybe if you loved me and actually wanted me to come in, it would be more okay, but that's not the case, is it?"
He didn't reply. He couldn't reply. He did love her, but it was a lot more complicated than that. He could want to let her in, yes, but he couldn't actually let her in. He had to keep her out. He had to keep her away from him so he wouldn't end up hurting her. She had Darkai. He had to—
Bandit suddenly realized what was wrong with the things he was thinking. Some of those things had changed. This entire conversation was about how him driving her away from him didn't make things hurt any less, and Darkai currently wasn't there for Bunny. Technically, the conditions were slightly different.
He opened his mouth to tell her more, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't do it. The memory of the burning cabin and all the other horrors filled his brain. He couldn't let them out. He'd spent so long keeping them under lock and chain, he was afraid that if he let those ghosts back out, they would destroy him. And he didn't want to share such things with Bunny anyway. The Rowdyruff Boys had decided a long time ago not to involve their friends in such matters. Because it would not only destroy them, but the boys themselves as well.
So instead, Bandit managed to say, "I'm a fool, Bunny."
She looked at him in surprise. "Bandit...? What's the matter?"
"I'm a fool," he repeated. He managed a smile. "I'm such a fool. I want you, Bunny. But I can't let you in because of my own stupid, personal reasons. But they're still reasons, and I promise you they're valid." He began laughing, tears pouring from his eyes. "I already told you, haven't I? I like you, Bunny. I just wish I'd realized it sooner when things hadn't turned out this way. When I still could've kept my secrets but kept you here beside me. When things weren't so fucked up between us. Around us. Inside us. I'm sorry I've ruined everything."
"Bandit, you're not making sense," she said, sounding scared.
He stopped laughing. "I just mean that... I wish things were different."
Bunny hesitated before reaching out to touch his forehead. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"I'm fine." He mustered up a broken smile. "I'm sorry."
"Bandit..." Bunny's gentle purple gaze softened and she leaned in closer until they were eye-to-eye. "Please don't pretend to be happy," she said, referencing what he'd said to her only minutes before.
The reference slammed into him full-force, as if he were standing in front of a train. Bandit gulped in air and felt himself crack. He could feel every fragile part of his pathetic glass self begin to break, causing all his air to be sucked out and all his tears to come rushing out. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep being the strong, independent, aloof Bandit who always carried his burdens alone.
He began crying, and Bunny wrapped her arms around him to comfort him.
After awhile, he stopped. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bandit murmured into her arm, "I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry about Darkai."
"Shhh."
"No, I mean it. You don't deserve any of what's happening to you. You're an amazing person, Bunny. You don't deserve someone like me, and you don't deserve someone like Darkai, either. You don't deserve either of us assholes. You deserve so much more. So much better."
She kept her gaze straight ahead, and when she replied, her voice was quiet. "I might not deserve either of you, but...sometimes I feel like...you two need me. And that...that might be the selfish thing to say, but—when both of you seem so broken and lonely, so determined to be independent—to carry all the weight on your own shoulders—I feel like I need to be there to keep your feet from slipping off the ground."
He smirked weakly. "The idea that you can fix us broken wolves, huh."
"...Something like that."
"Well, I've got news for you." He sighed. "We can't be fixed. We don't deserve to be fixed. Sometimes...we don't even want to be fixed."
She was silent for a long, long time. Then she gently reached out to stroke his hair. "We'll see about that," she said quietly.
Bandit just shuddered and buried his face deeper into her arm.
"Ross, are you in here?" Shamus pushed the door open and looked inside. "I know it's been only a few hours since you got home, but..."
Ross appeared in the doorway, still dressed in his school uniform. "Hey, Uncle Shamus. What's wrong?"
"Are you feeling okay? You look tired," Shamus remarked, trying to peek inside. Ross coughed, stepping to the side so his uncle couldn't quite go in. Giving up, Shamus added, "Okay, you obviously don't want me to come in, but...we need to talk."
"Ughhhh, not those words," Ross groaned quietly.
Shamus clamped his mouth shut firmly, frowning. "Yes, those words. We need to talk."
Taking a deep breath, Ross stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. "Alright. What do you want to discuss?"
"Let's start from the beginning. How are you feeling?" his uncle asked, reaching out to place his hands on his nephew's shoulders. "Look, I know you don't like it when I get all up in your business, but I'm just trying to look out for you. I'm worried about you. You look so tired and you seem like you need a break. If you want to talk, I'm right here and willing to listen. I promise I won't say anything; I'll just hear you out. I want to help you, Ross—really, I do. So if you could just let me—"
Ross shrugged; glancing away. "I'm fine."
"Ross—you are not fine."
"Then why'd you even bother asking?" He turned to glare at his uncle.
Shamus paused, now realizing that he'd messed up. He hadn't meant to upset his nephew. He'd just wanted to follow Raymond's advice and talk to Ross, but here he was again, being too pushy.
"I know you're trying to be the good uncle, but just stop." The younger male leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes cast downward. "I'm fine; honest."
"I know what it's like to be a teenager. You don't want to share your feelings, but it's unhealthy if you don't. Please just talk to me. I don't want us to stop communicating."
"Uncle, stop it!" He raised his voice this time, eyes beginning to water. "I don't want to talk right now. Look, everything's fine. I have everything under control. You want me to maintain my academics and training, right? So I'll tell you: I'm following orders; I'm not sharing information with anyone."
