Disclaimer: Wow, I've still yet to complete the next step of my world take over and buy the rights to Degrassi. Oh, well.
Author's Notes: I got a nice response for the last chapter. Thank ya'll muchly!
Spinner: She was so proud that she actually wrote the next chapter.
Marco: Yeah. All jumping around and hyper...it was disturbing.
Hush! Now, it's time for review responses.
KinseySix: You're review cracked me up, because we have dubbed one of my guy friends the man-whore. It's really sad. Yay, it makes me happy to know you're working on 'Pretty Girl'. And as for Slade and Spinner...you'll find out. Thanks for the review.
Fucted up Kid: Were you the one who wanted the autograph? Cause if you are, here you go! As for the reason why Marco kept mentioning how cold Slade was; whenever I'm touching someone –not that way- one of the first things I notice is if their warm or cold. I happen to be one of those people who are always freakishly cold, and have it pointed out to me often, so it seems like something you might think about a person you were with. Thanks for reviewing!
Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Duckies: We had superhero day at school –for Homecoming- and someone dressed up as the ninja turtles! I've been saying lurve lately, which I just thought was odd. My Chemical Romance makes so happy it's not even funny. It's actually kind of sad. –shakes head- I hope you start working on 'Fits Like a Glove' soon. Thank you for reviewing!
mydracomalfoy: No, my Draco! –laughs- Just kidding. He's nice, but I want Ron. Don't ask. Here's your update. Thanks for reviewing!
anjel1919: Addicted to this story? Wow, your review was so nice, and it made me happy. I'm glad I could help you see the wonders of Spinner/Marco. Thanks for the review!
Visitor-to-the-Echoside: People had lost faith that I would update! One of your favorites? I feel special now. Thanks for reviewing!
Bridget N: Marco may very well be in trouble. And as for Spinner rescuing him...well...you'll just have to read that for yourself. –winks- Thank you for reviewing!
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Chapter Eleven: Hate To Say I Told You So
"Slade?" I ask softly, if not a bit slurred, as I turn my head back, watching with dropping eyes as we drive even farther away from the clearly illuminated Degrassi street. "Where are we...where are you taking me?" I ask him.
His eyes drift towards me, a warm smile spread on his face as he answers. "Some place special," he tells me in a voice that makes me practically melt inside. He reaches out with his hand, running his fingertips over my cheek bone before returning his attention to the road in front of us.
Some place special. I settle back against the seat and grab the seat belt, securing it in place, since I really don't feel like getting in a fatal accident tonight. I wonder where he's taking me. I glance at him, and am suddenly filled with a whirl wind of conflicting emotions. Excitement, guilt, joy, and fear.
I can understand why I would be excited. Honestly, who wouldn't be? If the gorgeous guy of your dreams were taking you some place he thought was 'special' you couldn't help but be excited. The guilt I kind of get. It's the Spin factor, hovering in the back of my mind as always, knowing that he really doesn't want me to be here. The joy, well, because I'm pretty sure that I'm going to get to make out again, and who wouldn't be happy about that? Fear...fear because I don't know why. There's this small voice –yeah, another one, but it sounds more like Spinner- that's telling me something isn't right. That he should be taking me home. That I don't really want to go anywhere 'special', that I just want to go home and crawl underneath the covers.
Shaking my head a bit, I decide that both of the voices in my head are stupid, and I shouldn't be listening to them anyway. I don't have anything to be afraid of. Slade wouldn't hurt me. I just...he wouldn't.
Alcohol makes my head hurt. I don't think I'll ever be trying that stuff again. I press my palm to my forehead, taking in a few deep breaths to calm myself. My ma and pop would hang me if they ever found out I was drinking tonight. They would yell at me about how I should have known better, how I was smarter than that, how I shouldn't give into peer pressure because I'm better than all of that. I really, really don't want to hear any of that in the near future. There is only so much of that 'you were supposed to know better/I expected more from you' one person can take before they finally just break down and give up completely.
Brooding isn't smart to do when you're drunk. It makes your head hurt more.
