Disclaimer: Let it rip! *raises her imaginary launcher in the air* No, wait! I mean – I don't own Beyblade...drat!
A/N:
Ahem...sorry for not updating sooner, but I've been busy and all, so...sorry about that. Anyway, thanks for the great reviews *huggles her reviewers* This is...sort of, written from Tyson's POV. Hope you like it.
In denial
Chapter III – Rants of a boy
-by Alena S. Anigor
***
"Stupid girl."
"Who needs her plans?"
"And who needs her anyway?"
If there were people around Tyson by any chance now, they would probably look at him strangely or even proclaim him slightly disturbed or insane.
But the street was empty, the afternoon creeping away slowly. Tyson stopped suddenly, turning his attention towards the slightly setting orb on the horizon, suddenly painfully aware that he spent the almost whole day walking and wandering around without any real purpose...
And it was all her fault!
He growled, clenching his fists angrily by his sides, frowning and staring at the concrete. What was going on? What was wrong? He just couldn't put a finger on it...And now he realized that he ended up on the other side of the town and that he missed the whole day of training and beyblading.
"Arrgh!"
He growled again, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself, but to see a calm Tyson was like trying to see black cats in the dark...It was impossible.
He was standing stiffly for a few minutes in the middle of the street in deep thoughts, before he decided to turn around and go back home. He already imagined the rest of the Bladebreakers waiting for him and he could already see Kai scowling at him and eyeing him stoically.
He managed to steady the storm of emotions in him for a while and now he was walking down the empty street. He put one hand in his pocket, encircling his fingers around his beyblade for some moral support. He wondered briefly if Dragoon could help him in this situation but he somehow doubted that the ancient bit beast was specialized to play a shrink...even for him.
He sighed deeply, clenching the blade and retrieving him from his pocket. He was observing it intently, eyeing the blade with a mixture of determination but also confusion.
As much as he wanted to think about blading, about trying to top himself and become a better blader as well, one image of a tear stricken face just didn't want to go away from his mind.
Tyson shook his head vehemently, trying to shake the image away, but it only came back again, taunting him slowly. He stopped suddenly, staring at the concrete and it was then that he realized the whole reason for his lack of concentration, for his wandering trough the city.
Hillary.
Tyson groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm, raising his head in the air simultaneously.
"Drat!" He spat out, his own said words echoing trough his mind now, and the image of her pale face and astonished expression came back to haunt him again...and the tears that glistened slightly in her brown eyes...
He lowered his head, turning his attention to the blade in his hands before he started running down the street. He knew that it wasn't nice of him to say that...after all, all she wanted to do was to help them, to help him. And what does he do? He shoves her away with harsh words and insults...
Well yeah, okay, she splashed that bucket of water at him and all, but...he did overreact maybe a bit after that...
Tyson put his beyblade back into his pocket, now trying to find the girl and maybe to try to apologize to her...Yeah, that sounded like a very good idea. The only problem was – Tyson was never really good at apologizing, and especially to a girl...But, as he presumed, she would hopefully forgive him if he forced himself to actually say those words out loud...somehow.
He was running towards her house now, wondering if she was there in the first place. Knowing Hillary, she was probably still furious and angry with him, and Tyson hoped she wouldn't throw him out of her house...or pour another bucket of water at him.
Absentmindedly, he smiled softly. The girl was feisty and definitely not a pushover. He thought she was just another dumb girl who paid attention to her hair only and enjoyed torturing him, making him sweep floors and clean the halls after school...but now...
She has actually become his friend. And now she was hanging out with him, with the rest of the boys, who, ironically, liked her pretty much. Well, she helped them improve their skills when they needed them the most...starting all the way from the beginning...as much as he hated it, she made him realize that he became too conceited and too confident in his own abilities that he forgot all about the beginnings, when he was just another boys, an amateur who wanted to blade and become the best blader in the whole world.
Tyson stopped suddenly, the sudden thought hitting him like he just bumped into a brick wall.
He would still be helpless and clueless about his new blade if there wasn't for her and her plan, her perfectly developed schedule...
So, in the end...it was her who made him a better beyblader...technically speaking, of course...it was him who bladed after all...
But then again, if there wasn't for her...they would still be stuck in that day of useless training and fruitless tries to make their blades work efficiently like before.
And there it was...the last conclusion...
The Bladebreakers needed Hillary.
He needed her...
Tyson't eyes widened slightly when he realized how that sounded... He...needed her. Needed...her.
Shaking his head, he looked around and saw that he was now standing in front of her house. Her mother was cleaning the porch of their house neatly (Tyson figured that it must've been her mom who passed her cleaning perfection genes to her daughter) and he dared to ask, suddenly out of breath if Hillary was home. When her mother shook her head, her face slightly puzzled in response, he frowned slightly, wondering if something maybe happened to her. Ozuma and his gang were still around and if something went wrong...
He didn't wait for her mother to ask him why he wanted to see her; he ran down the street, now starting to feel worried and dreadful. He would rip that boy in pieces if he dared to do something to her.
Running almost frantically down the street now, images started roaming trough his head: Hillary trapped in some cage, cold and shaky; Ozuma kidnapping her and doing god knows what to her...Others laughing at the whole scene...and she would cry and call for him...
He closed his eyes for a second, forcing her pale and sad face out of his mind. If she was indeed in danger, and if she gets hurt, he would never forgive himself for letting that happen. She was his friend, a girl who was hanging constantly with them, helping them, encouraging them when it got tough...she was annoying at times, true, but...he needed her. He has already become accustomed to her being around, accustomed to her presence and her voice and if she would simply disappear now...
Something clenched slightly in his chest and he gritted his teeth, bawling his fists tighter.
No...he won't let that happen...ever. She was a part of them now, she was with them now, with him, and if someone dared to state or do otherwise, they would have to deal with him first.
He was running down the silent looking path now, right to him the bay and the wide sea. It was the beach they used to train on, and he would've simply ignored the beautiful sunset if there hadn't been a figure, standing on the beach.
Brown, slightly spiky hair was, illuminated by the sun, hands of the person resting behind. The person was standing calmly just a few inches away from the salty water, not bothering the moist sand and the upcoming tide.
Tyson stood still, blinking a few times before his heart stopped beating madly from all the running and trying to track he girl down.
Even without seeing her face, Tyson knew it was her. Her skirt billowed slightly on the breeze, the soft rush of warm air rustling her hair in the process.
In some sort of odd way, she actually looked...beautiful.
Tyson took a sharp breath, the sudden intake of air stuck in his throat.
She looked beautiful.
"Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes wide for a second before he came to his senses again. He wasn't sure why his heart started racing again but it had to do something with the girl on the beach. He opened his mouth to say something, to call her name, but...he couldn't.
As if on cue, his legs carried him downwards the small hill and towards the warm sand of the beach. He didn't even know how he got there until it was too late and he was standing behind her, staring at her back in some sort of wonder.
She was close now, and he could clearly see her slightly lowered head, eyes shaded behind her brownish bangs. She looked stiff and rigid, and reminded him of a statue.
When he snapped out of his stupor and remembered why he was here, he opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.
Her voice was cold, almost dripping with ice, and she turned to look at him, eyes hard and unyielding. Tyson's breath got stuck again in his throat and he lost all the words somewhere on the way. The look on her face made him shudder slightly and he stared at her now, completely immobile and frozen.
"What do you want, Tyson?"