"But what about you emotionally?" He felt a stab of guilt that Ross felt the need to address his status rather than his emotional state with his uncle. Have I really been focusing too much on his academics and training? "How are you with Sydney? How are you with Buttercup? Ross, I want to know so I can protect you. I—"
"Stop it. Stop trying to be the good, caring guardian. You're just making things worse," the teen retorted angrily. "I can protect myself!"
"But as your guardian, it is my duty to make sure you're happy," he said desperately.
"I'd be very happy if you stopped sticking your nose in my business."
"I can't just leave you alone—"
"Why not? You've done so before. Sometimes you barely bother to address my emotions. Because it's easier for you to focus on my training, isn't it, Uncle? This isn't always about you. You're not the one suffering here. I'm not the problematic one who doesn't understand the other's feelings. It's. Not. Always. About. You."
"Ross, please. You're making this very difficult."
"That's the point. I don't want to make this easy because I don't want to talk. Why can't you just get that? If you truly know what it's like 'to be a teenager', then how do you not know the feeling of not wanting to share?" Ross looked away. "I bet Dad would've understood."
Shamus felt as though his nephew had just stabbed a dagger through his heart. A surge of anger swept over him. "Ross, enough! I am your legal guardian—I act as your dad. I've raised you. I've cared for you. I've been with you for over ten years now. Your father was a wonderful man, but he hasn't been there for you in—"
"Don't talk about Dad like that!" Ross glared at him. "You might have known him for much longer than me, but that doesn't mean you need to rub it in. And besides, key word is 'acting'. You're an acting guardian, Shamus."
"Ross..." His uncle's eyes softened and he breathed in, trying to steady his rocking emotions. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have burst out like that. I-I miss Tyrone too. I miss him more than anyone."
"But not me," Ross muttered, clearly still angry. "See, there you go again, assuming you're the one suffering here."
Shamus tried to ignore the remark. "I can tell when you're not happy. It's like... It's like a sixth sense parents have—"
"Well, you aren't my parent!" spat Ross suddenly, shocking Shamus. He pulled away from leaning against the doorway and glared up at the man with tears in his eyes. "You're not my father. You'll never be my father."
Looking hurt, he took a step back. "Ross..."
His nephew looked away guiltily but didn't take the words back, once again leaning on the doorframe. Shamus frowned, biting his lip in concern as he took a deep breath. A silence creeped upon them and they said nothing for an agonizingly long two seconds. Then Shamus turned around.
Ross looked up in surprise. "Uncle...?"
"I'll go and leave you alone now." Shamus' voice was steady but low. He swallowed. "Apologies for bothering you." This time, his voice cracked just slightly on the last two words. He closed his eyes and breathed in again, before walking away.
The younger male watched him go, dark eyes troubled and quiet. He didn't call his uncle back, but when the man vanished from his view, he pulled away from the doorframe and thumped his fist hard on the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears run down his cheeks, before sinking to the ground and bringing his knees to his chest.
A long time passed until a voice asked, "Are you okay?"
"I told you," he choked out, his voice muffled by his arms, "I'm fine." His own voice cracked on the last word. They were hard to say. Harder to say than he expected. Harder to say than he remembered.
"I don't believe I've asked you that before, but now I kind of wish I have," the other voice said.
Ross looked up, blinking. The person standing before him was not, in fact, Shamus. It was Raymond. Ross knew he shouldn't have been surprised, considering how unlikely it was his uncle would come back (although now he kind of wished he would) after being turned away by his nephew.
Raymond stood above him, his warm, chocolate-brown eyes filled with liquid concern. "Ross, what's wrong?"
He was reminded of another man who looked exactly like Raymond. A man whom he hated. A man whom filled most of his earlier memories with warmth. He remembered the same liquid chocolate gaze that overflowed with concern. "Ross, what's wrong?"
He was maybe five, tears streaming down his face with his mouth open in a wail. Crying didn't feel good but he didn't feel good either and he couldn't help but cry, even when he didn't want to.
A hand landed gently on his head. "Why are you crying?" a worried voice asked.
He looked up to see through his tears a man with brown hair and brown eyes standing above him. "Uncle Damon," he whimpered.
"Ross, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. I'm fine." The words came out faster than he intended, sounding wrong and jumbled and forced. His voice cracked on the last two words. He hated himself for not being able to rein it all back and keep it in.
"I'm not sure I believe you," Raymond simply stated, his voice firm but gentle.
Ross looked away at the wall, not answering.
The older man sighed and stepped forward so that he was standing right beside Ross. Then he sat down.
He looked up in surprise.
Raymond explained, "I know it's hard to talk to people sometimes, and I'm not going to force you to say anything to me. I'm here to listen when and if you're ready to tell me what's going on, but only when. If you don't say anything by the time four minutes has passed, then I'll get up and leave you alone."
He didn't reply.
So the two of them sat like that, with Raymond staring at the doorframe and Ross at the wall. They were like that for awhile, in complete quietness, while Ross' mind was racing. He managed to hold on to his silence and solitude for the first two minutes easily enough, but by the third minute he was beginning to crack. He questioned himself and felt the desire to explain his issues; to talk about them and feel comforted when he heard someone else's advice. It got harder and harder to resist. The doubt was almost unbearable. By the time it was almost four minutes, he finally sighed, "Everything is not fine."
Raymond turned to look at him and Ross had tears streaming down his face. "What's not fine?" he questioned carefully.
"Everything." The boy took in a trembling breath. "Shamus is so pushy but I don't want him to be upset about me. He already has so much on his plate and he doesn't always understand... He's always been more focused on my training and my skills than on my feelings and emotions. It's gotten to the point where it's just easier to hide them than explain them to him, especially when I know that he's going to be worried. I know I'm being the problem child but it's so much easier than having to actually admit what is bothering me right now. Why bother them with such things when I can be the perfect soldier instead and satisfy everyone who expects so much from me?
