Title: One Temporary Escape
Summary: Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.
Warning/Spoiler: Post-"House of Victory" with allusions to following episodes, but no explicit spoilers. The TV-14 guidelines for cursing are followed.
Rating: T/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Various. Ensemble fic.
Author's Note: I don't own House of Anubis or any recognizable objects or people mentioned. I also don't own any lines you may recognize.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favorite-d. It means so much to me, and I especially appreciate all the reviews. Feedback is what encourages me when inspiration fails.
EDIT 1/26: See previous note about my apologies about the quality of this chapter. Also, for those keeping score, there is no Eddie, Joy is still missing, season 2 is not a thing, etc.
One Temporary Escape
2: count the flaws
When Fabian saw the girls return, he did not expect them to be so far apart. Their shoulders touched as they each entered the doorway, but their eyes focused on the floor. The web of connection fell away as each sat – Nina to his right, Patricia to his left, Amber behind him, Mara in front. Life presented the crossroads between discord and unity, and neither seemed to be taken, only a hesitant wind offering a guiding torch.
Fabian leaned over towards Nina, his eyes focusing on Mara's raven locks, curling against the unshed tears that haunted the heavy air surrounding him. "What happened?" he whispered quickly, turning to her. "Everyone's so – sad."
Nina glanced at him once before facing forward. Her lips barely moved when she answered, but her eyes remained plastered on Mrs. Andrews' desk, brown refusing to meet brown. "Don't worry about it. Girl stuff," she said coolly, only edges of emotion seeping within her otherwise even tone.
Fabian frowned. "Then why aren't you talking to me?" he asked, genuinely confused. Don't do this to me now, Nina. Don't get complicated on me.
Her eyes met his, flashing scarlet, a bitter smile raising her lips. "Why don't you ask your friend Patricia?"
Memories flew past him, a slideshow of moments, but all failed to clarify her statement. "Patricia? What?" But Nina refused to speak to him further, her attention on Mrs. Andrew.
The clock chipped away seconds, each plummeting to the abyss of the past. Mrs. Andrew's voice drifted to Fabian's ears, but he could not comprehend the words, his mental capacity for paying attention otherwise occupied.
Thankfully, his troubled mind passed enough time that it only felt like five minutes when the bell rang an hour later.
Nina slipped out of the classroom without Fabian noticing, so he opted to give her space while he tried to piece together what had happened that morning. He caught up with Patricia at her locker, the hallways bustling with students passing from class to class, rapid chatter buzzing against the fading walls.
"Patricia!"
Patricia turned around at his voice, but stiffened when she registered who was standing before her. "Fabian," she said, her voice as cool as Nina's was previously.
"Um, Nina was acting all weird earlier and she said to ask you - ?" he said hesitantly, wondering what he had possibly done that caused the female species to cut off from him.
Patricia sighed before slamming the locker door shut. "Why did you send me – your friend – a Rosegram, and not send one to Nina, who you've obviously fancied for ages now?"
Fabian's throat shriveled, drying faster than an oasis in a desert. "Wha – what? I sent all of you Rosegrams – and I even sent Nina an anonymous one too!" His voice broke several times, cracking against the puzzle that began fitting together in his mind.
Patricia smiled sadly. "Well, I'm the only one who got a signed Rosegram, not Amber or Mara or even Nina. Because if you didn't sign it, then why would she assume you sent it?" Fabian understood the logic in her words, the room for error in his so-called plan.
But that didn't mean it had to make sense. "Okay, maybe sending Nina an anonymous Rosegram and expecting her to just know it was me was stupid," he conceded, leaning against the cool lockers. "But that doesn't explain why the other three didn't get the Rosegrams I sent them."
"Did you personally give the sheets to Tara?"
"Who?"
"Tara – the girl behind the counter, the one handling the Rosegrams for Mara?" Patricia shook her head in exasperation. "Why does no one know her name?"
Fabian shrugged. "Who knows – who cares. And no, I didn't give them personally – I asked – " The name fell in his lap, screaming and flashing, and suddenly he felt hot.
Red. All he could see was red and green, a Christmas nightmare filled with family arguments and corny presents. Patricia called out to him, but her voice faded away as he stormed off, heading towards one person.
"MICK!" His voice was loud, but he didn't shout, his voice steady and firm. His roommate spun around but frowned deeply when he spotted Fabian, stepping out of the circle of rugby teammates around him.
"Hey mate, what happened?" asked Mick, frowning and with furrowed eyebrows.
What happened, my arse. "Why didn't Nina, Amber, or Mara get my Rosegrams from them – the ones I signed as a friend, the ones I gave because you told me it was a good idea because Valentine's Day 'is not just for couples,'" he quoted darkly. His fingers sliced the air before panic settled in Mick's face. Fabian hoped his narrowed eyes and the shadows clenched in his fists were keeping Mick still.
"Oh – um," said Mick, biting his lip and his eyes missing Fabian's.
Fabian took a step closer, his voice lowering to a hiss. "Mick, did you forget to turn those in, but conveniently remember Patricia's and my anonymous one?"
Mick hesitated again, his hand running through his hair, the disarray of blonde locks illustrating the fraying friendship facing them. "Fabian, mate, it's not a big deal – it was just a joke – ha ha," he said, but the confidence needed in his voice had fallen victim to guilt and fear. He stood against the wall, his body steady but his hands shaking.
