In which Claire is in Claire heaven until her author decides to be evil. Not too evil, though. It takes a lot of energy to be evil. All you evil reviewers out there—review, I say!
A note: this chapter, unlike the others so far, is actually only half a chapter, hence Claire's cryptic remarks at the beginning. The explanation for those remarks (and the crap hitting the fan) will come in the next half. At the time of the narration of this chapter, she is no longer at the school and is recalling all of it from somewhere else, about five minutes after leaving. Bear with me here.
A resounding thank-you goes out to all my lovely, faithful reviewers! If not for you, I wouldn't keep writing.
All standard disclaimers apply.
The world is crazy. That's the best explanation I can come up with right now. Totally, raving, blooming crazy. A goddamned madhouse.
Because how else can you explain where I am now—the last place on earth I thought I'd be, even after Saturday? And it's frightening, so help me, because I've never been here before and it's terrifying and everything that's happened so far is turning my world upside down.
Well. Maybe it isn't that bad. John Bender is here, too—very, very close and I can't help enjoying that.
Though it is completely his fault I'm here in the first place. Why he's doing this, I don't know and I'm still scared. He's not talking—it is kind of hard for intelligible speech right now—and I'm totally in his hands. All I can do is cling to John for dear life and hope to God we don't crash and burn; he is pretty angry, or so it seemed.
The whole damned situation is kind of hysterical. The princess being abducted by her charming prince, after facing down the zombies and the dragons and enemy knights—or was it errant knights? Brian would probably know, he probably knows everything about myths and legends. God, I'm mind babbling. I don't like being thrown off balance, and everything about John is putting me out of whack.
Not that I was exactly useful even back there, when the zombies came out to interrupt our sweet little moment out on the school lawn.
"Yes, John."
He had the grace to look slightly taken aback when I said yes so easily. How couldn't I? He was looking at me again, and I was...drowning. Funny how fast obsessions can grow in less than two days.
"Just the answer I was...looking for, princess.
...I gotta ask, though. Why? Why me?" He actually looked a little worried (though he was still half-smirking), but stayed gentle, oh so gentle.
"Well, um, because...because. Because you're...you're John..." Score one for me for the world's most intelligible answer! I could have smacked myself if he hadn't been holding my hands and driving most coherent thoughts out of my pretty little head. He was standing so close, so...John. Almost like I'd done back in detention when I was still trying to deny that I was attracted to that bad boy, I blushed and tried to look away.
Something about that must have pleased him, because he smiled and wrapped a hand around my waist and drew me to rest against him, his lips in my hair. Good God, I could only imagine what we looked like to the rest of the shell shocked kids on the lawn. Hell, I could barely believe it myself. And I smiled, murmuring into his denim jacket,
"...and because I knew you wouldn't." A small scoff from above as he—both of us—recalled being in the closet on Saturday, but he didn't put any sting in it, and I froze. Not wanting the moment to end.
See, I told you the world was stark raving mad. Just two days ago, I would have done anything to not be in the same room the criminal was in, he was so aggravating and frustrating and...unsettling. And here we were, you know, practically wrapped around each other, and not in a closet, either. It was very, very...nice.
Nice enough that I almost forgot the rest of the world. Hell, I even forgot about my crew of princesses, who happened to be approaching from behind Bender. I could see them over his shoulder—and shit, they saw us.
Damn, good times never last, do they? I wish I'd had at least a little more time with John, alone. Five minutes. Two minutes. Anything, before the shit really hit the fan.