"And I know I still upset him back there because I turned him away like that, but...I just mean I don't want to upset him by telling him how I really feel and then worrying him. So I did fuck up back there but at least now he won't be thinking about my problems specifically, trying to help solve them, and thus worrying even further. He really does have enough on his plate as of right now and I know that by explaining how I really feel he's just going to freak out.
"And then there's Damon and his threat about her. I was so scared for her, so I did all that I could think to do to protect her: I tried to avoid her to keep her out of everything but that failed miserably when she confronted me about it. I caved in. I can't stand the idea of not talking to her, but I can't stand the idea of her being in danger. And yet now, it's too late and she'll be at risk all because I couldn't resist the temptation to keep talking to her. To keep being her friend." He paused, his voice breaking as he finally said, "I don't know what to do anymore, Raymond."
The older man was quiet for a few heartbeats. Then he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, causing him to look up in surprise. He gave the boy a sympathetic smile. "I know how you feel, Ross... But I also know you don't want to face this alone, and by turning Shamus away, you're digging yourself deeper into a hole you don't want to be in."
"I know, but—what else can I do?" His voice broke. "I don't want to tell him."
"The world's a scary place. And if you can tell me what's been upsetting you, then I believe you can tell Shamus as well. He cares a lot about you, Ross. He just wants to help. He may be a little pushy, but that's only because he's just as scared as you are. He's afraid of losing another person in his life; especially someone so close to him and Tyrone—you're the last life his brother left behind, after all. He just wants the best for you, and for you to be happy."
Ross could feel the tears start streaming down his face. "Raymond, I—" he croaked. He couldn't say anything else. His voice refused him.
The man put his arm around the boy. "I'm sorry I had to dig you back out," he said quietly, "but he really is just as scared as you are. If you push him out, you're not just hurting yourself, but you'll be hurting him as well."
Ross dug his face in his hands. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to him. I know how close you two are. You don't need to destroy that bond just to keep him away from your problem—especially since it's both of you will be hurt in the long-run." Ross didn't respond right away. Raymond didn't push either, but after a little while, he prompted gently, "And...?"
He looked up, his eyes darting toward the older man.
"Let me hear the rest of your story, Ross. I...know there's one more part to it; a part of old pain that runs deep. And I...I want to help."
He hesitated.
"Please, Ross... What else is bothering you?"
"Sydney." Ross looked away, feeling his chest burn when he mentioned her name. Memories of his feelings for her and the pain that he felt when she turned him down came back full-force, burning him alive from the inside. "She rejected me a long time ago when I tried to let her in, but now it seems like she wants to come back. I feel like that's just her way of trying to mediate her guilt and make herself feel better. She doesn't even know if she'd answer yes to me if I chose to confess again. How can she not know? What if she were to get my hopes back up and just tear them down again? I won't. I can't fall for her again. How can I let her back in when she rejected me like that? I'm not going to put my heart back out on the line—because it's not fair for me to give her my full heart when she's going to be so halfhearted about all of this. I'm only going to be hurt again if I do that."
"What if it's not just her who's being halfhearted?" Raymond suddenly asked after a few moments of silence.
Ross turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"Well"—here he hesitated—"besides her being halfhearted, don't you think you're not being very full-hearted about this issue either? I'm not trying to attack you, Ross—but Sydney is at least trying to resolve the issue. But you don't want to because you're scared. You're scared to put your heart back out there, aren't you? Which is why you're holding back and would rather avoid the problem," he said softly.
"But if I give in now, I'll have to feel the pain again of my heart breaking. I don't want to risk it; she's not going to be full-hearted about this so why should I?" Ross' voice was rising.
Raymond flinched. "I know—I'm not trying to put you down. I just want you to face your issues. Together. To make it easier for you. Because I know how you feel. You fear rejection again so you're on the fence, aren't you? That makes you halfhearted even though you say no to her every time with so much resolve... But deep down, you can't help but doubt and question yourself, wondering if you did the right thing. And you feel guilty for turning her away and hurting her, but part of you remembers how you felt when she did that to you. Do you think that's very fair...?"
"But when she rejected me, she ripped my heart apart. And now she wants to come back, and I—I can't, Raymond. I really can't. I can't put my heart back on the line. I just can't."
"I know, Ross. I know it's hard. But there's something you can't forget."
"And what's that?" he sniffed.
"The fact that both of you fear heartbreak—and you two are in very similar boats, if not the same one." Raymond finally relented his increasingly harsh, brutally honest tone, finishing with a gentler, "You're scared of her and what she can do to you. What she'll change and break down. But maybe this time, things will be different. As of right now, however, you two both have some problems you need to work out."
Ross didn't reply.
"I know how much you fear having her back in your life, but we both know that you can't run forever, Ross. Both of you are being halfhearted, and both of you need to face your problems before you can move on."
They were silent for a long time, and Raymond wondered if he'd overstepped his boundaries. He did feel that Ross needed to hear the words though. And to his relief, the boy didn't continue to ignore him.
"What do you think I should do?" he finally asked quietly.
A hand landed softly on his head and Ross looked up, startled. Raymond gave him a comforting smile and said softly, "Don't be afraid."
Ross sniffed and wiped his eyes, managing the smallest of small smiles. "You make it sound like it's easy."
"It's not," Raymond confirmed, "but that doesn't mean you can't try."
