Chapter Three
I can't entirely block out the blare of the television, no matter how hard I try. Leonardo got his hands on a VHS of some long-forgotten Space Heroes Christmas special and apparently is incapable of watching it at any volume besides blasting. He is currently sitting inches from the T.V. with a dopey grin plastered on his face. At least he is properly distracted. It won't take much for me to sneak away undetected. Raphael is off somewhere in the lair, unseen. I can't pinpoint his exact location, but chances are he's not in my lab; my decided upon means of escape. He won't be a problem. Michelangelo however, could derail my plans before I even put them into action.
As I anticipated he stayed at my side for the remainder of the day following lunch. His excuses laughably elaborate as to why he constantly had to follow my every move like an over-protective duckling, especially when we both knew the real reason for his want to stay close. I would not entirely mind the company if I didn't have some place else to be. Someplace that did not require a chaperone.
I glance down at my phone for what realistically could have been the hundredth time in the last hour, getting increasingly nervous with every minute that ticks by. I can't let it get too late. April has school in the morning and a late-night study session isn't the best environment to learn in. Her last text arrived over a half an hour ago, letting me know that she was home and to come over at any time. I don't think she meant after midnight. I slide the phone into my belt and glance over at the door to my lab.
Now or never.
I try to stand, momentarily forgetting in my single-minded desire to escape that Mikey has himself wrapped around my feet. It is not my most graceful moment. I attempt to keep my balance, stepping on Mikey's hand in the flailing process. His surprised cry and my crash to the ground are enough to capture Leonardo's attention. After he pauses his show of course. I disentangle my legs from under Mikey's shell and use the couch to push to my feet. Leo raises the ridge above his left eye in question, as though we planned the whole thing.
"Where are you going?" Mikey demands, eyes wide as he leans forward, like he might dart after me at any moment and tackle me to the ground.
"To the bathroom," I say with an exasperated sigh.
"Oh…all right, then," he murmurs, leaning back against the couch cushion and motioning with a nod of his head for Leo to press play.
Plan B it is.
I won't have much time before he comes looking for me. There's a ventilation hatch I can crawl through in the bathroom. It isn't ideal and it is a bit sneakier than I would prefer, but I've made up my mind to go and I'm not about to back out now. Space Heroes blares back to life and I consider locking the door behind me as I slip into the bathroom. I climb up onto the counter and slide my fingers under the edge of the grate covering the vent. It's heavy and dust-covered and I turn my face and cough as it burns my eyes. I carefully lay the vent down along the wall and prepare to hoist myself into the opening.
Someone is coming in.
I have just enough time to close the grate before the bathroom door bursts open. I should have locked it. I stifle another cough and try to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why I'm standing on the counter. If it was Mikey reasonable wouldn't necessarily be needed, slightly believable at best usually did the trick with my younger brother. Raphael on the other hand, looked for confrontation with the same zeal that most people used for avoiding it. You could tell him the truth, you could tell him the sky was blue and he would shout at you that it was red just to get a rise out of you. The bathroom door swung shut behind him and he stood over the threshold, looking infuriatingly smug.
"Going somewhere?" he asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head ever so slightly.
"No," I say, too fast and too forceful to sound anything close to truthful.
"Uh huh," he murmurs. "And why don't I believe you?"
I decide to appeal to his loner tendencies. If anyone can appreciate the need to get away every now and then it has to be Raphael. He's practically modeled his entire personality around it. I sigh and rub the back of my neck, thinking it best to avoid his eyes if I'm ever to be believed.
"I just…I need to get out of here for a couple hours, clear my head."
He doesn't say anything in response and I chance a look up to see if he's even still in the room. He most certainly is and the smug curl of his lip has settled into an angry scowl.
"And you felt like you had to sneak out to do that?"
It's a trap, don't answer him. He's setting you up for the kill.
"Well, um, Mikey has been following me around all day and I thought, well Leo would never let me leave on my own, and well…"
"So you're not sneaking out to go see April?"
His words are like a slap to the face and I am certain I flinch. I swallow back the lump in my throat and brace myself for the argument I'm certain lurks on the horizon. My silence speaks volumes and there's no denying my true intentions. They burn an embarrassing path across my face and if I'm thankful for anything it's that I'm partly concealed by shadow. He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. It isn't angry and the defeated sound of it takes me by surprise.