Fabian stepped back, studying the unrecognizable student before him. Violet lines crossed the boundary between them, separating the truth from the lies. "Mick – why are you turning into Jerome?"
Heartbeat. Narrowed eyes and, "probably because I made a bet with him." Fabian, caught off guard, paused rather than leaving.
"A bet?" Blurred noises, puppet strings falling away. "A bet about what?"
"You and Nina," Mick sighed, weakly leaning against the wall, strength and willpower leaving his limbs. "Alfie and Patricia. Amber and – " his voice stuttered, "someone."
Fabian stood there, staring at Mick. "I can't believe you."
"Neither can I."
Silence reigned, pregnant with accusations and manipulations. Fabian shook his head sharply. "So basically, because of your meddling, Nina's mad at me for something I had no control over?"
Mick hit his head against the wall. "Basically. If it matters at all – I still turned in that anonymous one."
"Whatever," said Fabian, but his heartbeat steadied for a moment.
"Let me talk to Nina," said Mick finally when Fabian refused to speak further. "Let me explain this to her."
The sudden red extinguished the glimmer of light that seeped into his heart. "No, I'll do it," said Fabian harshly. "You'll probably screw it up anyway."
He stalked away, not bothering to watch the impact of his words on Mick's neglected and insecure soul. Screw him. Overreaction trumped reason; red clouded his vision, blurring the lines between flaw and deposition. He focused on stepping forward, on reaching his destination. He turned the corner and his heart dropped to the floor, rolling in a mess of blame and anger.
Nina sat on a desk, quietly studying her shoes, her backpack resting beside her. Fabian walked over softly, his feet caressing the chilling floor.
"Hey," he said, causing her to look up.
She stared at him for a full minute before saying anything at all. "What do you want?"
Harsh words cut through the brave front he tried to build. "I want to explain – I didn't send Patricia that Rosegram."
"Then who did?" she asked, skeptical and resigned.
"Well, I mean," said Fabian, "I did send it – but I sent you, Mara, and Amber Rosegrams too."
Nina laughed bitterly. "Right, that's why I have a note with your signature on it." She rolled her eyes as they turned to the floor again. "Right."
"See that's the thing, Mick – "
"Mick isn't the one sending Patricia Rosegrams, Fabian," she interrupted without care, without emotion. Glossy and shiny, her voice remained cool and firm.
"But Nina – " he began, trying to explain as he watched them grow further apart, chances slowly flying out of reach. All the fear of complications seemed pointless at that moment, mere trivialities rather than real concerns
"Just tell me the truth, Fabian," she said, her voice shaky, the first strands of emotion oozing through her words. "Who do you like – me or Patricia?"
Heartbeat.. "Nina, I like – "
"You will not believe what just happened!" Alfie slid through the doorway, a wide grin splitting his face. At the sight of intense shared looks, the smile fell. "Oh – did I interrupt something?"
YES, YOU IDIOT. But before Fabian could say anything, Nina answered.
"No, it's fine," she said, glancing over to Fabian once before understanding settled in her eyes. No, no! I wasn't hesitating because I like Patricia, I was hesitating because I like you! Nina smiled at Alfie before walking out of the room, the door that would have sealed off room from hallway mentally slamming against his skull. No, no, nononono.
But she was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.
If Nina had turned around, maybe she would have seen Fabian run his fingers through his hair in frustration. Maybe she would have caught his desperation.
Maybe she would have seen the small smile on Alfie's face, grim satisfaction coloring the mask hiding his eyes.
Amber never seemed to be able to pay attention in class. There was something more important than trigonometry, or the industrial revolution, or fungi.
Today it was the eight messages that sat so innocently in her bag. The unsigned messages didn't concern as much as Jerome's. The name plagued her, a constant frustration in the back of her mind. That signature weighed at least fifty kilograms.
Only habit led her out the doorway when the bell rang, a buzzing in her otherwise occupied mind. Even as she traveled the hallways, the mystery dug into her side, nagging her. She wanted revelations and answers; she wanted to know what was going on.
So Amber wasn't quite sure if she was relieved to see Jerome standing by her locker or not.
"Hello," he said, beaming, his sunny smile a reflection of his bright hair. "So what do you think?"
Amber raised an eyebrow. "About you standing at my locker looking entirely too pleased with yourself? I think you give yourself way too much credit and that even Kanye West would be annoyed."
"What – Amber," said Jerome, his smile falling quickly, "I'm sorry if it seems I'm being too – forward? But I like you," he said, his eyes flickering to floor before resting upon hers.
"Do you really?" she said, her eyes still. He likes Mara, you know this, Millington. So why is he asking you out? "What's my favorite color?"
"What?"
"If you really liked me," said Amber, "you'd know what my favorite color is."
"Uh," said Jerome, his eyes darting around as if searching for clues, "pink?"
"No." Amber shook her head, pushing him out of the way and opening her locker. "It's yellow."
"Yellow? Really?" he said, eyebrows raised with a small surprised frown. "Why?"
"It's sunny and happy, but it can mean cowardice and sickness too," she said as she pushed aside a binder and picked up a book. "It reminds me of me. And my hair," she added as an afterthought.
"Oh."
"Yes." Amber faced him fully now, shutting her locker quickly. "So because you don't actually like me, why are you asking me out?"
"Amber – "
"Oh, I get it!" The brilliant light bulb ignites in her mind and the pieces fall in place. "You're trying to make Mara jealous, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not – " he tried to deny it, but Amber noted his nervousness, his frantic desperation. The blue lockers reflected purple against her shoulder and Amber's face brightens.
