In the middle of writing this, I heard this car alarm go off outside my house. I sat there for twenty minutes cursing out this car and its owner because it was VERY annoying.

Only then did I realize that it was MY car.

Pathetic.

;)

Her or You

(FANG POV)

I pried my eyes open sometime the next morning and blinked groggily. I was lying on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar apartment, and my head hurt like hell.

But what was the most uncomfortable part?

Max was there, across the room, lounging in a recliner.

Staring at me.

She didn't seem to care when I sat up and stared right back at her, simply picked up a bag of fast-food and ate away, never breaking my gaze.

So, like the stupid guy I am, I asked a stupid question.

"Why does my head hurt?"

Bad idea.

She dropped the food back onto the black coffee table in front of her and stood. She crossed the room and walked in lazy circles around the couch. I watched her warily. She looked like a puma just before pouncing, calm and smooth. But that's Max, and I already saw what was coming.

She crossed her arms, still circling, and pretended to think. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was because you smashed your head like the idiot you are against your door, half drunk." Max continued, and her voice rose. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and I knew it would be best to leave her alone.

That is, before she kills me.

If I make it out that fast.

"Or, maybe because you woke me up in the middle of the night, puking your guts up in my toilet." Max stopped, and settled her deadly glare on me. She cocked her hip and tapped her finger on her chin, playing dumb. "Oh, wait, maybe it was when you stopped puking in the toilet, and puked on me. Yeah, maybe that was it."

I stood warily, and held my hands in surrender, "Look, Max, I was drunk-"

She advanced from where she stood to the left of the couch, interrupting me. "Is that how your mom raised you? To go puke over women who try and help you? Or what? Did you go all rebel in your teens and suddenly have the urge to sabotage innocent girl's days? I can see the headlines now! 'Notorious day killer strikes again!' Can you try and go a day without ruining mine?"

A string tugged inside of me, and suddenly I had a huge urge to punch her. She was stepping into dangerous grounds. If she didn't stop soon, that string would snap, and I have no idea what would happen.

It was actually kind of funny. She got furious over the simplest thing, and said harmless things. And yet, those things got to me.

I tried to contain myself, really. I stood there for what seemed like minutes, staring blankly into Max's furious eyes. But, as her words repeated in my head, that string was tugged just a little too hard, and I snapped.

Suddenly she was against the far wall staring at me in shock. I didn't think I shoved her too hard, but later I would see bruises on her shoulders, in the shape of my hands.

I found myself in front of her, pressing her farther against the wall with my larger frame, telling her a story I didn't think I'd ever tell anyone, let alone her.

"My mom didn't raise me well? You've read my file before, and you sure as hell know what happened to my mom. Do you remember, Max? She was killed. Her throat was slit, and she was left on the sidewalk in front of our house. She bled to death, just lying there; helpless."

I watched as Max's eyes went from fury, to shock, to curiosity.

Her voice was strong and clear. "Who?"

I was shocked to say the least. I expected a soft 'sorry' or 'oh...'. But no, she's Max. She can't be that simple.

She was Max, who rushed at danger instead of running away from it.

She was Max, who didn't give a damn what others thought.

She was Max.

In that moment, I knew there was something special about her. I felt the need to get only closer to her, if that was any more possible. So I did.

I closed in on her, so that our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes and rested my hands on her hips.

"Sam Clark. The bastard hasn't ever been caught, at least as far as I know. I haven't really kept in touch with…anybody, really."

I felt Max's right hand on my cheek, and the other one closed around the one on her hip. "Sam Clark was killed two years ago. Coincidentally, by another killer. The guy in the cubicle next to mine worked the case. They went after the other guy, but he slipped away."

God, Fang, I thought bitterly. You should have seen that coming. You knew he'd do it eventually.

I pulled away from Max gently, but kept her hand. She watched me with a sad expression. I sighed and ran my un-occupied hand down my face, not really sure where to go next.

"Sorry for dumping that on you."

She shook her head. "Don't apologize. It was wrong of me to say that in the first place. Plus, it looked as if you really needed to tell someone."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did."