"How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself, man?" he asks and I'm surprised again at how tired he sounds.
"I don't…it's not…" I stumble over an attempt to respond, his inability to live up to my expectations throwing me off my game.
"What does she need this time?" he demands and the anger is back and I recognize my brother again.
"It's not like that," I say, even though technically it is exactly like that. It isn't something he'll ever get me to admit out loud.
"Oh, no?" he says, his words dripping with unwanted sarcasm. "So she didn't call asking for something? She calls and you come running, right, Donnie? Isn't that how it works?"
That's how it works with everyone.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I say, letting out forceful breathes through my nostrils.
"She's using you. She always has. She knows you can't say no and she's taking advantage of you. You need to stop letting her," he says, uncrossing his arms long enough to jab accusingly in my general direction.
There may be some truth to his words. There may be a lot of truth to his words. That doesn't mean I will admit or listen to them. The condescending, accusing tone of his sharp, biting voice is enough to send my mind reeling for the most hurtful thing I could say in response. I wish I had a list at the ready for when he turned his anger on me. As it is I'm not sure there's much in this world that I could say that would hurt Raphael. He doesn't seem to put much stock in my opinion.
So stop letting his affect you.
I ball my hand into a fist. I would tower over him if I was standing on equal ground, atop the counter he has to crane his neck up just to make eye contact.
"She's my friend," I say, closing my hand tighter to keep my arm from trembling. "She might not…she might not be what I want, but she's my friend," I say, turning around to pull open the grate once more. "If she needs my help I'm going to give it. I'm sorry if you think that makes me pathetic."
"And you honestly think you can be just her friend?"
No.
"Yes," I say, lifting my staff into the air duct first.
He lets out another sigh and it makes my stomach squirm. "Fine, Donnie, but don't expect the rest of us to keep putting you back together when she breaks you again."
They've all grown tired of you.
"I don't expect anything from you, Raphael," I say before hoisting myself into the air duct.
He doesn't follow me and I can't know if he runs off to tell the others I've left. I don't care. I'm out of the heating system and dropping down into the sewer proper before I allow myself to let out the breath I'm holding. I can find my way to April's apartment with my eyes closed. I know the distance to the exact measurement. I go to the surface as soon as there is a viable route. I don't want to spend one more second below ground than I have to.
The October air is cold and it makes my muscles tense the moment I lift out of the manhole. I should have considered a coat. I swing my bo staff into its holster and climb up the nearest fire escape to travel unseen across the rooftops. I lower my head and run, leaping and sliding along the familiar path with an unshakeable urgency. Run. Jump. Roll. Run. The cold tends to make all of us just a little bit sluggish. I don't let it on this night. The push and impact of the journey isn't lost on my joints and muscles. I would never have thought such a short absence from training would take a noticeable toll. I don't care. It feels good to be out of the lair and in to the real world, to breathe fresh air, to run.
I slide to a halt on the building next to April's. Pausing to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. The cold wind whips the tails of my bandana horizontal and stings my eyes. The light is on in her bedroom, glowing out a warm welcome behind closed curtains. It's a familiar sight from over the years. It's the promise of a warm room in the darkness. It's a safe place where, despite my own tendency to revert to nerves and anxious thoughts, I can be myself. Even if that self is nervous and rambling she won't cut me down for it. I don't have to sensor myself. I don't have to worry about someone stopping me short of an explanation or correction of fact. I don't have to hide my excitement over my latest project or an article I read. She'll listen. Even if she doesn't understand everything I say, she will listen. She's my friend and I don't want to ruin that. I can't ruin that.
I take a few steps back before taking a running leap off the roof to land on the fire escape above her window. I grip the railing and swing down silently. I straighten my mask and roll my shoulders back in search of a more comfortable way for my bo staff to sit across my back. Raph's words linger at the edge of my thoughts, threatening to push my fragile calm over a cliff lined with jagged rocks. I turn my back to her window for a moment and close my eyes.
Get it together. Who cares what he thinks? It doesn't matter. She asked you to come over tonight. She wants you to be here.
My eyes open wide at the sound of her window opening. I turn around and my hands instantly rise to fiddle with the strap across my chest. She's leaning on the window frame with a bemused expression on her face. The moonlight catches sight of several of her freckles and it takes a great deal of personal control not to reach out to trace the light's path with my thumb.
Don't be creepy.