Before I know it, we're pulling up to the park. I frown a bit. I'm not saying that it isn't romantic or anything, it kind of is, what with the way the moon light shines on the monkey bars –sarcasm- but I thought he was taking me some place special. He swerves to the right, taking us away from the park to some of the back roads that my parents forbid me to go on on pain of death. What could possibly be back here? I lean my head out the window to get a better look, conveniently forgetting that the window isn't open.
"Ow," I murmur, rubbing my forehead.
"You're such a klutz," Slade says, a slightly amused tone coating his voice.
I try to glare at him, but I soon give up, deciding to direct my attention back towards whatever it is we're driving to. Soon, we are going up an even rockier road, and then all of a sudden we come to a stop. I blink, not realizing where we are at first, until the sound of running water reaches my ear. I look over to see a small stream, which really does sparkle in the moonlight. We're on David's Peak. It's one of the old landmarks of the town. On clear night, you can see the whole town, from the Wal-Mart and Burger King all the way to the gardens and cemetery.
It's beautiful up here.
"Come on," he says, undoing his buckle, then my own. He gets out and walks over my side, opening the door, extending his hand for me like a true gentlemen to help me out. And people say chivalry is dead.
He leads me over to an area surrounded by tall trees and evergreens. He sits down, leaning his back against one of the tree trunks, and I take up a seat next to him. I lean my head against him, sighing, willing myself not to think about anything at all and just rest for a little while. He threads his fingers through my own, lifting my hand, using our index fingers to point up into the sky.
"That ones Orion, The Hunter," he says, tracing out his outline. "And trailing behind him is his faithful dog Sirius. And no, not like Sirius Black," he tells me with a small smirk.
All right, so I have a little thing for Harry Potter, but come on, it's cool. And that Ron Weasly...nice. (1) I smile a little. Star watching. How could I have been afraid of a little thing like star watching at one of the best places in town? Maybe alcohol makes me paranoid, too.
"Show me another one?" I ask him, and he grins down at me, giving me a quick kiss.
"All right. Let me see...The Phoenix."
"The mythical bird that rises from it's own ashes," I comment.
He nods, giving a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. "Astronomy a hobby of yours?" he asks.
I shake my head yes, since it's easier than telling him I had to do a report on The Phoenix for my deranged cat who feels it necessary to add school work into my supernatural curriculum.
"Wanna see another?" I nod in excitement, causing him to laugh again. "You're like a little kid," he whispers. "Eridanus, The River. And over there is Hydra, The Water Serpent. And that's..."
"The Big Dipper!" I finish for him proudly.
He raises an eyebrow, then merely shakes his head. "Yeah yeah, the Big Dipper."
I laugh again and lean against him more, feeling very tired. I don't think I'm the kind of person who can hold their drinks. I just wasn't made for drinking, I guess. Not that it's a really big deal or anything. It's not as if my life long dream was to be a world class alcoholic.
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me down, gently pushing me onto my back. Bending down, he kisses me gently, and I practically melt underneath him. My arms go up around his neck, pulling him down closer, trying to get him to deepen the kiss. And for these perfect few seconds, my mind is blank, and I don't remember to feel guilty or afraid or angry or anything but calm. Soon he's on top of me, straddling my waist, and it's not perfect anymore.
Things are very, very wrong.
His kiss is deeper, yeah, but it's not gentle, it's hard. Like, abnormally hard. Like biting and scraping, more like devouring than actually kissing. The hands that rested so nicely, so protectively around me, are anything but as his finger curl into my sides, pulling, scratching, hurting. I let out a disgruntled moan and I jerk my head to the side, trying to escape from the harsh demanding lips that only a few minutes ago could make me forget my name.
Pulling back for only a moment, he takes in a deep breath, then looks down at me with the most horrible eyes I've ever seen. What once were a clear blue, beautiful color that reminded me of the sky, are dark and muddled here in the darkness of the night. That's not right, that can't be right. He's not supposed to look at me like that.
Placing my hands on his chest, I make a move to push him away a little. "Slade...I want you to take me home now," I murmur.
