II

Larxene

Today's a pretty good day. My stomach is settled from my little panic attach two weeks ago, when I thought Axel felt the same way as I do about Roxas. But after watching them, I've realized it's impossible. There's just no way he could stand by and not even
touch him.

I could be wrong. It seems like the better I know a person, the harder it is for me to read them. But I don't want to be wrong, can't be wrong. Axel isn't…he would at least kiss him, once. Yeah.

Something's bothering Roxas, but I think he's getting better. He's started dancing again – you know, really dancing. The kind you do when you're not trying to seduce anyone, when you're alone in front of the mirror and no one cares. Except Roxas is really good, so dancing in front of the mirror is the same as seducing someone anyway.

But his eyes are closed and he's clinging to the rhythm like it could steady his heartbeat. I don't know why that's such a big deal for him, the arrhythmia. It's not like it makes him any less of a person. It's probably tied in with all the other things I don't know about him.

Area 51 is a nice club, but this new one – Vertigo – is disgusting. It's more like a sex lounge than an actual dance club, and Roxas is one of the only people actually dancing. All the rest are –

"Do it again, fucker, and I'll break all your little fingers off," I murmur in the guy's ear after pulling him close. Ugh. As I was saying, everyone else is either overly sexual or groping my ass. It's places like these that just fuel that drive I have, to just kill something.

I squeeze his fingers in warning and then shove him away from me. He says, "You're crazy!" I just grin at him, showing my teeth because it puts people off, especially because of my eyes.

And speaking of eyes, Axel has his trained on Roxas. I'm not surprised. He always watches Roxas like a hawk, probably because Roxas is one of the most reckless people I've ever met. It doesn't show on the outside, but I know he'll do almost anything if it gives him a thrill. You know – if it will help him run away from whatever it is he's avoiding. If I were Axel, I'd do the same; Roxas and I are the only two people he has in his life. He doesn't want to lose Roxas to carelessness.

I nudge him and say, "You should go dance with him."

Axel raises a mutant-eyebrow at me. It's short and weird and it looks funny when he raises it, but by now it's more endearing than off-putting. "Dance? With Roxas?"

"No, with that gorilla onstage," I say. There isn't a stage. And there aren't any gorillas around here, either. Everyone's pretty good-looking, actually.

"But why?"

I love it when he's confused because I get to laugh at him. "Because he's the only one on the floor with any decent moves, and because you're a really good dancer, and because I'll stab you in the face if you don't."

He knows I'm just kidding about the stabbing part, but he raises his hands defensively anyway. "Okay, okay. As you wish, milady." And he bows, like I'm royalty, but he's mocking me. He's such a fucking ass sometimes.

Here's a little known fact for you: Axel was a ballet dancer. It doesn't seem like him, does it? He hasn't even told me. The only reason I know is because I snooped in his closet one day and found an old pair of shoes and a photograph. He was onstage, in front of the other dancers, holding hands with an example of perfection. Her hair is dark, and pulled into a bun, and her outfit – I can't remember what they're called – fits her like it's a part of her. Her legs are perfectly shaped. Her eyes are hazel and perfectly set, and brought out by the glitter surrounding them. She's dropped into a pose, almost down on one knee. The traditional 'ballerina curtsy.' There's a signature on the back.

Keep dancing, no matter what.

Rachel Forbes.

Normally, I'd jump all over the chance to mock him about his girly hips, at the very least, but there are some things even I won't do. I'm a sadistic bitch, a killer, but I'm a sucker for movement. And besides, if he had enough self-confidence to dance ballet, it wouldn't affect him anyway. Fucking weirdo.

I don't know why he doesn't talk about it anyway, but I do know that his obvious talent carried over into other types of dancing. He looks perfect out there, next to Roxas. They're doing some fucked-up cross between Jiving and square dancing. It would look ridiculous on anyone else but they just make it look really good. It looks…sexual, too.