"Oh, h-hi, April. Fancy meeting you here," I say with a nervous chuckle.
"Hey, Donnie," she says with a smile.
I mentally face palm myself. She doesn't seem bothered by my lack of social skills and stands aside to let me in. I attempt to duck enough to let my staff clear the top of the window and have to angle sideways to avoid getting stuck half-way inside. She reaches out a steadying hand to the top of my arm and the muscle instantly tenses. Her hand is gone before I can focus too much on how nice it felt against my skin. She heaves the window shut with a grunt and blows away a stray strand of hair that fell across her eyes. Her hand is back on my arm and I'm sure I have the look of a cornered animal.
"You're freezing," she says with a disapproving click of her tongue. "How long were you out there?"
"Not long," I insist, the heat of the apartment already warming my cold blood. "Just from the lair."
"Well, you're an ice cube," she says, taking the folded afghan from the end of her bed.
She shakes it open and stands up on her tip-toes to drape it over my shoulders. It's soft and warm and smells like April. I try not to focus on that and grip the edges with what I hope is an appreciative smile.
"Thanks," I say, maneuvering to pull my bo staff out of its holster and lean it against the wall beside the window.
"Do you want some tea?" she offers, already on her way to the kitchen before I can properly respond.
"Sure," I call after her.
I intend to follow her. It somehow feels wrong to linger in her bedroom on my own, like I'm trespassing on something private. A flash of sparkle catches my eye and stops me dead in my tracks. The dress hangs on her closet door, all purple and sparkles and lovely. I suppose, even with my sleepless nights aside I had myself just a little bit convinced that evening might not have happened. That she didn't in fact go to the dance and wear that dress and look beautiful under the dim lights…with him. I trace my thumb over the fabric along the hem and instantly feel a swell of shame flood my entire being.
Don't touch that. What is your problem? Stop being creepy. What? Did you expect her to go with you? She's human, she's going to want to do normal, human things. Don't make her feel bad about that. You're being selfish.
I drop my hand and step back, turning away from the offending garment to sit on the end of April's bed. It was a bad idea to come here. I'm not myself and she's going to see it. The sadness and crushing shame at seeing the dress is nothing compared to the heavy feeling that settles on my chest when I lean back on my hand and my palm slides against a stack of glossy brochures. College brochures. Happy, smiling coeds from every walk of life grinning in sweatshirts emblazoned with the logos of their schools. I pick them up and flip through each with hands that threaten to tremble.
University of Illinois, Syracuse, William and Mary, Stanford. I sift through the pile and hope that the next one will break the undeniable pattern, each school is outside the city. The hallow feeling in my chest pushes outward and I close my hands into fists, crushing the happy, smiling coeds. The despair of losing April, of her leaving and never coming back is very real and it cannot be ignored or denied, but there is something deeper, something far more vile that grips my thoughts and makes me tighten my grip; jealousy.
I feel it like a kick in the stomach and it burns a hole through all logical thought and semblance of calm I might have mustered. She can go anywhere, do anything she wants, and she should. They all can; all those happy, smiling people with their lives ahead of them and every opportunity at their disposal. A bitter taste settles in my mouth and I push off the blanket, slamming the now crinkled brochures onto the mattress. They can study and learn and use real labs and equipment while I have to build things out of trash and steal anything close to scientific equipment.
"We only had green tea, Dad hasn't been shopping since…" April says. She stops short of a full explanation and pauses in the doorway with a tray balanced in her arms. "What are you doing?" she asks, setting the tray on her desk and picking up the fallen blanket.
"I wasn't going through your stuff," I say, hoping that my frantic words were such a paranoid jumble she wouldn't be able to understand them.
"I…didn't think you were," she says with a raise of her eyebrow.
Real smooth.
She tosses the blanket over my shoulders again and hands me a cup of tea. He fingers graze across my wrist. "Keep that on until you warm up," she insists, the firm line of her mouth and slight narrow of her eyes not inviting and argument.
She picks up the other tea cup and blows across the surface before taking a tentative sip. She sits on the edge of the bed. I think she is about to ask me to join her until her eyes fall on the pile of crumpled brochures. She picks up several of them and slides them through her fingers. She makes a face that I can't quite decipher.
"Dad keeps leaving these around the apartment," she says, smoothing out one of the covers. "He's not very subtle."
"There…there are some good schools in there," I say. I wanted to sound supportive or at the very least indifferent. What comes out instead borders on sarcastic and bitter.