"Yes, you are," she said firmly. "And because I'm feeling awfully generous, I will help you."
Jerome stared at her, speechless. "Um – okay," he said. "Thanks?"
Amber nodded patiently. "But first, in order for us to seem like a real couple, you need to ask me out properly."
"And what is exactly is the proper way to ask you out, Amber?" asked Jerome, his voice half-impatient, half-amused.
"On your knees."
Heartbeat. "What?"
Amber bristled and crossed one arm around her chest, the other still carrying books. "You have to get down on one knee and profess your love for me, and ask me to the dance."
"I'm pretty sure you only do that for marriage proposals, Amber."
"Do you want me to go out with you or not?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. Jerome sighed in defeat, stared at the ceiling for a moment, but then kneeled.
"Amber Millington, will you do me the pleasure of being my date to dance on Monday?" he asked, his voice dry with an edge of sarcasm.
"Not if you're going to ask me like that, no," she said bluntly. Her toes itched to tap against the floor, her patience wearing thin. Although embarrassing Jerome in front of people is oddly satisfying. "Say it like you mean it,"she whispered to him, all fake innocence and giddy tease.
"Amber Millington," he repeated dramatically, his voice carrying throughout the hallway, a smile tugging at his lips. "Will you do me the enormous pleasure of allowing me to escort you to the dance on Monday?" He took her hand in his and, with flourish, placed a small peck on the knuckles.
Amber giggled, more amused than impressed. "If you're going to be so dramatic about it, I guess," she said, laying the sarcasm thick.
Jerome rolled his eyes at her, but as he stood he punched the air in an exaggerated motion of victory. He glanced around once before scooping her off her feet and suffocating her in an embrace. Amber forced herself to pretend to enjoy it as sensual and romantic, while her heart screamed bigbrotherbearhugoff.
Their show attracted a crowd, but at Amber's wave, they dissipated, leaving the new couple to awkwardly part. "Um, see you at home then?"
"Uh, yeah," said Jerome, burying his hand into his pocket and shrugging his shoulders as his grin faded to a small smile. "Or do you want me to walk you there?"
"Why not," said Amber. "I might as well take advantage."
Jerome laughed and when Amber merely shrugged, he winked at her. Amber knew if she had not spent five years with the boy, handled daily pranks and weekly schemes, watched his failed attempts at flirting and displaying charm, her heart might have fluttered and she might have been twirling locks of hair. But instead, she shook her head, amused, and headed in the opposite direction.
And ran straight into Nina.
"Nina!" she said excitedly, running up to the other. "I have news."
"Yeah?" said Nina, her voice unusually somber, her eyes downcast.
"What's wrong?" said Amber instead, her cheeks falling rapidly, concern replacing amusement, worry replacing happiness.
"Nothing. Just – Fabian and I got into a fight and I just really want some ice cream," she said, and Amber felt the tears dripping in her voice, crystals cascading to the floor.
Amber wrapped her arms around her friend tightly, and at first Nina did little to respond. But when Amber felt shaking, she gripped tighter, and Nina returned her hug. The two stood silently, locked in an embrace, and Amber noted that Jerome had the good sense to keep silent as Nina cried into her blouse.
A bubble surrounded her, suffocating, drowning her in silent seclusion. Every step was an act of routine, every smile a force of habit; she longed for affection again. But most of all, she wanted to heal the split in her heart, to fit the pieces together – the whole is greater than the sum of its parts - to form the final, webbed puzzle, a gleaming indigo against a black world.
Her subconsciousness seemed to be sending her a message since her feet took her a locker that she had not stood or laughed by in ages. Ever since I turned into a boyfriend-stealer.
The locker's owner hastily loaded and unloaded her books, concern etched in her jaw line and worry glittering in her eyes.
"Amber?" said Mara softly, a foreign note of imissyou and imsosorry and pleastalktome implied in each phoneme.
The blonde spun around slowly, clearly recognizing the once-loved voice. "Mara," she said, neither distaste nor pleasure coloring her tone.
"Hi – um," said Mara, thoughts clouding her diction, "I just, uh, wanted to say hi."
Amber raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Hi?"
Mara smiled awkwardly, glancing at her shoes. "Hi." Heartbeat. "I'm sorry, this was a bad idea – I should go – " she said, backing away, her stomach turning in disappointment and failure.
Just as Mara turned around, she heard the, "wait," but she tried to restrain her heart from leaping.
Amber stared at her, eyes unblinkingly studying her. "Jerome asked me out."
Heartbeat. Water rose, ripples slamming against her feet, rising higher and higher.
"And I said yes."
The air strangled her, a sea of blood and tears restricting her limbs as she tried to prevent herself from drowning. "Oh."
Amber just stared, commenting no further, watching as Mara struggled against the rising tide of events, seemingly infinite and overpowering. Mara choked down a response, her head moving in a cross between nod and shake, her eyes frantically darting from corner to corner.
When Amber continued to just look, Mara spun around and walked away. She swam away from the black hole, leaving it unresolved. Her feet carried her all the way to the sandy beach, the refuge from the storm. The distraction caught her from falling, but everything was wrong – the beach belonged to the soft ripples; she needed the sun.
But the clouds blocked the sun at that moment, so she stayed on the beach.
Mick immediately brightened when he spotted her, his backpack slung across a shoulder. "Mara!" he said, grinning widely. "I've been looking for you all day."