For a second I wonder why Roxas is letting Axel touch him so much, but then I see his eyes. He's not even here in this club. He probably thinks he's dancing with a fairy princess or something.

I cross my arms across my chest. Even though I'm not as good as they are, I suddenly regret telling Axel to dance with Roxas. I still get that feeling sometimes, that Axel will somehow take Roxas away. It's irrational and stupid, but I still get it.

"Hey," someone says, tapping my shoulder. I turn around to snarl at whoever it is, but I stop short because she doesn't even look old enough to be here. She has that same faraway look in her eyes, and I know she's totally fucked up. She's pretty. Light blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, lips that quirk up only slightly at the corners. She's wearing a white sundress. I don't know why the fuck she's wearing a sundress in Traverse Town's winter, but whatever. It's not like I can talk; I'm wearing one my many 'little black dresses.'

"What?"

"Dance with me?"

She doesn't look like the forward type. She looks like the kind of girl who would be deathly afraid of me, if she was even on this planet right now. But she moves gracefully even through her shaking, and I have nothing to do but watch my two best friends act like they're about to get it on (which isn't very appealing, because it's them), so I take her hand and pull her into the crowd. She smiles at me and it really is a pretty smile, even though it's small. I don't know why, but she reminds me of Roxas. Just a little. She's also a very good dancer.

I'm not the type who likes to be lead, if I'm dancing with another girl. I like to be the one in charge. But for some reason, this girl makes it even. It's just a dance between two people. There's no lead. Maybe I'm just sick of having to prove myself all the time.

Besides, it's no fun being dominant when there's no challenge.

I lose track of time. It's just me and her, our hands on each other, feeling and moving to the music. Every so often she jerks in a really weird way and stutters something I can't make out, but I know it's just because she's on something. I think if I was as fucked up as she is, I would probably want to kiss her. As it is, pulling her closer doesn't seem like a bad idea, but I don't. We have a rhythm going, and to close the distance would be to ruin the rhythm. I wouldn't mind, normally, but on the dance floor everything changes. That's why I like dancing; as soon as I start, I turn into someone else, someone much more fluid than I really am. No one flinches away from me.

I like who I am, usually, but sometimes I get tired of everyone being afraid of me when I haven't even done anything to them yet. That's why I stuck with Axel in the beginning. He wasn't afraid of me.

"You're beautiful," the girl says. I'm surprised it's so clear.

"I know," I reply. I don't know what else to say.

"Mar-may-my-the…he would li-ke you," she stutters. I think she's trying to say something important and butchering it because she's thinking too hard. I don't know who 'he' is, obviously, and I don't really care if he'd like me or not. So I just laugh.

"I doubt I'd like him," I say, leaning forward a little to say it in her ear. It's probably true; I don't like very many people. I'm still not sure why I'm still dancing with her.

She giggles, and it would be a happy sound another time, I think. But it's not happy. "Good! You're, you're a, a fl-ower. He'll th-throw you away, old-d fl-lowers, and…you're beaut-t-tiful. A flower."

I really don't know what the fuck she's talking about, but I won't lie and say I don't like what she's saying. Nobody calls me beautiful any more. It's always something like 'terrifying' or 'hot.' I'm not generally a needy person, but I think any girl likes to hear that she's beautiful.

"You are too," I tell her. It's not a lie. I figure she likes flowers, since she talks about them so much, so I inexplicably add, "I bet you could be a lily, or a gardenia. Or a white rose." Whatever possessed me to say that should be hunted down and stabbed. Repeatedly.

Suddenly she stops dancing and throws her arms around my shoulders. For a second I think she's going to kiss me, but then she puts her face in my neck and starts crying. I'm really not equipped to deal with this kind of shit. I practically live with two guys who would rather slit their own wrists than talk about how they feel or cry in front of anyone (not that they actually do that), and this is new. I want to push her off, but she's stronger than she looks and she's got me in a weird position anyway. My arms are pinned to my sides.