"And how would you recommend I do that?"
"Well, I know you're going to worry a lot about the negative stuff, but try not to focus on it too much. Because if you do, you won't be able to see past it and move on. Sometimes that's all you can really do. Life moves on. And sometimes people don't, but—the world will. And if you keep being too scared and bitter to continue forwards, you'll always be stuck where you are. Don't be afraid. Never be afraid. Don't fear trying things out and don't fear rejection. I know it's not easy and it's not always good, but...sometimes forging ahead is necessary. You need it to feel better."
"I don't think I'll ever get past this part of the road and reach that destination," Ross replied.
"I know it's hard. But you know you'll never be happy if you stay stuck on this page. Not to sound pretentious," he said, "but not being scared really will help. Moving on and reaching your goal will give you a sense of satisfaction and happiness. So I guess what I'm saying is, don't sweat the small stuff too much. Don't always focus on the negative and freak out over all the little things, because in the end the world has a way of working things out.
"I'm not saying that you're the one who needs to make the change. I'm saying that sometimes you just have to take a step back and watch the world flow onwards. If you do that, then your mind will stop being a roadblock and time will continue to move forward as it always does. The world will move forward. Your life will move forward. And you will get past this. Because life gets past everything. You don't want this to end on a sour note, but if you stand there and try to block out everything that could hurt you, you really aren't going to end up changing anything. You'll just end up being dented and broken from trying to stop everything from crashing into you, and...the pain will catch up to you anyway. Because you aren't a roadblock, Ross. You are a human being."
Ross laughed a laugh that people laugh when they don't know how else to react—but it wasn't a laugh people laugh when they actually want to laugh. "I thought you said I needed to be the one who let Sydney back in first. To make the change. And now you're saying I can just take a step back and let her do whatever? Let Damon do whatever?"
"No—you know that's not what I'm saying. I'm not saying you shouldn't put in effort; you still need to work towards your goal, because any goal needs you to put effort into it. But when you don't focus on it 100%, you can see the bigger picture. Because it's not always just the little details. They might be the most painful, but this is bigger than you know. It's always bigger than you know. If you can forgive Sydney, it's not just you you're helping, but her as well. And Shamus by moving past this problem and not having to have him worry about it. And me and your friends and so on. The world has a way of presenting the solution where and when you least expect it, Ross. I'm not telling you how to deal with this situation, but rather—I'm just trying to tell you where and how you can look for the solution. Because I know it's hard. I know it's hard to move on or be fearless or to forgive. But I can tell you that when you finally let yourself give in just a little bit, things really won't be so bad. We can't always expect the worst. Once you see the bigger picture, you'll find the bigger solution and feel the bigger relief that comes with it. I promise."
Ross stared into Raymond's eyes. "How do you know?" he finally asked quietly.
Raymond smiled, almost sadly. It said so much, Ross wasn't sure he needed to say the words anymore. Because that smile—that sad, pitiful smile, spoke of years of pain and bitterness. But Ross was glad he said the words anyway: "Because I know how you feel."
He realized that there was a lot about Damon's twin that he didn't know. He wondered how long Raymond had been tracking Damon, knowing that his twin brother was still alive and now insane. Had he felt regret, pain, fear, sadness, anger, or bitterness? Or had he felt all of them at once? Maybe he'd gone through stages of the emotions, all at different points. Maybe there'd even been a day where he contemplated killing his brother to stop the evil he was about to unleash on the world, before giving up because he couldn't do it. Or maybe he'd always held onto the hope that Damon could change. That he wouldn't become the malicious man he was now. That he could join Damon again, and that they could be a family once more.
"Do you have a story to tell, Raymond?" he asked suddenly. "Do you have a problem you need to face?"
Startled, the older man looked at him for a long time. Then he smiled again and shook his head. "Not now," he answered. "Or at least, I can't delve into it right now. But I will someday; I promise. I'll tell you everything when it's time." Ross opened his mouth to protest, but Raymond added in a soft, pleading manner, "Please."
Ross closed his mouth and nodded. "Okay."
Raymond visibly relaxed. "Thank you," he breathed.
"But you have to tell me someday," the boy continued. "Promise?"
"I promise," he agreed.
They were silent for a few seconds, before Ross asked, "Raymond...?"
"Yes, Ross...?"
"Could you stay with me for a bit?"
"...Of course, Ross." Raymond felt his heart swell a little bit as his throat closed up. He closed his eyes with a smile. "Of course."
You can do this, Damon. It's not going to be that hard. Just knock on the door and smile like you always do.
Taking a deep breath, he did just that. The door opened shortly after and an excited girl with long blond hair greeted him. She looked flustered. "Ah, it's so good to see you, Damon!"
"Hi, Sylvie." The smile came easily. "I got your message. What's the emergency?"
Another man appeared in the doorway just then, dressed in a green, untucked button-up with the collar unbuttoned. His long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and his emerald-green eyes were sparkling. "Come on in, Damon. The others are all already here."
"Good to see you, Tyrone." The two men leaned in and gave each other a man-hug, where they shook hands and thumped each other on the back. The smile was still easy. Damon had started to see his jealousy slipping. When you had to spend so much time away from the girl who you had decided was the love of your life—because she was married, it just kind of happened. He felt so much lighter, as if he were floating on air.
Things will be okay, he told himself. He walked in after Sylvie and Tyrone, following them to the living room, where Shamus and Danes were indeed already waiting.
"So what's going on?" Shamus burst out impatiently as Damon took a seat. "Why call us all the way out here so suddenly? I have a very important project due tomorrow for work and—!"