"Now?" he questions, and his voice is so sickeningly sweet that I feel like crying. "But we just got here. Besides," he whispers, one hand grabbing both of mine and pinning them above my head, "I haven't shown you all the constellations yet."
No, no, no, no. This was not supposed to be him. He was supposed to be my sweet, blue eyed God who was caring and comforting and protective. He wasn't supposed to hurt me. I close my eyes tightly as his lips descend on top of mine again –harshly, biting so hard I feel the flesh of my lip tearing- and for some reason, I see Spinner. I see Mozzy and Craig. I see them smacking their heads, sneering down on me, so disappointed that I let myself get into this situation.
I kick out with my legs, shift from side to side, push my weight against him, and try a few more nifty little jerks of my body which don't do anything but bring us closer together. And I feel something that I really, really hope is a cell phone digging into my hip. I bang my hands against the ground, trying to wriggle them free from his grip.
"Damn it," he growls. Narrowing those awful eyes, he leans up, grabbing me by the mid section. My arms are free for a moment, but they might as well still be pinned, because in only a few seconds, they are twisted behind me. Slade slams my back down, and I cry out a little as my back violently makes contact with my arms. "Quit struggling."
"Let go of me, and I'll stop struggling," I tell him, managing to say these words with much more courage and anger then I feel. Not that there isn't a lot of anger here in this Italian blood –there's loads; notice how I forgot to mention the courage bit- but I think the two most prominent emotions that I'm feeling right now are fear, and betrayal.
God, why didn't I listen to my friends? This just wasn't how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be the night that I could just go out and not have to deal with anything. To listen to an awesome band, hang out with a great guy, and just not have to worry, or think, or do anything...at all. Attempted rape was totally not involved in my plans for this evening!
He lifts his hand, back handing me harshly across the face. I bite my already bloodied lip, trying to keep myself from screaming, because I've decided that I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out in pain. I try to free my arms from where they have been pinned behind my back, struggling to get Slade off of me at the same time, but I find I don't have any luck with either.
Soon he cranes his head back down, pressing his lips against mine in an almost tender way, and for some reason I feel like laughing at how ridiculous the action is compared to the way his hands have roughly slid underneath my shirt. His tongue somehow finds it's way into my mouth, still tasting faintly of that chocolate and rum that only a few hours ago I found so comforting. Deciding that I will not just lay here without fighting back, I bite down on the invading tongue, feeling ready to gag as warm blood drips into my mouth. Making a sort of growling, he pulls back, looking murderous. I see two small trickles of blood sliding slowly down his tan chin, and I realize –much to my disgust- that one of them is mine.
He hits me again, only this time with a closed fist, and in the gut. "Stupid bitch," he murmurs as he wipes the blood away from his chin. "Just calm down, all right? I won't hurt you."
And I do laugh now, because well, that's just the stupidest and most idiotic thing he could say right now. He's not going to hurt me? And I'm supposed to believe him...why? I'm bleeding, crying, and probably bruised in a few places, and he's promising not to hurt me. How stupid does he think I am?
"Promise," he whispers against my ear before he –three guesses- bites down on my neck. A white hot pain shoots through my neck, and I do let out a little scream, though I curse myself for it. It didn't even hurt this much when freaky dream guy bit me. In fact, I think I'd be willing to trade freaky dream guy for Slade right about now.
And that's just...sad.
I feel warm tears rolling down my cheeks, mingling with the tastes of rum and blood already tainting my lips. I hear a ripping sound, and feel the cool air hit my chest. Looking down, I see a huge rip in the side of my shirt, exposing my shoulder and part of my chest. He grins, an evil sort of sick grin that I haven't even seen –or, technically, felt- than dream guy. Leaning down, he begins trailing harsh kisses from my shoulder to my chest.
"Stop!" I yell, hoping that maybe I can shake him from this awful switch in personality. "P-please...don't," I plead softly.
He brings his head up, starring down at me. "Why don't you beg me a little harder," he chuckles harshly, and I've suddenly come to the conclusion that this is who he's been all along.