I'm very, very irritated with her, and part of me is glad they search for weapons at the door because I sort of feel like knifing her. She's a very pretty girl, and I think she'd be prettier painted in red. Instead of a white rose, she could be fire-and-ice, a rare beauty.

And then I catch myself before I go too far into my own fantasy.

I walk backwards and she follows me, clinging to me like a leech. I finally reach the bar and sit down, and she just sits down on my lap. I don't know why she's suddenly latched onto me, but I really wish I hadn't said anything about flowers.

Whatever it is she's on is obviously finishing its course, because she's at the really emotional stage. I can tell she's coming down. I don't want to have to deal with this, really, but it's not like I can just push her off like I'd do with someone else. She'll probably break, and then I'll get charged with murder for real this time.

And there's still that little reminder. She reminds me of Roxas. I pet her hair a little; maybe she'll let go if she thinks I won't leave. After a few minutes, she looks up at my face and slurs, "He p-prrromised me. I-I th-ought he wo-wouldn't throw me aw-w-way. They knew bet-t-ter but I wanted t-to believe him…h-he promised…"

At first I think maybe she's talking about a really ugly breakup, but I'm pretty sure it's more than just that. She sounds betrayed in the way a girl should never sound, no matter who they are. Like she was trampled on, used and cast aside. I wonder what happened, and I hate myself for wondering, because she shouldn't matter to me at all.

She's starting to fall asleep. Shit. Even I'm not heartless enough to leave her here alone when she's passed out. But I don't want to take her home, because I really don't want another girl around tonight. I don't even want Axel around tonight. I want Roxas really bad. So I roll my eyes and pick her up. She weighs about as much as a piece of paper, and I can feel her bones poking into me. I carry her out, only stopping at the coat check so we don't freeze.

I know the guy who owns the hotel in the second district, and we get along pretty well, since he helped me get settled in Traverse Town. It's just across the street from Vertigo. So I take her there and tell him I'm calling in the favor he owes me – I saved him from dying, once, when some punks I hated thought it was a good idea to knife him and take everything he had on him. I don't know why I'm doing this, but when he sees the girl in my arms he says, "This'll be a freebie. I didn't know you had it in you!"

I know he's talking about being nice, because it's obvious I'm not going to sleep with her, and he knows I'm not a virgin, since I brought people back when I was living here.

I leave her in the red room, my old room. I don't know why, but suddenly I leave her a note, with my name and number on it. I notice a pocket on her dress – I don't know why I didn't see it before – and I can't believe it, oh god. What the fuck.

I know this isn't sugar.

I'm going home. I can't deal with this shit.

What the fuck.

Axel

I think there's something really wrong with me. No, I know there's something wrong with me. I wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't. I'd be miles away; doing all the boring things Roxas thinks I should be doing, if I didn't have a problem. But, fuck. I can't help it.

Larxene told me to dance with him, and I did. I'm an idiot. He's far away from me, even though he's closer than he's ever been. I don't know where Larxene went, but I saw her dancing with a skinny blonde girl a couple of minutes ago and I really just want her to come here and save me. I can't stop dancing on my own.

It's like I'm sixteen again and dancing with Rachel for the first time, except Rachel was a ballerina and I was a hormonal teenager. And this is worse. If Roxas wasn't so busy being high, he'd know how much all this…can I call this grinding, even if it really isn't? He'd know how much it affects me. I don't know what triggers it, but every so often he twists his hips against mine, or comes really close. It's like he's breathing in the smell of my neck or something. And then of course he steps away, quick footwork and wild eyes.

Rachel was an excellent partner, but it's like Roxas and I were made to dance together. I get that same feeling – the one I got a couple of weeks ago, when he leaned against my chest. Like I'm actually a whole person when he's touching me. What the fuck. It doesn't make any sense, really, because I know this isn't personal for him, and I am a whole person already. He probably doesn't even know who I am right now.