"Relax, relax!" Tyrone grinned at his brother. "As I'm sure you've noticed, the emergency is nothing negative. Instead, we have some very good news!"
"Emphasis on the 'very'," Shamus muttered. "This better be worth it, my brother."
Sylvie giggled as she pulled out a cart of cake and began passing it around. As the three guests began to eat, Tyrone responded with "I promise it is" in a cheerful voice, before turning to his wife. "Sylvie, will you do the honours?"
Smiling widely, she clapped her hands together. "Guess what, everyone~?"
"What?" Damon asked sweetly, smiling at the excited girl.
"Tyrone and I are going to have a child!"
Damon nearly spat out his cake. While he didn't do that, he did, however, choke on it. "WHAT!?" he exclaimed.
Shamus' eyes were wide and his mouth had fallen open. "Are you serious?" he cried.
"It's been confirmed?" Danes raised an eyebrow, his voice flat.
Sylvie nodded. "Yup! We just found out awhile ago."
"Congrats!" gasped Shamus, jumping upwards. He walked quickly over to the couple, where he hugged them both. "I'm so happy for you! Oh my gosh, I'm going to be an uncle!"
Danes stood up and shook Tyrone's hand. "Nice job, Ty." He smiled just the slightest smile at Sylvie. "I'm sure your child will grow up to be wonderful, considering you two are the parents."
"Thank you," she said happily.
Tyrone glanced at the last man still sitting on the sofa. "Damon...?"
He didn't reply. He couldn't reply. He was staring at the floor blankly, feeling completely in shock. Just as he thought he was finally getting over Sylvie, Tyrone got her pregnant. It was like reopening a wound that still wasn't fully healed—just another reminder that he no longer stood any chance with Sylvie. This piece of news really hit the nail in the coffin.
"He's probably in shock because of how happy he is," Shamus joked.
Damon's eyes flickered toward his friend, but he could see genuine worry in the man's dark eyes. Then he remembered that he was with his friends and he needed to keep acting super happy and excited, or else they'd start to suspect him of still liking Sylvie and being jealous—Shamus especially, since Damon knew the other man already suspected him. So he slapped a big grin on his face and said, "Wow, I just—I can't even believe it! Oh my God, this is such great news! Guys, congrats! You must be so excited."
"And terrified," Tyrone agreed jokingly.
If it were for Sylvie, nothing should be too terrifying for you to take on, Damon thought, but he shoved the words away. He knew the good-natured, green-eyed man was just kidding.
Sylvie touched her stomach. "I really am looking forward to this child. I can't wait to be able to show them all the beautiful things of the world."
Damon smiled at her. That's what I love about you, Sylvie. You always see the beautiful things of the world. Out loud he said, "Me too" with as much convincing charm and enthusiasm directed at her as possible. She smiled back, and Damon tried to maintain his own smile, even though it felt like he'd just been hit by a train. "Congrats, you two," he choked out. "I'm so happy for you."
Because I certainly can't be happy for myself anymore, he thought sadly, before shoving his jealousy back down into the depths of his mind. He returned to wearing his mask of smiles and joy, laughing with his friends. But all the while, that lingering feeling of bitterness remained...
Half an hour later, and Ross was inside his room, getting dressed for the party they'd be having later that night. As he stood in front of his full-length mirror, he attempted to comb back his dark curls. They popped right back into place.
Giving up with a sigh, he set his comb down and switched to adjusting his tie. He was wearing a dark green-and-black striped vest with a gold chain and black tie, over a white dress shirt. He was also wearing black pants and his nice brown shoes. The only thing about him that appeared unruly about him was his hair, where a couple curls refused to stay in place.
Forty minutes until the party, he thought to himself.
Someone knocked on his door.
Looking up, he called "yes?" just as the minutes moved forward one and his mind automatically said, Thirty-nine minutes until the party. Time really did move on without waiting for anyone, like Raymond had said. The two had sat together for about six minutes before a maid calling for Ross caused them to get up and go their separate ways. He felt grateful to Raymond for the advice, though.
"Ross?" Michael stuck his head in, his blond hair parted so that one side of it was combed to the side while the rest of it fell more naturally. He was wearing a cream-coloured vest over a white shirt with white pants. The vest was embroidered with small golden swirls. His black tie matched his black shoes rather nicely, adding contrast to the outfit.
"Is that outfit as uncomfortable as it looks?" Ross teased, flopping down on his bed. He was tempted to throw off his shoes and rip off the vest, but he knew that was the last thing he should do. Michael's parents would be furious with him if he dared to ruin anything, even if that "ruined thing" would just be himself.
"Oh haha." Michael sat down beside him, a little more carefully than his friend. He smoothed out his pants, looking for crinkles that didn't exist. They'd been ironed to almost perfection. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.
Ross groaned quietly. "That's the third person today."
"I'm sorry, man. I'm just worried about you. You didn't seem to be in a good mood after Christie kicked you of out my room."
He sighed. "I'm fine." Michael wouldn't understand. He's always been loyal and eager to serve. He's not going to get why I don't want to. "I was just feeling exhausted."
"And what about you and Shamus? The poor guy's been gloomy all day. I even thought I saw him slumped in the corner of the room crying one time. He's the head organizer for the party but he kept screwing up. Mom would've killed him if he wasn't one of the guests of honour and of such high status."
Ross sat up quickly. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah, she literally threatened to stab him to death with her four-inch heels—"
"No, not that. I mean, of course she did. Your mom threatens everyone." He paused. "What did you say about Shamus?"
