ARC THREE: SOUL
The Fourteenth Chapter
Reunion
I'm sitting quietly in front of the high school, perched on the cold concrete steps that lead up to double doors. The courtyard is desolate, empty in the moonlight. Statues of Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe stand in shadows like tombstones for no one.
It's been a good five days since we found out what happened. To think that I'm alone, really alone in the world.
I'm scared, and I've never been scared before. Not like this.
And all of the sudden, I see him. A limping figure in black, blending near-perfectly with the night. My breath catches in my throat – it can't be – and it is.
Zuko.
And all of the sudden he turns, sees me, and before I know it, his arms are around me.
I clutch his shirt and cry, so happy, until I remember who he is and what he's done and I shove him away.
I can see the surprise and hurt in his golden eyes, but I say nothing.
"I thought you were dead."
"I might as well be," I spit bitterly. "My brother is dead and my gang has rid of me." I look down at the bruises on my arms and legs. I never thought it would come to this. T. – no, Toph – had willingly taken charge, and, though I saw a glint of remorse in her blind eyes, ordered the others on me. Not that others meant anything. It was just her and Flighty – Aang – fighting together. I had fled, a bloody, shamed mess.
"You're hurt." Jasmine eyes smolder with fury, and I almost laugh – there's nothing he can do.
But then I see his arms.
"You're bleeding."
Hastily, I tear off the bottom of his shirt – the only clean part left, I note – and wind it around the biggest gash, which is oozing something red and black. In the pale, weak light, it's impossible to tell if it's blood or pus.
"Ugh." I wrinkle my nose at the sight of it. "What happened?"
"Nothing." A mask descends on his face.
"Zuko," I beg. "Tell me what's going on." I place my hands on his shoulders, turning my face upward pleadingly.
"You know what happened," he mutters finally.
"No!" I cry. "I want to hear your side of the story!"
And then he's kissing me, hard and fast and violently. He grips my arms and holds me close, his dry lips against my smashed ones. Blood and spit and who-knows-what is exchanged, and I'm utterly reveling in it, gasping his name and –
CRACK.