Roxas catches my hand and leans out, moving his leg slowly in a circle like a rond de jambe, and I have a sudden urge to lift him because that's something Rachel had to do onstage a couple of times. I'm moving on automatic because it's ingrained after eight years of dancing, and it's a good thing because with everything I'm thinking and everything he's doing to me, if my body didn't know how to work on its own I'd just be standing here like an idiot.

I pull him very close and he says my name. I'm shocked. Not just because he really does know who he's dancing with, but because the way he said it wasn't friendly at all. It was something between a whisper of despair and a plea, and I really want to hate him right now for doing this to me.

And then he spins out again, catching my hand at the last second.

I draw him back in and he lands with his back against my chest. He looks up at me and puts his hand up by my ear, and our legs move out and around, spinning us backward. He arches with the movement. And I know to anyone else it looks like I'm leading, but I'm just following what he does, because I don't know how to dance like this. I'm a quick learner but I'm not that quick.

His hand drags lightly down my cheek and that urge to hate him gets even stronger. Then suddenly he turns around in a very fluid sweep, hand never leaving my face, and he grabs my hair and brings my face down and kisses me.

Shit.

I know I should stop him, push him away, but I can't. I kiss back. He hooks my leg with his knee, closing any distance we might've had before, and he forces my lips apart with his tongue.

God, I want to push him away. I want to scream, to hate him, but all I can do is follow his movements. I realize we're still dancing, but it's slower and he isn't pulling away any more. It's just a bit of easy footwork.

He doesn't close his eyes.

Fuck. I can't deal with this. I want to close my eyes, just so I don't have to see that his are open. This isn't right. I want this, have wanted this for months, but now it feels wrong, because I know it's not really him. He's hurting me, and it's not entirely bad – some of it is really good. It's mostly painful because I've been trying all night to not lose it around him, to not be turned on by him, and now it's all crashing down around my ears. For now I can forget about the emotional aspect, because he's pulling me to the doors, out of the club, toward the car.

I try to wonder where Larx is, but I can't hold onto the thought very long, because Roxas just refuses to let go of me. He opens the door quickly and shoves me into the backseat, and the cold leather makes me shiver. I hate the cold. But Roxas seems intent on making me warm, because he's all over me and doing things that make my eyes loose and heavy.

I know I should stop this before it goes somewhere bad. It's hard to talk myself into it, but I get my hands on his shoulders and start to push back. But then he latches onto my tongue with his teeth, hard enough to draw blood, and digs his nails sharply into my hipbones. God, I'm going to lose it.

He lets go of my tongue once he's unbuttoned my pants – shit – and pulls away completely. Right before he sucks me into his mouth, he says, "Be quiet."

I don't know why he likes silence so much but I don't care at this point, because I can't really care about or even think about anything for too long. He makes me shake like mad and makes my eyes heavier and looser than they've ever been before, but I do as he said and I stay silent, even though it's really hard to do.

Roxas gives me a couple of minutes to relax before he fixes my pants for me and kisses the spot over my heart, just once. Then he goes back on his heels and says, "Take me home."

I want to, but Larx is still in the club. I take out my phone to call her and hope she answers, but I don't bother to call because she's already sent a text to me.

Gone home is all it says.

Christ, what's happening to us lately? It's like a whole other world. Even a month ago, Larxene would never have dreamed about leaving without us. It's freezing outside, so we both just crawl through the gap in the seats instead of getting out. As I start the car, I look over at him. For a moment, I'm confused because he isn't aroused at all, and I wonder why he did all that if he wasn't looking for gratification. But then I remember that every time he's messed around with Larxene, she's worked him up beforehand. It's like he needs to know there's an external stimulus, like he needs to know someone actually wants him.

I get that 'what the fuck' feeling again, like I've just entered the Twilight Zone. I back out of the parking space and watch for collapsed teenagers, those inexperienced dancers with fake identification, who really only go 'dancing' so they can publicly grope each other.