"That he's been gloomy all day?"
"No, what else?" Ross urged.
"That I thought I saw him crying?"
"Yeah, that. Are you sure?"
Michael shrugged, careful not to mess up his vest. "I guess," he said almost exasperatedly, "but I really can't be sure."
"I really didn't think he'd be that sad," Ross responded, mostly to himself.
"Well, he might've been. I don't know." Michael made a face. "I don't know, okay? I just wanted to check with you. Do you need to talk to him?"
"Uhh...yeah, I kinda do." Ross groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"You should maybe go do that then," Michael responded.
"I knooooooow," his friend continued to groan.
He placed a hand on Ross' shoulder. "Ross, stop that this instant. You weren't raised that way," he said sharply. He was trying to joke around a little, imitating his parents. And besides, he figured that copying the way his parents always treated him would maybe get Ross to straighten up.
But his friend didn't listen. His friend groaned on for a few more minutes. Ross was the kind of person whose playful attitude just didn't relent to people like Michael's parents, and he admired him for that. Michael wished he could be more like him.
"Ross, I'm serious. Stop that or—"
"What's going on?" a voice called.
Almost immediately, Ross slipped into his star-studded persona and sat up straight, his face even straighter. Just in time too—Michael's parents entered.
Maggie was dressed in a tight, form-fitting purple dress that hugged her curves. She was wearing four-inch silver stilettos, and her frizzy red hair was pulled back in a barely contained bun. Walking beside her, Chris' long blond hair had been tied in a small ponytail and he was wearing a white suit with a black dress shirt under it and a white tie.
"Michael, what are you doing in here? As the guest of honour, you need to be at the party with us to greet guests," Maggie scolded.
"But the party isn't for another thirty-five minutes," Michael said meekly.
Thirty-six, Ross corrected in his mind.
"Even then, you should be with us." Maggie stepped forward and pulled her son up. She looked around. "And what was that ugly humming noise we were hearing?"
"Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne. Just a fly," Ross said softly, his voice still and steady. "We managed to catch it though, so there's nothing to worry about."
"Must've been a large fly," Maggie muttered. Louder, she said, "Join us ten minutes early, Ross."
"Of course," he replied.
Michael admired his friend's ability to stay calm. He turned to his dad. "Can't I stay with Ross a little while longer?" he begged.
Chris shook his head, his face not giving anything away. He simply said, "Come along, now. We best be going." He stepped aside to allow his wife and son passage first. As they walked out, he glanced back at Ross. "And Ross...?"
"Yes?" He smiled charmingly at the older man.
"Try not to groan out flies at the party, alright?"
Ross' eyes widened in surprise. Before he could reply though, the door shut behind Chris. Embarrassed, Ross looked up at the ceiling and—you guessed it—groaned.
After a few minutes had passed—
Thirty-three. Two. One. Thirty. Twenty-nine.
—After five minutes had passed, Ross pulled out his father's diary and began reading. He found a page that seemed interesting and focused on it, going through every word. He ran his hand over the old, yellowed paper. He could almost hear his father's voice reading to him, even though it had been a long time since he heard his father last.
"'Today Sylvie and I called in the boys to let them know the good news! They now officially know that Sylvie will be having a baby. We're honestly so excited; we can't wait to find out if our baby will be a girl or a boy. Something tells me it'll be a boy, but I guess we'll just have to see. The guys were all very excited as well; Damon especially showered us with joy. He seemed to be stunned at first, but he quickly overcame his shock and shared his happiness with us. He was acting almost as if it were his own child! He kept talking about how the kid might turn out or how to raise it or what wonderful parents we'd be... I swear, I'm so lucky to have friends like the ones that I do. I'm glad that Damon has taken so much so soon to the child.
Shamus was overjoyed as well, of course; he even gave us a lesson on childcare—he always was the better one at taking care of children. I'm just good at playing with kids, but Shamus had everything planned out to help get our little bundle of joy to Harvard! We certainly hadn't thought that far ahead haha. Danes was happy for us too, of course, just in his own special, deadpan way. I don't think I've ever seen him so emotional though haha. I saw him smile the most today that I've seen him smile in a long time. Granted, most of it was at Sylvie, who just has that effect on people. She was so excited we couldn't help but be excited right back. As for me, I was over the moon with joy. I can't believe I'm going to be a father! I've already rambled about this in the last few entries so I really shouldn't write about it again, but I honestly cannot get over it!
Although...there was this lingering sense of guilt too, because seeing how happy Damon and Shamus were for us reminded me that they had once loved Sylvie. They had once dreamed of this day with Sylvie, but with them being the fathers. I brought this up with Sylvie tonight and she reassured me that the guys don't hold any resentment towards me. And I know they don't, but I just don't understand how they do it. If it were me, I'd most definitely still be jealous. Could I move on as well as Damon and Shamus have? I admire them so much for that—and just for who they are in general.
I actually talked about it with Damon and the shock on his face made me regret asking. But then he burst out laughing and gave me a hug. He told me that I was being silly, worrying over nothing because such a long time had passed since then and that he'd moved on, really. The amount of conviction in his voice made me feel better. I believe him. Of course my friends wouldn't hate me for such a thing, especially after so long. Damon was right. I'm worrying over nothing. I've been married to Sylvie for months now, and I absolutely love her. I wouldn't give her up for the world, but I guess I was just scared the guys still hold a grudge against me. Damon's words reassured me that things are perfectly fine between us. It's strange, really. Damon was telling me that I'm the lucky one and that he envies me in that sense—not just for getting Sylvie, but for having a loving wife and a growing family in general. He told me that he wanted to settle down as well, and I told him I believed he'd find a girl who loved him because he was such a nice guy. He'd smiled his charming smile and said thank you. I guess it's just funny that he told me he envies me, when I do kind of envy him too. He's such a charismatic fellow, and he was able to push aside his jealousy (if it ever existed at all!) and support Sylvie and I despite his feelings for her.