It hurts to realize this, because I thought that there was really someone for me. Someone who I could be more than friends with, who was gay, who actually wanted me, in more ways than just physically. But, no. No caring, loving, non-violent boyfriend for Marco.
I gulp harshly as I feel his cold fingers going along my abdomen, stopping at the button on my pants. I close my eyes as the sound of my zipper coming undone seems to reverberate through the otherwise empty forest.
"Please stop, please. I won't tell anyone if you just...stop." I say it softly, pleadingly, brokenly, and it doesn't change a thing. He just laughs and kisses me again.
"Of course you won't tell anyone," he says. "If you do," he begins, wrapping one hand around my neck, "I'll have to wring this pretty little neck of yours."
And, bam, it hits me. What the hell am I doing, lying here, just letting this ex-man of my dreams take whatever he wants? I'm a witch! I have magic, I have the Powers That Be on my side, and I'm not just going to let him do this. His hand slips under my boxer and I feel bile rising in my throat, but I keep it down, trying to pull my mind from this haze of fear so that I can think clearly. I need...I have to do something, but I'm drawing a blank. No, damn it, not now! Anytime but now! Think Del Rossi, what can I do? There has to be something. I've got to do something.
Calling up on some unknown strength, I manage to wrestle one of my arms out from behind my back. I place it on his chest, letting determination replace my fear. "Yog," (2) I murmur, imagining –praying- that an unbearably hot flame will come from somewhere within me. I imagine the flames, the fire, the heat, burning him until he can't breath. My hands ache as the heat consumes them, but I ignore it. The stench of burning fabric and flesh fills my nose, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I somehow manage to break his resolve and he falls off of me, clutching his chest.
"Shit," he breaths out angrily.
I sit up, tilting my head to the side, glancing back only to see him giving me a terrified look. It serves him right, I think, as I scramble to my feet. Growling, he lunges at me, reaching for my ankles. I turn back, lifting my hand, murmuring the curse underneath my breath a few more times, watching half in fear with my own strength and half in fascination as thin streams of fire begin flowing from my hand, cinching Slade on his jacket and neck.
For a moment, I am frozen, unable to move, think, even breath as I take in the sight of him on the ground only a few feet in front of me, his eyes blazing with as much fire as I had flowing through my veins only moments ago.
"Don't you dare even think about running," he hisses, staggering to his feet.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Taking a deep breath, I turn sharply on my heel, and run like hell. My feet pound against the dirty road, and I wince, deciding that these boots probably weren't the most appropriate types of foot wear for this evening. (3) But hey, how was I supposed to know I was going to have to run away from a slightly psychotic senior? I continue running, stumbling every now and then. I can hear him screaming something behind me, and I know he's just waiting to get his hands on me. It's that thought that makes me continue. I rise one foot, and somehow end up hitting my other, falling to the ground.
My hands land first, then my face. I wince, a few sharp rocks jutting into my skin. Ignoring the burning in my hands and face, I struggle to my feet. I don't need to look back to know that he's still following me. I pull off my shoes, deciding that it will probably be easier just to run without them. I throw them behind me, not evening having time to mental congratulate myself when they collide with Slades forehead before I begin to run again.
I keep going for I don't know how long. Mentally, I keep chanting an old Romany saying; it's supposed to help give you strength when you believe you can't go on any longer. I don't know if he's still following me, but I don't care, because I'm not stopping until I'm safely outside of my house. Suddenly I see trees passing me, and the scenery somehow dissolves into swing sets and teeter totters.
Time really flies when you're running for you're life.
I ignore the feelings of rocks and glass and God-knows-what-else rubbing harshly against my feet. It's not safe to run bare foot in the park, no matter how romantic it may sound. Taking in deep breaths, I force my burning legs to keep moving. I don't know what might happy to me if I stop, and I don't want to know. I just want to get out of here before I find out.
How could Slade turn on me like that? How could I not have seen it? I stumble again, but manage to catch myself before falling completely. I push myself up and continue running, thanking whatever Gods may be looking after me that my house is only five more minutes away.