All the way back to my apartment, Roxas watches me. His face is unreadable, but ten minutes into the drive, he bites down on the side of his hand, like he usually does when he catches me watching him. Fifteen minutes into the drive, he starts scratching his arms – ripping into them, really, with his fingernails. I think I can see old scars when his sleeves shift.

Maybe this is fucked up, but I don't want to move his sleeves up and check to see if I'm right. I know I should take care of it, if he's got a problem, but to tell the truth – I'm scared. I wouldn't know how to deal with it. I wouldn't know how to help him. And besides, this may just be an effect of whatever drug he's got in his system. Maybe he's coming down right now, and going through one of those crawly stages. And I can't do anything about it until we get home. I'm absolutely not leaving him alone in his apartment tonight, so we get home sooner than we would have because I stop at mine.

He falls asleep almost immediately after I help him lie down on my bed, and even though I know it's going to kill me, I decide to change his clothes because he reeks like cigarette smoke and sweat and alcohol someone must have spilled on the bottom of his pants.

His shoes look more complicated than they really are – I only need to undo one buckle, instead of eight like it looks like. His socks come off inside of them. When I switch his pants for some of my sweats, he is limp and unresponsive, but it's just because he's in a deep sleep already. He's not shaking or getting a fever, and his breath is steady, so I know he's going to wake up tomorrow morning.

I hate thinking like this.

I pull his shirt off and immediately wish I hadn't. I was right about the scars – most of them are old, but the new ones are angry red and a couple of them are bleeding. Why didn't I know? Fuck that, why didn't Larx know?

For once, I don't want to see his body. I put a sweatshirt on him and sit beside him with my face in my hands. I know there's a reason those are there, and I'm pretty sure it's not because he actually likes hurting himself. And they're not precise lines, like they were done with a knife.

They're all from fingernails and maybe teeth. How long has this been going on, and more importantly, why is it going on? Roxas usually has a reason for everything he does. What's really frustrating is that most of the time, I can never guess the reason. What world does he live in? Why is this okay? God, if I didn't love him so much, I'd hate him.

I'm torn between bandaging his arms and just going to sleep. None of the scratches look deep enough to pose a problem, but you never know. But I know he'd hate it. There's a reason he hasn't let anyone see.

So I get up and bring in a washcloth, and clean them off carefully. It'll be okay, most likely. Then, I take a long shower and try not to think about anything – Roxas, the way his body is beautiful, the scratches on his arms, Larxene…anything. I feel fresh once I'm out of the bathroom, but I'm also really tired.

I've made so many bad decisions tonight…and I'm about to make one more.

I lie down beside him and pull the covers over us. He's not going to remember tonight when he wakes up tomorrow, but at least tonight, I can fall asleep beside him. At least once, I can wake up beside him, providing he doesn't wake first.

Roxas

I wake up in Axel's bed, cozy and warm and relaxed for some reason. Larxene is next to me. I don't know what happened last night. I can't remember anything from last night, but I'm used to that. It's never bothered me very much.

I roll over to wake her up, and maybe tease her about sleeping late like I do most days – it's not her fault that she rarely wakes up before me. I almost always wake up early for no reason. But then I stop and my breathing speeds up. Because that's not Larx. She's not even here, or at least I don't hear anything from outside the bedroom.

God, he's beautiful.

I know he's not like Larx and me; he's actually a little awkward, but it's a different kind of beautiful. He's lying on his side facing me, and his cheek is on his hands like a tiny kid. He only has covers on the bottom of his legs, since I apparently stole them during the night, so I can see that one of his legs is bent at the knee, but the other one is almost straight. He looks relaxed, like he's never been happier in his life, and I feel a little bad for stealing his bed so many nights because if he looks like this when he wakes up in his own bed, I want him to wake up here every morning.

It's beautiful because for once, he looks completely at peace.

I don't know why it has such a big impact on me. It's something I would probably overlook any other morning, but today we're alone and I'm seeing him, not the guarded man he is during the day.