Mara smiled, stepping back from summer to the winter. "Hi Mick," she greeted softly, steadying her heartbeat and shaking limbs. "How are you?"
"Miserable," he said without hesitation. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips at his genuine response. "I miss you."
"I miss you too." She shouldn't have been surprised at the sincerity of her words. "I got your Rosegram," she added, grinning at him. "It was very cute."
Mick sheepishly stared at the floor, rubbing his red neck. "Thanks," he said softly. A pause rested between them as thoughts absorbed into her head. (Mick is wonderful, he's great; but he's wrong for me. We don't work. We bring out the worst in each other. This is wrong. But he's comfort; he's a temporary safety-net. He's reliable, he's here, right now.)
The most prudent thought – he's here right now, even if I don't love him as I should – repeated in her head again, soon joined by and Amber can't take him away from me – she's already taken what I want.
When Mick gulped nervously, her heart calmed her brain, and the realization settled in. I love Mick. But I think I might be in love Jerome.
The thought flickered behind her eyes when Mick spoke. "Do you – do you think – I'm sorry," he said, the final words leaving his lips with an edge of bitterness that Mara ignored. "I'm sorry that I made you think I put Amber before our relationship."
Because you do. But I put Jerome before our relationship. "It's okay; I overreacted. I know you care about me," said Mara simply, taking a step towards him, letting her thoughts crinkle in the back of her mind, far away from the breath leaving her lips. You do care about me. A lot. Just not the way you care about Amber.
"Can we – can we start again?" he asked hesitantly, the awkward wording reflecting more sincerity than the purple bracelet sitting on her wrist. She twirled the jewelry piece around once, twice, three times before nodding.
"Yeah – I'd like that." She spoke truly; she wanted Mick again. She would settle for second best if it meant that the first people in her life – the ones who got away – would settle for happiness.
Heartbeat.
Wrapping his arms securely around her, Mick guides her towards his heart. Her arms rested at her side for three heartbeats before they snaked around his torso. Warmth and resignation engulfed her, staying with her even as they separate, smiles – not quite full, either of them, eyes distracted and hearts somewhere else – on their faces. His arm remained on her shoulders, more possessive than comforting, but she cared little for mood and tone, only the story.
As she walked through the hallway with Mick's arms around her, Mara spotted his eyes in the corner. Her heart matched the tempo of her fingers as she waved goodbye, his sad eyes gutting her more than the tiny hole in her heart.
The pasta was covered in basil sauce, mushrooms and bell peppers; carrots lay scattered across the plate. Her fork twirled between a penne and a rotini, outlining words and phrases. Gray and green and purple colored her thoughts.
Her eyes shot up at the sound of metal on glass. Her gaze fell upon Amber, smiling proudly, a fork in one hand and her water glass in the other. Beside her, Jerome's hands barely concealed his reddening face; his sweater vest seemed mauve in the light.
"If I could please have everyone's attention," said Amber cheerfully, her voice carrying easily in the small dining room. "I have an announcement!"
Patricia noticed Mara squirm slightly away from Mick, but only enough for his wrist to rest on the back of her chair rather than hanging off. Patricia frowned slightly; her eyes caught Alfie's and her lips curled further downwards at his shrug.
"So – everyone," said Amber, flipping between side and side, gauging reactions and faces. Patricia noted Amber's look of pink and yellow when her eyes fell on Mick for a moment. "Jerome and I are officially dating."
Patricia ignored the squeak in the last syllable, focusing her eyes on the new boyfriend. His hands uncovered his face, red fading to pink, but a half-smile on his lips. Amber sat down in the silence that followed her announcement, lifting fork to mouth. She giggled when Jerome whispered something in her ear.
I'm going to be sick.
Patricia turned her gaze back on her plate, but her stomach churned uncomfortably. Yellow and dark gray clashed; swirls of mismatched colors twirled in her vision. Running her hand through her hair, she studied the lock of purple. Her attention flickered back towards the couples, contrasting the clash of yellow and silver to the discord between violet and timberwolf. The hearts lacked artistic presence, staining lives with haphazardly chosen blobs. Patricia pushed away her dinner and stood, attracting looks to her indigo footsteps. She left the room without words, time killing her appetite and interest.
She headed straight for her room, a sanctuary where black and white stuck together and red and green remained united. To dull the throbbing pain aching against her skull, her head hit the pillow, a cushion to squeeze out the battling thoughts. Black was all she saw when she closed her eyes; yet streaks of color danced behind her eyelids, chronicling a story she wasn't certain she understood.
She must have drifted off because when Mara's footsteps echoed in her ears, the digital clock reflected 8:17. Groaning, Patricia flattened her hair and nodded to her musically absorbed roommate as she left the room. Her cramped legs stretched with each step, leading her down the stairs towards the kitchen. Her stomach aching in a half-hunger pang, Patricia grabbed a stray lying on the dining table. While she licked at the frosting, the empty room echoed silence, but the life in the room never faded. A small smile sat on her face as she headed towards the boys' rooms, her fingers caressing the lived-in walls.
The door to Alfie and Jerome's room was ajar; when Patricia stuck her head in the gap between edge and frame, she spotted an empty bed and an occupied one.
"Hey," she said, attracting Jerome's attention. He looked startled but nodded at her presence.
"Hello there, Trixie," he said, his focus returning to the magazine in his hand.
"What are you up to?" she asked with slight suspicion.