I just... I have amazing friends and I really am grateful to all of them.
-Tyrone'"
As Ross finished reading and closed the diary, he felt a million questions race through his mind: How had Damon managed to hide it so well? How had Dad not seen past the act? Or...was Damon really acting? Did they really envy each other for those reasons? Damon wasn't jealous just because Dad got Sylvie? Were those lies, or did they stem deeper than that? Could they have led him to murdering Dad? Did Damon really feel happy for them? Was Uncle Shamus still jealous as well?
But the main question on his mind was: How could Damon act so happy and be like a best friend, only to murder my father in the future?
The questions stung, refusing to be ignored. Ross knew that he wouldn't be satisfied just asking these questions. He wanted them to be answered too. He wanted to do something he'd been wanting to do for a long time:
Confront Damon.
He had so many questions he wanted to ask—no, demand answers from—the man. There were too many questions for him to just ignore. He only knew one side of the story, and he wanted to hear the rest of it. He wanted to know how Damon could do such a thing; pretend to be happy and friendly and then just run around and stab a stake through his father's heart.
Ross took a deep breath, a plan formulating in his head. He noted the time on his clock. Fifteen more minutes until the party. He was supposed to be ten minutes early. Ross walked out of his room and made his way down the hall towards a certain secret place he'd just recently discovered. Before he could get there, however, he heard several footsteps clattering nearby.
The group of people that walked past included Vix, Christie, Raymond, Jamel, Danes, and—of course—Shamus.
Ross almost called out for his uncle, but he managed to keep his mouth closed.
Christie was almost running, wearing a long white dress that fluttered out behind her. Flowers adorned her hair and she looked positively stunning, smiling happily and excitedly. Silver shoes covered her feet—and Ross found himself marvelling once again at her ability to run in heels.
Vix was walking much slower, watching Christie with an almost forlorn, hungry look in his eyes that Ross thought he recognized on wolf pups. His usually messy red hair was tied back in a neat ponytail with a white ribbon and he was wearing a dark-red suit that were like a yukata's. It also had more baggy sleeves that resembled the bell-top sleeves of a yukata.
Raymond was wearing a black vest with a brown tie and a black shirt underneath.
Danes was wearing his usual general-looking outfit, and Jamel was wearing his usual red suit. They were talking in low, hushed voices.
Ross watched as they all paraded past, before his gaze landed on his uncle. Shamus was wearing a simple black suit and black tie, but that wasn't what caught Ross' attention. It was the sad, empty look in Shamus' eyes that dragged a knife through the boy's heart. I did this to him, he realized. I made him this way.
He longed to run out and hug his uncle, but then another girl came walking past.
It was Sydney.
She was running ahead of her family, who were walking further behind. She caught up to Shamus and started talking to him, and Ross wondered if she was asking for him. He had to admit that she looked pretty in her white dress covered in blue flowers. She'd even let down her tan hair, something she usually didn't do—he'd forgotten how beautiful she looked when she did.
Ross stared for awhile longer, but she must have felt someone watching her because she slowly turned around. Ross quickly ducked behind a wall, heart pounding as he hoped that she hadn't seen him.
When he was sure that they were all gone, he darted out and followed them to the party. He took a deep breath. You can do this, Ross. It's just one night. You just have to avoid her and survive the party. Then after that, you'll be free. Free to do what you want.
Ross made his way to the party.
Free to go to Damon's cabin.
He walked in the door and greeted his friends, joining them at the refreshments table. Michael asked him what had taken him so long and scolded him for being a minute late. Then they prepared to greet the other guests that would be arriving in two minutes.
Free to go there and ask him questions. Free to get answers.
Ross smiled and said hello to guest after guest as the lights dimmed and the music started to play.
Free to confront Damon.
"The music's too loud." Rubbing his ear, Michael winced as he glanced at his friends.
After his parents had dumped him at the party, he and his friends had greeted a bunch of guests. Ross had shown up late, and soon the music had started playing—although, the DJ his parents had gotten was playing the music way too loud for Michael's tastes.
"What?" Ross yelled over the noise.
"THE MUSIC'S TOO LOUD!" Michael repeated, just as the song ended. He blushed when a few heads turned toward him, but luckily no one heard what he'd said clearly. He ignored the incredulous looks from his parents, turning back to his friends.
Ross shrugged, looking at the DJ booth a few feet away, where a young boy was spinning "sick beats" at top volume, probably giving their neighbours a headache if they had any proper neighbours so close by (they lived in an isolated mansion with a giant garden, after all). Then Ross turned to a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy beside them.
"Don't look at me! My name might be DJ, but I am certainly not the DJ," he shouted over the music, pausing from shoving cookies into his mouth.
"I know. Hell, I bet you'd do better than this lousy DJ," Michael offered. He knew he was picking at the party his parents had worked so hard to prepare for him, but his ears felt like they were bleeding. Still, he'd never say anything to them, because if he did, they'd probably end up punishing the maids and butlers.
DJ brightened. "You know what? You're right! Great idea, Michael!" He grinned and gulped down the cookies with some punch, before making his way towards the DJ booth. "Excuse me as I go crash that party," he called over his shoulder.