God, I think I really –

– want to touch him.

It's confusing to me, but really tempting. Especially because he'd probably never know. I could just reach over and trace his lips with my forefinger, maybe run my fingers through his hair, put my ear on his chest and listen to his perfect, steady heartbeat.

The last one is too tempting to resist. It's strange, because it feels like I've done this before, even though I know I haven't.

It's funny…I'm usually jealous of perfect chest rhythms. One of the side-effects of the illegal projects is this abnormal heartbeat of mine, and it's one more reminder of Naminé's drawing and the numbers I can't get rid of completely. There's a graph inside me, and every time my heart jumps the numbers change and I can see it in my head. It disrupts the rhythm of anything I'm doing, if I'm not paying enough attention to blocking it out.

But Axel's heartbeat is like a lullaby. It pours into my ear like music, drowning out all the suffocating numbers, and when I close my eyes, I count the beats until –

– I wake up.

Axel is very still, but I know without looking that he's awake because his breathing is quicker than it was when I fell asleep. For some reason, I don't want to move, but he probably knows I'm awake by now and besides, Larxene has an appointment with the doctor this morning and we're driving her.

It takes forty-nine extra beats to talk myself into moving, but finally, I push myself up and balance on my hands. I don't look at him when I say, "Good morning."

"Good morning." He sounds like he has a sore throat. I hope he doesn't.

"Sorry for smothering you." But I'm not, really. I did it on purpose. It's just something I'm supposed to say, I think.

"If I minded, I would have pushed you off," he replies, and he sits up too.

I don't know why I'm so embarrassed to wake up with him, because I'm not a shy person at all. Whenever I sleep here, I wake him up. It's no different from this, but it actually is in some way I don't understand. The problem with me is that even though I know the answer to a lot of things, I usually don't know how I got there. It makes it hard to understand simple concepts sometimes.

My heart jumps again and it sounds in my ears. I want to push Axel down and listen again, just so I can drown out the ugly sound. Silence is better than the irregular rhythm, but I really only get silence when I'm blown away. And I really don't do that very often, because as frustrating as the skipping and the numbers are, being desperate for drugs would be worse. I know, because I've seen it happen before.

"What time is it," I ask, scrabbling for a change of subject.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips turn up in something like an amused smile, but I don't think he's laughing at me at all. "It's eight-thirty. I was surprised you were asleep when I woke up."

I look at the door and pull at a piece of hair, which has somehow found its way into my mouth. It's not my hair; it's long and red. My neck itches when I see the strand and I feel that need to scratch it away; my hand goes up automatically, but he touches it and I stop scratching. I don't know why he wants to touch my hand; so far he hasn't touched me either, other than putting his arm around my shoulder or accidentally brushing elbows when we're too close in the kitchen. When his fingers close and his palm meets mine, it makes my heartbeat change in a completely different way, a fast pace that's actually not entirely unpleasant.

I don't like it at all when other people touch me softly like that, but for some reason, I don't mind that Axel's doing it. Actually, I think I don't mind because it's Axel.

I turn my head to glance at him, and when our eyes meet he drops my hand like a hot stone and looks away. "Sorry," he says. "Larxene needs to see the doctor at nine-thirty, right? We should get ready."

I nod, and we stand up together. I don't know why, but now I'm very agitated and I bite my index finger to keep calm. I'm torn between wanting to hold his hand and wanting to attack him, give him much worse than the black eye I gave Hayner.

My teeth draw blood when that thought comes up. It's a natural reaction – the attacking, and in some ways, even the biting – but a bigger part of me knows that it's Axel, the one I never want to see in pain. Those two sides are conflicting, because the fighter in me is stronger, but the other part is bigger and they even out.

He makes me feel like eight, like thirteen, unbalanced in a very balanced way, and I can't classify it because I've never felt it before. It doesn't fit into an existing category, and for a moment I bite down even harder because I hate not understanding.