Jerome rolled his eyes as he chucked his reading away and sat up on his bed. "Waiting for Amber," he said. "You know where she is?"
Patricia shook her head. "No, but I'm sure she's on her way." Her lips fell into a frown at the reminder of the clashing and the disharmony. "Can I ask you a question?"
"I don't know, can you?"
"May ask you a question," said Patricia with a roll of her eyes.
"Go for it," said Jerome, shrugging.
She stepped closer, lightly closing the door behind her. "Why are you going out with Amber if you don't like her?" Her voice was slow and steady as each step forward narrowed the distance between them.
"Why are you assuming I don't?" His challenge bounced back against the tension, harmless.
"Why aren't you denying it?"
Heartbeat.
Patricia studied the silence for a moment before taking a seat on Alfie's bed, grinning smugly at the nervous Jerome. "Why are you going out with Amber if you don't like her?" she repeated, resisting the temptation to sharpen her tone. She might have missed the footsteps and the squeak of the door if she hadn't been hoping for it.
"I like Amber," said Jerome flatly, remaining stubborn.
The frustration at his continued denial escaped her, and without a second thought, she crashed her lips to his. It was a brief kiss; no fireworks, no sparks, just pride and self-satisfaction.
When Patricia pulled back, fingers webbed as she released her grip on is shirt, her smug smile contrasted with Jerome's confused frown. But the voice she wished to hear reached her ears, widening smile to grin.
"Oh, I guess I'll leave you to it then," said Amber, her voice bright and cheerful.
"Amber!" hissed Jerome, his wide eyes flashing.
"Oh!" said Amber, realization hitting her and quickly twisting her face to reflect jealously and anger. "Oh my god what is going on?"
But Patricia just laughed, standing, having caught the hesitation. "You two are horrible actors."
Jerome and Amber glanced at each other before Jerome broke. "Okay fine," he said, keeping his voice low but his desperation rolling off his tone in heaps. "Promise you won't say anything?"
Patricia tilted her head in contemplation. "Who exactly are you trying to make jealous?"
"Mara," said Amber without thought, ignoring Jerome's half-hearted attempt to keep the secret.
"Mara," repeated Patricia, an eyebrow raised and surprise on her face. "Interesting."
Jerome sighed. "Promise me? That you won't say anything?"
Patricia stared at the "couple" for a moment, studying silver and yellow and their mismatched pairing. "Yeah," she finally agreed, nodding. "I won't say anything."
"Thank you," said Jerome, smiling gratefully.
"No problem," said Patricia. She backed towards the door, shaking her head. "You two – uh – have fun?"
"Of course!" said Amber happily, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eye.
Patricia shook her head, smiling in relief, as she closed the door behind her. Purposeful clashing is better than accidental, I guess. I hope so, at least.
She felt better, faith in perfect couples and made-for-each-other restored, if only temporarily. Lips turned upwards, Patricia returned to her room, Mara seated neatly on her bed, face buried in Crime and Punishment. Patricia sunk down on her mattress, the involuntarily sigh that left her lips attracting Mara's attention.
"Something wrong?" she asked curiously.
Patricia looked at her roommate in response. Just – looked. The two hadn't spoken in ages, in felt like, between puzzle pieces and kidnappings and Mick and elections. The bonds they had forged when Joy had disappeared were broken with lack of use and Patricia could feel the empty hole left in its place.
A moment passed before Patricia answered the question, a small smile again on her face. "No, nothing's the matter," she said quietly. Mara looked at her carefully but said nothing until Patricia voiced her thoughts. "We haven't really spoken in a while."
"Yeah," said Mara, flipping her book over on its spine and smiling hesitantly. "How's life been, Patricia?"
"Lively," said Patricia, laughing. "This whole Rosegram business has certainly got everyone in a rut. It's like the circus up in here."
The smile Mara had worn before dropped quickly. "Yeah. It's been quite – dramatic."
"What's wrong?" asked Patricia, frowning.
Mara sighed and shook her head. "Nothing. Just – " she cut off, biting her lip. "Boys."
"Boys?" Patricia questioned further, not willing to let go of a conversation recently made so rare.
"Boys," repeated Mara. She sighed loudly. "Patricia – have you ever liked two boys at once?"
Interesting. "Kind of, yeah."
"Well," said Mara, nervously running her hands through her hair. "I think – no, I know I like someone."
"Someone other than Mick?" Her stomach churned, a jigsaw forming in her mind, each piece not quite fitting just yet. At Mara's nod, Patricia asked, "who?"
There was a moment of pause as Mara contemplated her answer. Patricia just studied her roommate, her once-best friend and confidant. Secrets normally easily spilled stuck in Mara's throat, no longer easily released in trust. But Mara closed her eyes for a moment and then spoke.
"Jerome," she said, her voice barely carrying over the air conditioning. "I like Jerome – I like him more than Mick, but Mick's there and he's so sweet and Jerome's with Amber now – it doesn't matter," she said with a hurried voice, a ramble of reason and rationalization. "It doesn't matter, forget it."
Her tongue wanted to run; Patricia wanted to spill all the amethyst secrets she knew, to comfort and set things straight, to finish the puzzle correctly. But her throat clogged up, her lips speaking the words they ought to, not what they wanted to.
"Oh," said Patricia. "Oh."
The monosyllable could not encompass all the thoughts that flew through Patricia's mind. She wanted to scream he loves you! He's trying to make you jealous! Mick and you don't work! But Patricia's role was to stir up trouble, not settle it. She wasn't the goody-two shoes, the nerd, or the beauty; she was the bitch of the house. She didn't do the truth, even if green guilt gnawed at her gut.