These are the five longest minutes that have ever gone by in my entire life. Somehow, by a wonderful miracle, I manage to make it to Degrassi street. I feel like stopping to kiss the sign out of sheer joy, but decide that I'll skip the stop tonight and pay my proper respects tomorrow.
I jog down the side walk, feeling tidal waves of relief wash over me when my small home comes into view. I move towards the house, never having been more thankful for anything in my life. I stumble a bit, but somehow manage to not trip over the lawn gnome –which is the creepiest thing on the face of planet- and nearly collapse on the steps. Instead I sag against the tree, taking in panting breaths. Tears are still running down my cheeks, and I lift my hand, rubbing my face, probably doing nothing more but spreading around the dirt, dried tears and blood, but I can't help the feeling that I made some miniscule accomplishment by the action. I look up at the house, praying that my parents aren't awake right now. How could I possibly explain this to them?
I'll have to wring that pretty little neck of yours.
Right, I couldn't explain this to them. I couldn't explain this to anyone. I'd rather not, anyway. All I would get were a few sympathetic stares and some 'I-told-you-so's' thrown in my face.
I make my way to the door, gripping the small knob with one hand as my other digs into my jacket pocket, producing a small bronze key. I open the door and quietly push it open, mentally doing a happy dance when I see my ma and pop soundlessly –unless you count my pop's snoring- on the couch. Slipping the door closed, I walk towards the stairs, pulling myself up them slowly but silently in order not to awaken my parents. My crying has stopped momentarily, and for that I'm thankful, since I'm sure a random burst of sobs would surely alert the two sleeping Italians that something happened to me.
When I reach my room, I stop for a moment, saying a little prayer in my mind, thanking the Lord I just made it home. I open the door, planning on climbing into the shower, changing, crying my eyes out into the bed sheet, and then just crawling into a hole and dying. Instead, I'm greeted with what I think might be the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my entire life.
Spinner is sitting in the middle of my bed, a determined expression on his face, his features hard. His eyes are trained on a few cards he is holding tightly in his hands. Mozzy is sitting across from him, and –as hard as this may be to believe- is also holding a few cards, only hers are being held between the fingers on her right paw, while the other is discreetly sliding over to the deck, in what appears to be an attempt to steal a few more.
"Got any 3's?" Spinner questions, never taking his eyes off the cards, but somehow managing to slap her paw away anyways.
Glaring, she gives a small hiss, and Spinner curses underneath his breath, throwing the cards onto the bed. "Damn it!" he yells, angrily. "I can't believe I'm losing Go Fish to a freaking cat. You're cheating, aren't you? Come on, where are you hiding them?" he questions suspiciously. Mozzy swipes her claws at him as he attempts to reach forward to see if she has any spare cards underneath her collar.
What in the hell?
"S-Spinner...?" I whisper softly, my throat kind of scratchy from crying and screaming.
He tenses, his back straightening and an almost guilty look coming over his face. "Uh...hey dude," he says, not even turning to me. "You may be wondering why I, Spinner, am here in your, Marco, bed room, playing Go Fish with your cat. Well, there is a very simple explanation. You see, I was sitting at home, thinking about yo- Paige, and decided that I had been treating yo- Paige like crap, especially this evening when I pushe- yelled at her. So I decided to come over to your house, then I remembered that your parents don't like me, so I climbed up that lattice thing and, since you weren't here, decided to wait for you until you got back from your date. See, simple!" Pausing momentarily, he speaks, beginning to turn towards me. "Hey, did you ever thing of putting a latter near your window so I won't kill myself next time I have to break into your house...oh my God...what the hell happened?"
I open my mouth to say something, but find nothing but a muffled cry escaping my lips as I fall down to my knees. Within moments he's rushed over to my side, bending down and placing his arms around my midsection, bringing my somewhat limp body closer to his. My head falls against his chest as he does so, and I don't even have the strength to move away.