"Hey, are you okay?" He watches me carefully but he doesn't touch me again, and I'm grateful because I think I'd attack him if he did.

I wipe the blood off with the edge of my sleeve and smile at him. "Yeah, of course. You think if we pick Larx up early, we can go out to eat?"

He laughs. "What, so you can pay for the same thing you eat every morning?"

"I just don't really feel like cooking here. I need to go outside. I feel disgusting; I'm going to shower."

"Just remember we have an appointment to keep," he answers, and he sounds cheerful.

"I'll be quick."

I go through my shower routine – rinse, wash, rinse, wash, rinse – and step out quickly. There are some clean clothes on the counter, and I know Axel put them there; I don't know why, but I think it's a nice gesture anyway. I towel off my hair quickly, and run a comb through it before I leave the bathroom and drop my pajamas in the hamper outside the door.

There's a circular cycle inside me, and suddenly I realize I'm falling down, like I'm on a defective Ferris wheel. It's happened before; sometimes I wonder if someday I'm going to get stuck at the bottom, where there's only endless numbers and answers only I can understand, even if I don't really.

I blink hard and long, and hurry into the kitchen. I don't want to think about that. Suddenly I don't care if it makes me uncomfortable – I need someone to hold my arm, grasp my hand, anything to keep me from falling. I hate it. It's times like these when I don't know whether I'm empty and heavy or light and so full of feeling that it's like a filled jar, and when you shake it you can't hear or feel the sloshing of liquid. It's the opposite of being empty, but it's almost completely the same anyway.

I'm grateful for the training I put myself through growing up; I can articulate, even when I can't think. My mouth knows what to do, even if my brain doesn't. I see Axel facing away from me and I laugh because he's dancing to music I can't hear, and it's different from my dancing but it's still pretty.

"Oh…hey, Roxas," he says, scratching his cheek. I think he might be embarrassed to be caught dancing alone, but I liked watching.

"I'm finished," I reply.

"I can see that." I like it when he makes that face – it's a smile, but it contradicts his tone of voice. He's sarcastic, but it's not very mean.

"I'm glad you haven't lost your eyesight in the time I've been away. I was worried you might, you troll."

"Oh, Roxas, acerbic as ever. It's almost as if you're trying to claw my heart out."

Normally that would make me laugh, but something swells up inside me and I say – no, I don't say it. I shout, "No!" As soon as it came, it's gone. "Never…"

He looks at me curiously and comments, "You…that was…uh." It doesn't mean anything to me, and I suspect it doesn't mean anything to him, either. He shakes his head, still looking at me strangely, and asks, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little…uh, off."

"Your confidence in me is staggering," I say mildly. "Are you going to make it a habit to shower me with flattery?"

He smiles, laughs fondly, and suddenly I feel like maybe I'll be okay, at least for today.

All of a sudden, I look up and meet his eyes. I don't know why, but it usually isn't pleasant for me to look at someone directly – it makes me feel like my body is shrinking, and their eyes are going to come inside and destroy the parts of me that keep me from being a complete freak, instead of a partial one.

And I get that sensation still, but I keep looking at him, because I think maybe if I start training myself some more, I can jump off this Ferris wheel and walk on the clouds with Axel and Larxene and even hold someone after sex instead of needing to roll away.

Besides; something is telling me Axel would never ruin me like that. And I'm right; he looks away first. I feel accomplished, but it's not really a feeling. I'm just pleased that I could do it once, because that means I can probably do it again sometime.

"I made breakfast," he murmurs, looking at the counter. "You can eat it in the car. I know you wanted to go out, but I thought – you know, I just wanted to-"

"Thank you," I interrupt. It's the same thing I eat every morning – one orange, and a piece of toast with peanut butter.

He grins at me and we leave his apartment. He's a little quiet lately, and I don't like it, but it's not bad. If I can't have silence, I like to hear Axel fill the air with words, exchanging banter with Larxene and acting cheerful, even if he may not be. But today, I don't mind the quiet, because his presence is somehow blocking the ugly noises. As I buckle myself in the passenger seat, I realize this is the first time I've been alone with him in three months and four days.