She smiled softly. "Then no harm done."

I couldn't help but give her a smile of my own.

We lapsed into silence. Max gazed down at our interlocked hands, and her eyebrows furrowed.

Does she not like it?

I mumbled a quick apology and untangled my hand from hers, thinking she hated it.

You're such an idiot Fang, of course she hates it; she's just a friend, I told myself.

But I was wrong. As soon as I let go, and the cold air breezed against my empty hand, it was once again replaced with warmth.

Max had grabbed my hand back.

I turned my questioning gaze to her. She looked at me, and said. "It's fine. You look like you need to cool down. Let's go get ice cream."

I nodded mutely and followed her out the door. We lapsed into a comfortable silence as we walked downstairs together, hand-in-hand.

Once we were outside, I asked, "Can we go by the mail-boxes? I've been waiting for a letter…"

She agreed immediately, and skipped over to the mail-boxes, dragging me along. How she had the energy or the happiness to manage skipping I had no idea.

I fished my keys out of my pocket and quickly unlocked my box (number 911), fishing out the cluster of bills and junk mail.

Sitting delicately on top was a small black envelope, with one word scrawled in neat handwriting.

Nick. Only one person calls me Nick.

Hastily, I tore at the letter. Inside, on a blank sheet of paper, it read:

If you don't join me, Maximum Ride will.

-Your father, Nickolas Walker

My heart leapt irregularly as I read it. He'll take Max… I couldn't even think of him taking Max. To have her, suffering, at the fault of that soulless bastard was too much for my mind, and I pushed the mental picture away quickly.

In a second I was dragging her back towards the apartment, in a desperate sprint. But she held her ground, despite my desperate attempts to get her inside. Finally she dropped my hand.

I turned to her, about to try and reason, but she was staring forward, across the street. Even before I averted my gaze I knew what she was seeing, and it made me want to puke all over again.

On the opposite side of the street- in front of another apartment complex similar to ours- stood my father.

His jet-black hair swayed with the breeze as he looked at me dead in the eye. His gleamed with a familiar light, one I had only seen once before with him. It was the light of bloodlust, the light of a need to kill.

A light that was unstoppable; deadly.

His black eyes stood on a face that every woman seemed to fall in love with, with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and soft pink lips. Farther below stood a locked, sharp jaw, which withheld a teasing smirk.

A smirk that I've seen very often.

In the mirror.

His sturdy frame walked slowly down the sidewalk, a cocky and arrogant walk. He turned so that he was walking sideways and gave me a grin and a wave, and turned back.

Distantly, I heard Max gasp.

But that wasn't my biggest of issues.

Down the street a ways a young girl- no older than seventeen- jogged along, intent on changing a song on her ipod. She hadn't looked up to notice the man coming at her with a deadly smirk.

I watched as Dad turned to me again and pointed to the girl wiggling his eyebrows. He pulled a knife from his belt and mockingly slit his throat, the blade passing within inches of his olive skin.

Almost as if he was planning to slit her throat.

And he did just that.

Max was the first to snap out of it. Dad stood above the dead girl, grinning madly. Max started the mad dash across the street. She got as far as the sidewalk before a black Mustang skidded to a stop just in front of her.

In the drivers seat sat a girl only a few years younger than us. Her blond curls brushed her shoulders as she turned her face in my direction. She gave me a apologetic look, and tears slipped from her blue eyes. She mouthed my name and gave me a wave.

Only then did my muscles that had frozen me in my place begin to work, and I gave my old friend a sad wave.

Angel.

Dad jumped into the car and Angel gave me one last glance before speeding off down the street.

I sunk to the ground and stared dejectedly at the dead girl across the street. Max slowly turned around, her expression on shock.

"Your" She began. "Your dad is…oh my God."

My voice sounded broken. "I know. My dad is Nickolas Walker, the serial killer."

And he wants me to join him.

That should clear the initial confusion up! Well folks, I was actually planning to put this in chapter 9, but I got a little too excited, and couldn't help myself.

I'm really bummed :( I got at least twenty reviews the very first chapter, and then five or six for the rest.

So…review? For me?