"Marco?" he says, and I know by the way he's slightly shaking me and holding me at the same time that he's too concerned to even curse the worried tone of his voice. "Marco? Hey, what happened? Are you all right? Marco, say something!"
"Spin," I manage, looking up at him with eyes that are slightly clouded by dark lashes that are heavy with tears. "Not so loud, please? My parents might hear, and I don't want them to..."
He's shaking his head now, trying to vehemently deny something. And by the look of fury and fear in his eyes, I can safely guess what it is he's trying to convince himself didn't happen. He's not really as stupid as people think he is. I mean, yes, sometimes Spinner can be a complete idiot, but he's not as oblivious as some other people I know.
"Marco," he tells me, voice barely above a whisper, and I can't tell if the reason he's speaking so low is because he's angry or scared. "Just tell me what happened. Did...did Slade...did he..."
I don't say anything. I can't say anything. Can't tell him the truth, I know that. Even if I didn't believe Slade's threat –which I completely and one hundred percent so totally did- I couldn't say anything. I used my powers on him. I. Used. My. Powers. Do you know what would happen to me if the word got around that I was some kind of freak? A gay freak, no less. A gay freak crying attempted rape from one of the most privileged kids in town. I doubt any of that would work in my favor. In fact, I know it wouldn't.
Sitting here, in my best friends arms, I realize just how hopeless everything just got in around the past twenty minutes. A guy, the guy I thought might actually be the one person for me, turned out to be nothing I thought he was and everything Spinner said he was, he's hurt me and threatened me, and who knows how many other kids, and there isn't a single thing I can do about it, because there is the slightest chance that he may have figured out my secret. My true secret.
Forgive me if I sound cynical, but I don't exactly have a lot of faith in the fellow members of man kind at the moment. If there is even a hint that I might be a witch or a mutant of some kind, then they'll probably ship me off to the states and let the government do weird experiments on me, or something.
I hear him mumbling something under his breath, and I look up at him, only to find a pair of glazed eyes starring down at me. "I swear, I'll kill him," he says through clenched teeth.
I prepare to ask him something, but can't. The only thing I can do is lean into him, finding some type of comfort in the warmth of his body. He wraps his arms around me and helps me to my feet, supporting my weight since it seems my legs have decided to pack it in for the night. He begins half walking me, half carrying me into the bathroom, with Mozzy following closely behind us.
Rom Baro? What happened? Why are you're clothes...why were you crying...? What did...oh, no.
He leans me against the counter, and all I can do is grip the sides while he gets out a wash cloth and dampens it. He brings it to my face, and my first instinct is to flinch away from him, but I mentally scold myself and merely hold still. There's no reason to be afraid of Spinner. He cares about me to much; I know he would never hurt me. The cool material dabs my face and I sigh, giving in to the feeling, screaming for joy on the inside as I feel some of mixtures of dirt and blood being wiped from my chin. Moving up to my eyes, his fingers brush –accidentally, I think- against my cheek, and it feels so soft and warm that I forget to remember to be afraid that someone is touching me...if that makes any sense.
"I'll kill him," he repeats as he begins taking off my jacket, his eyes blazing as he notices the rips in my shirt. "I will tear him limb from limb for ever laying his filthy hands on you. I swear it, Marco, I'll make him pay. For ever touching you, for trying to..."
I cut him off, shaking my head slightly. "N-no Spin, he didn't...Slade didn't touch me..." I say, feeling my stomach turn as I spit out the words.
He slams his fist against the counter. "Don't cover for that bastard, Marco. I can practically smell his cheap cologne all over you."
"He never..."
"Never what? What can you possibly say in defense of this?" he asks, but his voice isn't all that angry, not with the pleading note it has in it. "Are you going to tell me all he wanted was your dancing shoes? I'm not stupid enough to fall for that."
I remain silent, biting my lip as we stand in a tension filled silence. He's right; I can't tell him that Slade just wanted my dancing shoes.
"I...fell," I say lamely. "He got called home early and I decided to...to walk home...and there were these cats, see, and they like, came out of nowhere, and then started attacking me, so I had to run home, and there was this little old lady that kept asking for shoe donations, and see I just had to give some to her, and by the time I got home, well..."