Patricia kept her secrets.
Mara's sniffles stirred Patricia's insides, growing more uncomfortable with each passing suppressed tear. The awkwardness hovered over the pair, a silent tension without cure. Unable to bare the amalgam of shame and discomfort and drama, Patricia just left, Mara's broken voice echoing in her head; there was nothing she could do now.
Her feet carried her to the staircase, but sounds seeped through a door. The familiar voices attracted her unconsciously to the conversation, an eavesdropper without cause. Patricia snuck around the frame of her former room, forcing herself to listen to the words she wished she wasn't hearing.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Her voice cut through Patricia, resurfacing the wound supposedly healed long-ago.
The other sighed. "I mean – I don't think I like Amber as much as I used to. I mean," he corrected himself, the hope flickering in her chest, "she's amazing, really, but I don't know."
"Is there – um, someone else?"
His voice turned softer, more hesitant. "Maybe," said Alfie before sighing, and Patricia could imagine his black eyes focusing on the ceiling as he collected his thoughts. "I don't think she likes me, in any case."
"You don't know that."
"I do, though," he said, confidence edging into his voice, a stubborn realization. "She doesn't like me."
"Who, Alfie?"
Heartbeat. The rapid pace of her pulse scared her; the yellow light that glimmered in her heart scared her; the aching itch in her fingers to run in there scared her.
"Patricia," he said quietly. Her heart exploded; tiny shards of hope and fear gathered together again, hesitant to face the unknown. "But she doesn't like me."
Let me the judge of that, idiot.
But Nina responded, not Patricia, because she was the one giving the advice; she was the one Alfie had gone to. "If you're positive she doesn't like you – then, maybe you should find someone better. Someone who appreciates you, who likes you for you."
The clichéd, correct advice rolled off Patricia, burning her skin. How dare that bitch tell him to move on when he hasn't even tried? Worst advice ever. A horrible seed slipped into her thoughts, a forbidden and dangerous assumption she couldn't control. Nina likes Fabian… so why is she giving Alfie such bad advice? The wound in her back, the one never fully healed and never full opened, bled out that night, a throbbing reminder of mistrust and dishonesty. I'm assuming things.
But the rational thought escaped her; she only saw red.
"I know I should," said Alfie, his voice frustrated. "Maybe you're right – "
Patricia's heart threatened to crack; she turned and fled, leaving behind logic and taking only emotion with her. She headed straight for revenge; only fire filled her vision. Her knuckles knocked shrilly against the door.
Fabian opened it, rubbing his eyelids. "What – Patricia, what's up?"
Throbbing red. Flashing green. What am I doing? A deep breath escaped her, canceling the sudden impulses. "Can we talk?" Fabian nodded, stepping back to allow her entrance. Patricia glanced at Mick's empty bed and the ripped shreds of paper on the floor. She turned to him as he sat back down on his sheets. "You're writing again."
"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "Not doing a great job of it, either." The sour tone in his voice was not lost to Patricia, who frowned.
"Nina?" Her question was more of a statement. Fabian nodded in silence, staring at the blank notebook paper in front of him. Patricia forced out words to break the silence. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," said Fabian automatically. He lifted his eyes to hers and forced a smile. "What did you want to talk about?"
Alfie. Nina. Red. "Actually – nothing. Don't worry about it." Emotion drained the energy from her; despite her earlier nap, she was purely exhausted. Colors sunk into her insides, leading to a crash so heavy that water seeped into the corners of her eyes.
Fabian shrugged. "If you need anything – "
"Yeah." Patricia turned around and started towards the door. Her hand halfway to the knob, she paused. "Fabian?"
"Yeah?" he said with a steady and composed face.
Heartbeat. She looked at the remaining member of the former trio, the Hermione to her Ron; yet, they were never RonandHermione and they never would be. But Patricia needed that moment, that cathartic release from the envy and anger that threatened to overtake her.
So for the second time in thirty minutes, in three steps, she crossed room, pressed her lips quickly to his, and withdrew. Three seconds later, she was back at the door, Fabian's eyes wide.
"What was that for?"
Patricia let herself smile. "Don't worry about it – just something I needed to do." When Fabian opened his mouth to respond, Patricia cut him off sharply. "Don't read too much into it – you like Nina, Nina likes you."
Fabian said nothing as she spun away and exited the room without further comment, no tingling sensation on her lips or butterflies in her stomach; only relief ran through her veins.
When Patricia crashed on top of her bed, her room was empty. Alone and silent, only her vibrating phone connected her to reality.
"Hello?" she snapped, irritated at her chance of sleep evading her.
"Hi – hello, Patricia?" The other voice – a male's – squeaked in fright and nervousness, unrecognizable.
"Speaking – who is this?" Patricia stared upwards, absently playing with a lock of hair.
"Um – this is Robbie – Mick might have told you about me?" Patricia started to speak, but the rambling boy continued. "I really like you – I think you're pretty and awesome and I was wondering – would you, uh, like to have supper with me tomorrow night?"
Patricia blinked at the blank ceiling. "Who are you again?"
"Robbie," he repeated, his voice rising higher. "I'm in your math class."
Because I totally pay attention to lower classmen nerds. But she paused, breathing deeply. A moment later and – "Sure."
"Sure?"
