A/N: I thank all the reviewers. I've never gotten so many reviews for a story, so thank you. I'm sorry for the wait, but I haven't really had too much inspiration lately. I need to pick up one my sister's calvin and hobbes books and read through it.

I think Susie has had a weird character dip in this chapter, I have no idea why. Star wars, maybe? Is she joining the dark side! Don't ask.

For all those who asked me to update soon, well, I UPDATED.

The song is End of the Line by Murder by Death. It's not as dark and metal as it sounds. It's rather instrumental, actually. Think cello instead of guitar. Check them out.

WISHES DON'T COME TRUE

Chapter Eight

The wait, it is over
This bottle is done
So we clench our fists
And fight our demons

"It was Carl, wasn't it?" My hands are placed over my hips in a stereotypical female posture. I immediately cross my arms instead. What am I, his mother, after all?

He looks awkward, and bites his lower lip. He never had trouble lying to me before. Well, actually, he did, but that was usually because he couldn't keep a straight face.

"No, it wasn't." At least some things never change.

"I'm not stupid—"

"I know that," he interrupts, with a grin. Stop trying to change the subject, Calvin.

"Look, why would you even protect Carl anyway? I'm going to break up with him soon anyway, isn't it better that know I have a good reason for it?" It feels odd to say it so bluntly, but it's true. I know that I'm not going to last another week with him, and that he'll probably say I used him for the sex. Well, I suppose I kind of did. He'll call me a slut, but I think we'll eventually go back to being friends. I mean, it's not like either of us feels anything for the other besides lust.

I don't even think I believe in love anymore. I used to lie on my bed, and wonder if my parents really loved me. You know, the usual angsty teenage crap. I'd convinced myself that they wouldn't miss me if I died, that it would be better for them if I ran away. Blah, blah, blah, bullshit, bullshit, BULLSHIT.

But now I find myself wondering again. I mean, I know they care about me, but I wonder if it's just parental love, which is practically mandatory. If they met me on the street, would they dislike me? I think they would. They love me, but they don't really like me. I don't even think they like each other.

They would fight a lot, back when I was home, but I guess a lot of parents fight. Most parents fight. Sometimes they would be all right, and joke around, and make me inwardly sick with their open displays of affection. But then there were other times, when my father would get angry at my mother, when he was just go on and on cursing and such, with me in the backseat, or upstairs, covering my ears with my headphones and pretending I couldn't hear them. Or my mother would get exasperated for some reason or other, and just linger with her annoyed feelings hanging over her, silent but all too present.

Or I would get caught smoking at my window with my torso (clothed in a low-cut spaghetti strap) hanging out of the window. The scenes were rarely pretty at my house. Both my parents showed their disappointment rather openly.

"Look, I mean, he's an asshole, but if you're happy, I'm happy. Or at least reasonably content." What is this, some shitty romance novel? If you're happy, I'm happy? I open my mouth to tell him so, when he glances up at me. Shit.

He actually looks hurt. And not just physically hurt, because that much is clear as day. His lip is slipt, with dried blood still crusted on it. There are bruises lining his face and arm, and that's all I can see.

Did he really mean what he said? Is he unhappy because I'm unhappy? Holy shit, what is this? This relationship is on the verge of becoming too much for me. I need a little bit of space. I feel as if I've crowded him a bit too much already. I've said things that I should have kept silent, unmasked myself for the first time in years.

"I'm breaking up with Carl anyway. We fucked." I didn't mean for it to come out like that, really. I think what I wanted to go for was shock. Well, his expression looked shocked. And more than a little disgusted.

"You . . . what?" I'm not going to cover up what I said; I'm simply not like that. I'm not going to say it shyly either. I was raised to believe that sex is a natural thing, not some taboo subject.

"I had sex with him."

He doesn't answer for quite a while. Well, good fucking job, Suzz. You've scared off just about the only person that will probably be willing to be a real person in front of you instead of some kind of clone.

"Oh."

He excuses himself, and walks off. I can't think of a single thing to say to him that won't sound stupid and pathetic, two things I've never been. So I let him leave.

But I'm going to get Carl for trying to obstruct whatever Calvin and I have. I know it was him. He seems like the sadly protective type. And who else would have a reason to hurt Calvin? Well, actually, seeing how I haven't been here a terribly long time, I wouldn't know if anyone had a grudge against him.

But Calvin had admitted that it had been Carl, anyway. And that was the only reason Carl would have for hurting Calvin. Onward, then. I'm going to kick Carl's ass, whether Calvin wants me to or not. If he was serious about the whole you're happy, I'm happy garbage, well . . . kicking his ass will make me very happy.

"What?"