His fist is clenched, teeth gritted as he speaks his next words carefully. "So you got that bruise from a little old lady?"
"N-no," I stutter, trying desperately to look for something, anything to say to him. "It was the cats..."
Letting out a deep breath, he turns to the medicine cabinet, opening it up and pulling out some Band Aids, gauze, and some anti something or other before turning back to me. "You're a horrible liar," he mutters dryly.
I decide to say something, but am cut short as he slings my arms around his neck. I, of course, hang onto him for dear life as he leads me back to the bed room. He sets me on the end of the bed and kneels in front of me, rolling down my socks and giving my feet a look cross between pity and disgust. He gets the wash cloth –guess I didn't see him get that- and begins washing off the bottoms of my feat. There are a few scraps on them, but nothing to bad, only that they sting like crap. He then stands up, looking down at me with a soft but stern gaze that I can only guess he learned from his mother.
"I'm going to need you to take your shirt off."
I immediately feel like screaming, but instead I just blink at him. I sit there, stunned for several moments, but he makes no move to take it off of me, only waist patiently. After a little while he sighs, giving me a kind of look that makes me want to slap myself for not doing what he asked.
"Marco, just take it off..."
"Don't want to," I mumble, trying to avoid his eyes.
He sighs. "I know, after what you went through-"
"With the evil hell cats."
"-I wouldn't want to be stripping down in front of me, either, but I need to see if you have any bruises or anything."
I shake my head again, scooting back onto the bed. "I don't want you to see," I say softly, so softly I think that he doesn't hear me.
He does.
"Why?" he asks softly.
I bite my lip a little, then somehow allow the answer to slip. "I don't want you to see me so weak and so fragile and so damn broken, okay? I just...I want you to go home, Spin," I lie.
He shakes his head, obviously not accepting the answer. "Don't you ever say that, ever. You're not broken, Marco. No one, not some jerks in the park or some sick freak like Slade will ever break you. So just, take off your shirt, please?"
After a few moments of shaking, I finally lift my arms, slowly removing my shirt, throwing the tattered piece of fabric down to the floor. His eyes narrow and I look down to see red marks –that are sure to be all sorts of nifty colors tomorrow- littering my skin. He takes the wash cloth and dabs the cool water against my stomach, cleaning up some of the dirt. He moves up, his eyes blazing even more when he reaches the teeth marks that have been left on my shoulder, and I swear I think he was serious when he told me he would kill Slade.
"Sit tight, 'kay?" he tells me as he stands up and heads over to my dresser.
I don't know why he told me that, it's not like I'm going to run away from him or anything. Not him, not Spinner. Not after everything we've been through. I know he won't hurt me. I mean, I may not be the best judge of character at the moment, but I know enough not to be afraid of Spinner.
He walks back over to me, holding a over-sized gray shirt and some black sweat pants. I stand shakily, and am more than thankful when he begins helping me put the shirt on. I reach for the pants, stopping only when he grabs my hands and holds them up to his face, inspecting them for anything out of the ordinary. He hisses under his breath, losing me for a moment, until I realize that there must be some pretty interesting burn marks on my palms.
"What...?"
I say nothing, only grab the pants and stare at the ground, waiting for a few moments until he finally turns around so I can change. I fall back onto the bed, sitting there for a few moments, unsure of what I can do or say. Mozzy jumps up next to me and nuzzles her face against me. I smile softly down at her, running my hands through her fur, my skin feeling oddly cool at the touch.
Spinner kneels next to me again, pulling out some spray. I give it a distasteful look as he takes one of my hands into his own. I jerk away for a second, only to have him gently pull it back.
"It's all right, dude. It's only gonna sting a bit," he assures me soothingly.
Soothing, Spinner, yeah. When he wants to be, he can be really sweet. Almost, disturbingly sweet. He sprays the evil substance on to my hand and I squeeze my eyes shut. Cool breath flitters over my skin and I look down, only to see him cautiously blowing on my wounds. I just look for a moment, noticing how my hand seems so dark next to his pale skin, and so ridiculously small. I squirm a little, pulling at my hands.