Her eyes narrow further and she sets them aside. "Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" she asks. She sets her tea on the bedside table and crosses her arms expectantly.
You're going to leave and never come back and I'll be stuck in the sewer forever like a freak.
"I…it's nothing. I'm sorry. I just…I haven't been sleeping very well," I say, avoiding her eyes. It's not entirely a lie. Of course it isn't the entire truth either.
Her expression softens and she crosses the small distance between us. I instinctively take a tiny step back when she reaches out to take hold of the edge of the blanket around my shoulders. She rolls her eyes. It's teasing, not mean spirited and I fell silly for recoiling. She pulls on the blanket and corrals me over to the bed. She pats the place beside her when she sits and looks up at me expectantly.
Sit down, quite staring at her!
I clear my throat and sit down next to her, painfully away how close our legs were without touching. She takes the teacup from my hands and sets it on the bedside table. Her hand lingers on my wrist again and it is a testament to my self-control that I don't immediately turn my hand over and grasp her hand in mine. She does it for me. Her hand looks small and pale compared to my own and the comparison is enough to make the bitter thoughts return with stunning quickness.
You don't fit. You don't fit with your brothers and you certainly don't fit in her world. You can't even hold her hand correctly.
She doesn't seem to mind the incapability of our hands. She laces her fingers with mine as best as she can and runs her thumb along the ridge of mine. She leans in close and tucks her legs beneath her before leaning against me. We've hugged before. Usually, quick, friendly embraces in thank you or celebration. This is different. I know this is different, but I can't let myself think that because there's no way it can be. When she rests her head against my shoulder and slides her hand across my plastron I no longer have any idea what to think.
"It's not fair is it?" she asks, pulling the afghan tighter over my shoulder so that it encompasses us both.
She smells like flowers and sunshine. Stop it, don't think about that. Don't think about how warm she is or how she keeps touching you.
"I…umm, well, it happens sometimes," I stutter, not entirely sure what she's talking about but prepared to agree with whatever she says if she keeps moving her fingers like that.
She cranes her neck up and settles confused eyes on me. "What are you talking about?"
I try to think of something cool to say. It isn't my natural progression of thought and I'm left with very little to form into words. "What are you talking about?" I parrot back at her.
How could she not fall for you? You're positively dashing.
I bite my bottom lip to keep from telling the dark voices to shut up out loud.
"College," she says, lowering her gaze to rest against the inside of my shoulder again. "You should be able to go, it isn't fair."
I tense immediately. This is not the conversation I want to have tonight. My plan was to come over, ignore the dark, swirling thoughts lingering at the back of my mind and help April with her math homework. Nice, safe, constant math. I didn't plan on discussing my deep, dark thoughts about the future with the one person who actually has a future to look forward to. I would have made a flowchart, or a nice pros and cons list. I would have been prepared with a response. I am not prepared and I can't find anything to say that won't sound bitter or pathetic and so I stay silent.
She doesn't let the silence linger for too long and scoots just a little bit closer, her side pressing against mine. "I'm sorry," she says and the apology is sincere.
I tighten my hand around hers, instantly loosening my grip in fear that I might hurt her. "It's all right," I say, clearing my throat and forcing out more of a response. "Can't change it. There…there's no point dwelling on it."
She pushes away and I feel a chill where her body no longer presses against mine. She paces the room, shaking her head, sending her pony tail whipping from one side to the other. She is riled up and I lean forward, careful to remain out of reach incase her anger turns on me.
"No point?" she says, scuffing her slippers angrily along the carpet. "The point is, it isn't fair. You're a genius, Donnie. You could get in to any school you wanted if…"
"If I wasn't a mutant, turtle, freak?"
There ya go. Make her feel bad for sticking up for you. You're on a roll.
I expect her to slump her shoulders and soften her face with pity. She does not do either of those things. Her hands ball into fists at her sides and she crosses the distance between us with two long strides. She narrows her eyes in anger and jabs her finger into my chest.
"Don't call yourself that," she insists.
"A turtle?" I reply with a nervous smile.
This is not the time for jokes.
"You're not funny," she says, letting out an annoyed sigh that seems to take with it some of her anger.