"I feel like I'm in a computer," I blurt as he begins driving. I don't know why I said that; I didn't even know I felt that way until I said it.

He shoots me a curious sideways glance. "What makes you say that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to say, but I don't think it was."

He moves his hand from the steering wheel and moves it toward me, but suddenly he stops, pauses, and draws it back. I don't know whether I'm disappointed or relieved, so I push the sensation away and focus on the small smile on his face. Those small smiles are rare, but I think they might be the most honest ones he has.

As soon as Axel pulls up, Larxene scoots into the backseat and closes the door. She doesn't look upset, but she isn't smiling.

"Good morning," says Axel, and I'm glad he starts the conversation so I can listen.

"Not really," she says. She takes something out of her purse – something wrapped in paper – and rips the paper off the top. It's some kind of breakfast burrito, and it doesn't look appetizing in the least. I remember my own breakfast and bite an orange slice in half.

"Yeah? What's got your knickers in a twist this time?"

"Shut up, jackass. I got mauled by a fucking Aero addict last night, she cried on me, fell asleep on me, and once I got her to the hotel, I spent the whole damn night worrying about her for some lame-ass reason. I don't even know her. I'm tired, hungry, and pissed. Just drive."

Axel winces. "Aero, huh?"

I have to agree with his dislike for the drug. I don't like stimulants; they make my brain work overtime, and everything dissolves into numbers and symbols and buzzing in my ears. It's also much more dangerous than Elixir, which makes all of that go away.

"Yeah. She had it on her. I mean…what the fuck. She looked like she wasn't even old enough to know what it is. How did they not catch it at the door?"

She's agitated, I can tell.

Axel sighs, and I don't know what his motivation is, but he looks a little frustrated. "If she was underage, she probably snuck in, and didn't go through the search in the first place. Or maybe she bribed someone. Is she the blondie you were dancing with last night?"

In the rear view mirror, I see Larxene's face change. She looks less agitated, and more contemplative. "Yeah. How the fuck do I get myself into these situations? One minute we were dancing, and the next she had me around the shoulders like a bear, blubbering about Maurice or Mary or something, and flowers."

Axel frowns completely. "Why'd you help her? That's not like you. I mean, you're free to take offense to this, even though it's true…you're kind of a bitch. What was different about her?"

She shrugs, but it looks different from her normal ones. "Whoever she was talking about did something to absolutely destroy her inside. It's not something I'd usually bother with, but…you know. I saw the look on her face. We girls have to stick together occasionally, because the world is too full of male jackasses like you. Trust me, this isn't going to become a habit."

Axel laughs as I finish my breakfast, and I laugh as well, although I'm not sure what the joke is. "It's okay, Larxie-darling. No one will think you're anything but a bitch, even if you make nice with another girl. You have nothing to worry about."

She bares her teeth and says, "I know where you-"

Her phone rings, and she answers it on the speakerphone so she can keep eating. "Larxie the bitch speaking," she says, shooting a nasty look at Axel. She probably doesn't mean it as much as she wants us to think.

"Um…I woke up this morning, and found your number by the bed," says a soft female voice. It sounds a bit familiar, but I can't place it at the moment.

"Ah," says Larxene. She sounds as if she's confused.

"I wanted to thank you, for taking care of me, and I'd like to make it up to you."

"Well, it depends on what you're willing to do," my friend tells the phone, smirking. The girl at the other end can't see it, but I think she probably knows it's there.

"I…would you…I can pay for-"

"Just tell me your name, kid," she says, losing patience with the faltering voice. "We'll work out the details later."

There's a faint giggle, and then the girl says, "My name is Naminé Winter."

Larxene says something else, but I can't understand it. My brain is faltering, being consumed with darkness and multiples of ten, and then –