"Sure, I'll go on a date with you tomorrow." The decision sat with her uneasily, a combination of desperation and frustration. This one was driven by the loneliness: someone liked her and she was going to take advantage of it.
"Oh – okay!" His voice squirmed in high-pitched tones, and Patricia tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow then!"
"Right. Bye?" she said, half of her wanting to pelt the phone across the room and the other half feeling warmth spread through her.
"Bye!" His abrupt response terminated the line, and Patricia lay on her bed, staring at the white ceiling.
Her arm plopped down beside her, phone still encased around her fingers. But her eyes would not leave the rough bumps that covered the ceiling, an illogical pattern of texture. The white blinded her; unanswerable questions plagued her mind as unfamiliar emotions rose in her chest.
Everything was changing; Patricia hated it.
The crowd around him continued on, ignorant of the chords guiding their actions. Jerome strutted down the hallways, the puppeteer, in control. The dominoes fell, one by one, equally spaced and uniformly placed. Everything lined up; it was all going according to plan.
Obviously, I am amazing.
Backpack slung over his shoulder, Jerome made his way to his next class, ignoring the empty space beside him. His eyes remained peeled, observing the changing dynamics of his classmates – hands held, stolen kisses, jealous looks, unshed tears. Romance was in the air; perfect scenarios rolled through their minds.
And it was something out of a novel when Jerome paused before an open classroom, the sole occupants speaking loud enough to attract his attention.
"It doesn't matter."
"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" The familiar voices sparked a grin. The uneasiness in the latter's tone caused Jerome even more glee.
"It doesn't matter – Fabian doesn't like me, end of story."
"But he does like you!"
"No, he doesn't," said Nina firmly, shaking her head as her voice grew louder as she moved towards the doorway. "He told me."
Mick paused. "He told you?"
"Yes."
Heartbeat. "He didn't mean it," said Mick softly, and Jerome's eyebrows furrowed. Why is he helping Fabian get Nina? He's supposed to break them up...
Nina laughed bitterly, acid dripping to the floor. "I'm pretty sure he did, Mick. End of story." Jerome quickly shrunk against the wall, his stare following Nina as she marched off. Her sad eyes remained glued to the floor as she pushed through ignorant students.
"Clarke." Mick exited a moment later, but he saw the eavesdropper. With distaste, he frowned. "What do you want?"
Jerome narrowed his eyes. "Why are you suddenly trying to get Nina and Fabian together?"
"Why are you complaining?" said Mick in frustration, a sense of desperation dripping off his voice. "It's helping you, isn't it?"
"Exactly," said Jerome suspiciously. "You hate me – why are you helping me?"
Heartbeat. "I don't hate you, Clarke."
Warmth swept into his chest, but Jerome pushed down the struggling light. An acrid thought left his lips instead, a habitual response to the feelings that resisted his barriers. "Even though I'm dating Amber?"
Mick shook his head and walked away. The silence that followed strangled Jerome, the bothering claw in his chest rising higher and higher; it closed in on his throat, squeezing and taunting.
I am not nice. That's why I'll win and get back at Mick. That's why I'll always win.
The creature withdrew, sinking back into the abyss, but amity lingered in his heart. It teased him, whispering this is what you could have against his skin. But Jerome straightened his uniform and glided away, throwing away golden possibilities and silver opportunities. The mix of red and blue faded with his footsteps; whenever the light gleamed, he suppressed it.
A boy a year younger pushed Jerome aside, and the light bulb ignited. I am not nice.
Grabbing the running boy, Jerome pulled him to the edge of the lockers and grinned. The boy cowered, Jerome's smug grin reflected in his frightened eyes. But Jerome just whispered into the boy's ear. When he stepped back, he watched the boy's face turn from fear to shock to confusion.
"So?"
Jerome's eyes flashed red. "Tell everyone – tell your tiny little friends, tell the teachers. Tell everyone." The boy gulped but nodded, spending no time before running away.
Guilt hampered the full development of Jerome's satisfaction.
The boy would skid away, whispering to his best friend that Jerome freaking Clarke spoke to him. He would relay the other news with less glee but with all the reverence in the world. His friend would shrug when asked if he knew who Nina Martin was – but of course he knew Mick Campbell.
The friend told Marissa Goldberg in his next class and the entire school knew an hour later that Nina Martin and Mick Campbell were dating.
His chicken tasted like rubber; his beans slide down his throat like slime; water only dried his tongue, not quenched it. Food and drink seemed unappetizing as he watched them all whisper. His stomach churned as he watched Fabian prod at his dinner in sadness. His heart clenched as he tried not to ignore Amber's feeble attempts at flirting.
Everything was falling apart and it was entirely his fault.
Jerome poked a pea with his fork before letting the metal clatter against the ceramic plate. He pushed his chair away and left the table, handing his still-full plate to Trudy without comment. Silence followed his attempted exit, until Mick entered in a huff.
"CLARKE!" His shout startled Mara, who jumped out of her seat and turned to the two with a deep frown. "Why does Gregory Fillmore think I'm dating Nina?"
Heartbeat. A spoon fell to the table again, and Jerome believed it was Nina's. Or maybe Fabian's. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said smoothly, restraining the turmoil of emotions in his stomach. "Everyone knows you're dating Mara," he added, hoping he had succeeded in keeping the bitterness out of his voice.
Mick stepped towards him, his eyes flashing scarlet. "Don't you dare mess with me, Jerome." His eyes spoke for him, the unsaid accusation understood.