She stands mere inches away from me and if I was brave enough to move my leg forward even a little bit the inside of my knee would touch the outside of hers. Maybe it was due to the face that I still haven't entirely recovered from my sleepless bender or maybe it's because I can't shake the persistent chill in my blood without her beside me. Whatever the reason I find some semblance of bravery or stupidity lurking under the surface of my anxiety and reach out to take hold of her arm. Again, she seems so delicate and small in my hands.
"I'm sorry," I say with a rueful smile. I pull her forward an inch and I can feel the warmth radiating off of her. "I just…I know…I don't want to talk about it."
Why? Because if you don't talk about it, it won't be real?
She nods and turns her hand over so she's holding onto my forearm as well. "It just makes me so mad," she says, barely breaking a whisper. "It isn't fair."
She let's go and slides out of my light grip, going over to her desk to snag her calculus book from her book bag.
Oh, that's right. She needs something from you.
The awkward silence is too much for me to handle in the moment. So naturally I say the one thing that can make the entire situation even more awkward.
"How was the dance?"
There's that bitter, sarcastic clip in my voice again and I would suck the words back in if I could. She turns towards me, her math book held before her like a shield. She glances at the dress hanging from her closet door and then settles a look in my direction. I avoid it and pretend to suddenly find great interest in the pattern of the blanket strewn about my shoulders. She is standing in front of me before I can strategize my best response or if all else fails my best escape plan.
"It was all right, I guess," she murmurs and sits back down on the bed. This time she keeps a friendly distance between us and every part of me aches to close it.
Don't be creepy. If she wanted to sit closer she would have.
It's not the response I expect and my curiosity gets the better of my common sense. "Just all right?" I ask, still tracing the patterns along the blanket.
"Yes, Donnie, just all right," she says with a sigh and a flip of the math book's cover.
I must be staring because she adds. "Is that what's been bothering you? Me going to the homecoming dance?"
Run, just run. She'll never be able to catch you. You're going to regret staying here. Run!
"I…well…no. I mean, technically, I was…you see the thing is…"
I am a mess. My face burns with the heat of a blast furnace and my words keep sticking in an increasingly dry throat.
"Do you know why I went to the dance with Casey?" she asks, crossing her arms and raising one brow expectantly.
Because girls like bad boys.
I shake my head no and she plows on.
"Because he asked me, Donnie. He asked me to go and I said yes, as friends."
I don't move. Maybe if I remain perfectly still she'll forget I'm even here. As friends? She only went to the dance with him as friends.
Like how she wants to study with you, as friends. Don't read into it. Don't get your hopes up. You know what happens when you get your hopes up.
I must have a rather stupid grin on my face because she unfolds her arms and rolls her eyes. I tense when she slides up alongside me again, holding her math book in her lap.
"He's not a very good dancer," April says as an afterthought. "He did talk an awful lot about hockey…"
I nod and listen in silence as she talks about the rather uneventful evening and the mundane nature of it settles my nerves more than any twelve hour power nap ever could. It's when she moves the topic of conversation to her mother that I feel guilt, cold and unrelenting start to creep up into my chest again. She would have gone dress shopping with her and they could have made a day of it at the spa. She tries not to sound too upset, but I know April and I know when her voice catches at the end of her sentences and her eyes glass over only when the light hits them she is far from all right.
You're selfish. All you could think of was yourself and here she is almost crying over her dead mother. You're pathetic.
She closes the distance between us once more and I only put my arm around her when she snuggled beneath it in welcome. I hate watching her in pain. If there was anything I could do to take that away from her, to hold it even for a little while, I would. She doesn't deserve that sadness.
"I don't know much about mothers," I say quietly when I fear she is very close to tears. "But I know yours would be proud of the wonderful, young woman you've become. You're brave and smart and beautiful. What mother wouldn't be proud of that?"
She lets out a small sniffle and I'm afraid I've said all the wrong things and only made matters worse.
Nice going, Genius. You made her cry.
She sniffles again and straightens her back to look me in the eye. She isn't crying and the crinkled lines of determination at the corners of her eyes almost make me pull back in surprise. Her face is suddenly very close and her warm hands are moving across my face to the back of my neck, pulling me forward. I think I can count her freckles at this point. Our lips touch and I'm not certain how it started. If she pulled me forward or if I leaned into the kiss? All I know is that her mouth is pressed to mind and it's warm and soft and all that's good in this world. The warmth of it spreads throughout my body and I let the blanket fall from my shoulders without a hint of worry about the chill in the air.