Beside him, Vincent excused himself and made his way out the door.
"Where are you going?" Michael asked.
"To the rose garden," he answered. "It's almost 8:00."
Bewildered, Michael let him go, wondering why Vincent would want to go to the rose garden specifically at 8:00 pm.
The boys waited patiently as their other, more energetic friend zipped away to the DJ booth, and soon over the music they could hear a scuffle.
Bam. Crash. Slam.
And a loud "oops~!" before silence.
Michael looked over at the booth, where his friend Deth Jackson Jr now sat. He was cracking his knuckles and licking his lips, surveying the turntables with ravenous excitement. The music had stopped and everyone was now staring. Most of all, Michael's parents were glaring at the boy.
DJ put in a song and lowered the volume, and the room seemed to relax as they realized he was there to help, not ruin the party. People started chatting, looking like they were enjoying themselves more now that the music wasn't at a deafening volume. Realizing this, Michael's parents gave a curt nod and let it slide, turning away to continue talking to their colleagues as they sipped at their red wine—this time without having to raise their voices nearly as much.
As Ross and DJ shared an invisible, far away high-five with a couple feet of distance between them, Michael turned back to the refreshments table. That was when he saw it.
Saw her.
The music seemed to disappear, fading into the background as he and the mystery girl met eyes.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
He was suddenly aware of his heart beating, seeming ten times louder than the music around them. It was even more deafening than the music that had been playing originally, filling not just his ears, but every part of his body until all he could hear was the thumping of his heart.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
Then she turned away, vanishing into the dark.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
Michael swallowed. He felt like he recognized her. The lighting was dim, but he could see her long brown hair even from across the room, and the sparkling gleam of her eyes. She had been wearing a long, simple, white gown. And it had looked beautiful on her.
He blinked once, before an energy suddenly took over him and he jumped to action, running after the girl. He was determined to catch her before she disappeared into the darkness forever.
"Michael, where are you going?" called Ross.
He almost didn't hear his friend, completely focused on his current mission. "Don't mind me!" he called over his shoulder. "Gotta catch someone."
"Okaaaaay," Ross responded.
Michael skidded to a stop in the ornate hallway of the mansion. He looked around wildly, trying to find the girl he'd seen. And then—
There.
She was standing there, underneath a stained glass window of the night—of bats and wolves and a full moon. She wore a yellow mask, and she was staring at him, head lowered.
"Hi," Michael said, stepping forward.
She didn't respond right away. But then she smiled and lifted her head, closing her eyes, and removing the mask. She blinked them open and smiled.
A breeze pushed past them, whistling in his ears.
Michael stepped back this time. "Whoa," he breathed.
It was Cassandra.
"Hello, Michael! Nice to see you again," she greeted him, her mysterious aura dissolving in the night air.
"H-Hi," he stammered. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? Not—Not that I'm complaining..."
She laughed. It sounded like twinkling starsong. "I didn't know this was your house. I just heard there was a party and I thought I'd crash it. But then I saw you, and...well...I didn't want to ruin it for you."
"You were planning on wrecking the party?" he said, astonished. He couldn't imagine a girl like Cassandra doing such a thing, but then again—he did hardly know her... Although... That's something I'd like to remedy...
"Oh, no, no! I never planned to 'ruin' anything, I promise. I just wanted to sneak in and have some fun, but by me not 'ruining' anything for you, I meant that I didn't want to just sneak into your party, not when we'd met and you seemed like such a nice guy."
"That's totally fine. You can join in, if you'd like," he offered. "I don't mind—heck, I'd be happy if you did. Half of the people invited are strangers anyway."
She giggled her honey-nectar giggle. "Alright, as long as you're okay with it."
"I am," he promised. He held out his hand.
She took it, smiling. "Lead the way, my prince."
*(A/N: Reference to chapter 59!)
ME: Okay, so at the beginning of this chapter, I didn't tell y'all the whole story as to why this chapter is so late. Another reason this took so long was because when I finally became determined to write awhile back, I wrote a ton and I ended up with a lovely, lengthy scene between Raymond and Ross that I was actually rather proud of.
But my phone—which I type everything on, as some of you might remember—decided to RESTART ITSELF WITHOUT ME DOING ANYTHING. And so I lost the conversation between Ross and Raymond and I just didn't want to recreate it. I finally pushed through and finished it on May 29 but it seemed to be lacking the original's impact, but oh well. That version's lost forever, I'm sad to say.
BUBBLES: I don't think it turned out badly though.
ME: Thanks, Bubbles! And well, this chapter overall is just a giant roller-coaster haha.
BANDIT: Yeah, what's with that scene between me and Bunny!?
BUNNY: *blushes*
ME: Hehe I know some fans who'll like that scene. *winks*
BANDIT & BUNNY: *blushes madly*
ME: Alright, folks! Go ahead and leave a review! It motivates me to update faster haha. I'll try and get the next chapter done around my birthday, which is June 15, but there's no guarantees since I'm going to be busy with school and exams and drawing. So in that case, you guys might not see an update till after June 25! At least y'all get a long chapter.
BRAKER: We'll throw you an awesome birthday party, Kuku!
BANANA: And best of luck on your exams.
ME: Thanks!
BRICK: If any of you want me to chase Kuku, I'll do it.
ME: Hey, no fair! You don't even like this story.
BRICK: Yeah, well, I can't pass up a chance for a good chase.
ME: Ohhhhhhh no. *starts running*
BRICK: *yelling* Yeah, you better run! *chases*
BLOSSOM: Err...see you guys next time, I suppose...?