We're back in those little woods, and it's night again. I had mentioned in passing that I wanted to see him again, same place, same time. He had probably assumed I wanted to get laid, as I had hoped. I cross my arms over my chest in an obvious motion of impatience. Is he especially thick or something?

"I just said it, but if you've suddenly gone deaf or something, then I'll repeat myself. I want to break up with you."

His brow furrows and he still doesn't answer. My god, what is he, stupid? This is starting to annoy me. With all the boyfriends I've had, the ones that deny what I'm saying are the ones that irritate me the most. So, Carl is one of those, then? I'm going to have to be rough with him then.

"Look, you were a good fuck, I'll give you that. But I'm interested in more that. You're a pretty one-sided person, when one gets right down to it. You're not especially smart, or especially handsome, or especially anything. You're a bland boyfriend that I won't even remember a few years down the road. So why waste anymore time on you, is my—"

I really don't expect the fist. This isn't the masochistic society it once was—though no one can argue that it's not a masochistic society in essence. But I've never been one to stand abuse, be it physical or verbal. There have been a few who've tried it, but . . . it's not like I loved them, or felt the need to cover their asses.

"You try that again, Carl. Just try it." I realize my small stature, my thin arms and poor hand-eye coordination. But I've got one hell of a grip.

His eyes look furious, almost as if they're on fire. My cheek still burns, like those eyes. But I'll be damned if I'll allow myself to be blistered by that fire. He rushes towards me again, and his lips move, like he's trying to yell words at me without his voice. I reach out my hands, brushing his fist aside as I do so.

I wrap my thin hands around his throat, and I push. I hadn't realized how angry I was until I pushed.

He had hit me. He had hit me. He had hit me. No one hurts me, not anymore. I'm not the same little girl that cried when Calvin left. I've changed, I've gotten harder. Maybe that means I can't let people in as easily, but it also means they can't even scratch at my interior. And this idiot's tried to harm me.

Oh, he's paying for it.

I ignore the small noise he makes as I press my fingers into his throat a little deeper. I like this feeling of power. If I really wanted to, I could probably kill him. It's not that I particularly want to; after all, one hit isn't worth his life. I'm not deranged. But it's the idea that I can.

I've never felt like this before. All I've never had going for me has been my brains and my looks—at times. Those things give me some semblance of power over another person, but never like this.

I let go of him before my fingers start to cramp.

He's gasping for breath on the ground, and I'm just staring down at him. I carefully check my expression, making sure it's blank as a slate. "I warned you, Carl. Don't fuck with me." I walk off, with that said and done.

Power. I think I like it.

He's twirling a curl of my hair around his finger.

"Why'd you dye your hair?" he asks lightly.

We're lying next to each other on the grass, staring up at the sky. His notebook is lying next to him, abandoned for the moment in exchange for my hair. It's been a week since . . . what happened, and our bruises have faded . . . on the outside, at least. I think Calvin's pride might still be a little sore, and I know my self-respect has definitely lowered.

I shrug, "I think it looks better black."

He laughs. "That's stupid. It's just a bit darker than your natural hair color."

I frown. He's going to start with this again? If I like my hair this way, I like it this way. He's been trying to get me to wear some lighter color, like blue or green. I've refused so far. "Forget about it, alright."

We're silent for a little while after that. His finger is still swirling my hair, though, occasionally brushing my scalp as I look up at the clouds. I point my finger in the direction I'm looking. "Do you see that one cloud, right there? It looks like a pencil, y'see?"

He squints up at it, his finger slowing until it almost stops. "It looks more like a pen—"

"Calvin! Shut the hell up, you perv!"

"You're one to talk." He leans over, his mouth mere inches from my ear. "Slu-u-u-t." I know he's teasing, and I elbow him in the ribs in response.

"I'm not enough of a slut to do you, you weirdo."

He laughs again, lying on his back once again. "Good. I have to uphold my image as the dictator-for-life of G.R.O.S.S."

"Nice acronym."

"Nice hair."

I twist my head and bite the finger that was still swirling my hair. "Drop that goddamn subject, damn it!" We end scuffling gently, grass getting in my hair, and green stains accumulating on our clothing. We'll mostly on his, because my outfit was black, black, black. We break apart, grinning and panting. The feel of his hands on me is still tingling on my skin.

Calvin stands up, looking into the trees, as if he heard something. I glance over in the direction of where he's staring, but I don't see anything. "What is it?"

After a moment or two, he answers in a low voice. "Someone's crying."

I get up, knowing without him having to tell me that he wants to check it out. But we don't get very far before someone comes out of the trees' shelter.

"Get the fuck out of here, you two. I don't need an audience, alright?" Tears choke her voice, and she looks smaller than usual.

Aria.

Susie is scary. I hope I never meet her.