He frowns up at me. "Stop it. I'm trying to make it feel better."
"I know," I say, giggling a bit. He raises a quizzical eyebrow. "It tickles," I explain.
Blinking, he merely shakes his head and repeats the process with the other hand.
"So," he begins after he's done. "Did the homicidal hell kittens breath fire, too, cause those are some pretty nasty burns dude."
I stare at him a few moments before lowering my gaze to the ground. He stands up and begins pacing in front of my bed, murmuring something under his breath every now and then. I merely keep my eyes glued on the carpet.
"Damn it, Marco, I can't just stay here while I know that creep is running out there somewhere."
"But Spinner, he's not a creep. He didn't do anything. I told you."
"You have to tell the police. Someone, I don't know. Just make sure that guy goes behind bars, suffers, gets what he deserves for..."
"Doing absolutely nothing to me. Like I said, evil cats, crazy women, me tripping over my own feet..." Which isn't a complete lie. "Slade had nothing to do with it."
He stops pacing and turns towards me, his eyes flickering with anger as he stomps closer to me. "Don't lie, Marco. Don't you dare even try to defend him after what he did to you! You can't just there and tell me that he didn't when I know that he must have...wait, Marco, please don't, don't cry, dude, please," he trails off with a sigh.
I squeeze my eye shut and curl over onto my side, willing him to disappear, willing myself to disappear. I don't want to lie to him. I hate lying to him. I can't tell him the truth. I don't want to. I can't.
Bringing my knees up, I wrap my arms around my legs and just lay here, silent sobs wracking my frame. "Just...go away Spinner. Leave me alone." I sound so harsh, so apathetic and so dead that I start cringe even more.
"I'm not going to go. Not until you tell me what that sick fu-"
"Just stay the hell away from me!"
I regret it. I don't want him to go. I want him to stay here with me, but I know he won't. I hear footsteps on the carpet and the sound of the door opening and closing. He left me, and I can't blame him. I practically threw him out myself.
Two, strong, warm arms wrap around my waist. I open my eyes, only to see light blue fabric. I look up, only to see Spinner staring down at me, his face looking completely calm. I open my mouth to try and say something, but he silences me by pulling me closer. It takes a moment for my mind to register what he's doing, but as soon as it does, I nuzzle into him. He's so warm, and comforting, and I hate to admit that I love the way he's holding me. His hands glide through my hair and he wraps his other arm around me even tighter, holding me closer.
"I'm sorry," he whispers softly. I clutch the fabric of his shirt between my fingers, adjusting my head until I find a more comfortable position against his chest. He stops petting me –my hair...on my head...you know what I mean- momentarily as he begins to speak. "Hey dude, don't get to used to this all right? Don't think that every time you get upset about something I'm gonna come over here and start spooning you or anything, cause I'm not. And don't get any wrong ideas about this either."
I grin a little into his chest, snuggling closer. "It's okay Spin, I know you love me," I murmur through the tears.
He continues holding me while I cry, rubbing my back soothingly every now and then. I don't know if it's because he's so warm, or comfortable –and God this man is comfortable- or I'm just completely exhausted, I quickly drift off to sleep in his arms, only two thoughts on my mind. One, how is it possible for him to remain so warm? And two, why in the hell was he playing Go Fish with my cat in the first place?
---
(1) About the Harry Potter reference. Sorry, I can't help it. It's one of my latest fandoms, and I'm madly in love with Ron. He's so cute!
(2) The Romany word for fire.
(3) Have you ever tried to run down a rocky dirt road in huge, clunky combat boots? Especially if you're accident prone? Can you say, stitches?
Um, that was ridiculously long. –cough- Review, please?
Spinner: -throwing random lethal weapons out of his closet- Where the heck is this Slade person?
Marco: -dodging a machete- Why, what are you going to do him?
Spinner: -starring happily at his ax- Oh...err...nothing!