"All's fair," said Jerome, his voice even and low.
Mick shook his head in disappointment, throwing his arms up. "It's not even relevant." Jerome said nothing, so Mick pushed past him, sitting down in the empty seat beside Mara. Jerome could hear his muttered apologies and Mara's unneeded forgiveness. Jerome's eyes followed Fabian as he stormed off in indignant silence, quickly followed by Amber, his own concerned girlfriend. (The word made him uneasy. Wrong face to the wrong word; it wasn't right.)
Jerome stared at the broken table – Alfie's eyes kept flickering between Patricia's empty seat and Amber's; Fabian's plate remained a mess of sadness and frustration; Nina stared emotionlessly at the opposite wall; Mara's kind smile didn't reach her eyes.
Sighing, Jerome stepped out and away, hoping the pregnant tension didn't follow him, consume him, control him. His feet led him to his recent refuge; as much as JeromeandAmber was wrong, he enjoyed her company. He liked her moments of genius, her air of simplicity, her genuine love for life. If this wasn't all for a bet against Mick, I might actually consider her a friend.
The thought was squashed, tossed, and forgotten immediately.
For the second time that day, voices – this time louder and angrier – greeted his presence as he stood in the doorway. His constant companion, curiosity, forced him to pause at the open door.
"You're overreacting."
"I'm overreacting?" The thud of something knocked over. "Mick – my best friend – is supposedly dating Nina!"
"Fabian – you know it's just a rumor. Mick and Mara are dating," said Amber, an unrecognizable tone in her voice.
"I know," he said again, and Jerome could almost hear him pacing across the carpeted floor. "But still. I can't believe Mick did that!"
"Mick didn't do anything, Fabian!" Amber's defense rose in pitch. "Stop blaming him! Why would he start a rumor when he's dating Mara?"
Fabian sighed. "I don't know. Why is everything just so – "
"Messed up?" supplied Amber, her tone soft.
"Yeah."
There was a pause; Jerome moved to enter the room, but Amber spoke again.
"Maybe you should let Nina be for a while."
"What?" Fabian's startled reply caused Amber to sigh.
"Just – let her be. I know you like her and she likes you; but neither of you do."
Jerome let the involuntarily smile reach his lips. I didn't realize she paid that much attention.
"What do you mean, I don't know? I like Nina," said Fabian, his frown very pronounced.
"Then tell her – if you're sure."
"I am sure!" said Fabian, his voice growing a little louder. Jerome took another step forward in anticipation of interrupting.
"Then what are you afraid of?"
Jerome pushed open the door, effectively cutting off Fabian's response. Head flipping back and forth, he raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, beau!" said Amber brightly, intertwining their arms. "Fabian and I were just discussing – "
"Homework," interrupted Fabian with an artificial smile. "And I was just leaving."
His tumultuous footsteps echoed with sadness as they faded into the hallway and away.
Jerome turned to his girlfriend. "Hey."
"Hello," said Amber, pulling her arm away from his and returning to her desk chair. "What's up?"
"Nothing," he said, sitting on Amber's bed, cringing at the depth it sunk at his weight. "I still don't get how you can sleep on a bed this soft."
Amber rolled her eyes but her innocent smile remained. "Better soft than that rock you sleep on," she said as opened her email and began scanning the screen.
"At least it's sturdy. You're bound to have back issues eventually."
"So far, so good," said Amber, her concentration focused on her laptop. "So don't jinx it."
"I wouldn't dream of it," said Jerome dryly, wiping his palms against his slacks. Jerome listened to her light typing, a silence sitting around them comfortably. "So what do you think about the whole Mick and Nina thing?"
"I don't think it exists," she said coolly, her eyes still glued to her computer screen. "I think someone made up a rumor to try to get under their skin."
The truth of the statement pinched at his chest. "Why do you say that?"
Amber spun around slowly, gazing straight at him. "Because I'm quite confident that you started the rumor. What I can't figure out is why."
Jerome stared back at her quietly, stubbornly refusing to respond. Amber sighed and turned back to her Facebook page, typing away at some wall post or another. The hush that followed teased with unspoken secrets; yet Amber seemed oddly at peace with remaining ignorant. Or maybe she just knows I won't tell her.
The silence began to stifle him. "Why are you so convinced it's a rumor?"
"Because Mick would never cheat on Mara – or any girl for that matter," she said without hesitation. "And Nina loves Fabian."
"You seem quite sure of yourself."
"I am," she said without ever turning around. "Why are you so convinced that it's true?"
"I'm not."
"Fine," she corrected, facing him again and tilting her head slightly. "Why do you want it to be true?"
Jerome pondered – because that way Mick's the douche and I'm the hero; because that way Mara will run into my arms; because that way Fabian knows how it feels to be the unloved one; because I'm not nice.
A myriad of excuses swam through his mind, each fighting another, creating a castle of possible explanations. But he settled for the reason closest to the truth. "Because then I'm not the only one with irredeemable flaws around here."
What surprised Jerome the most about the response that followed was not Amber's shaking of her head or her shock. It was the laugh that left her lips, carrying so much amusement and yellow that it rang against his ears and shook the walls.
"Jerome – you are not the only one with 'irredeemable flaws' around here, believe me," she said, still laughing.
"How so?" he asked slowly, uncertain if she spoke in patronization or sincerity.
"Nina thinks she's higher and mightier than all of us; Mara won't do what's right if there's an easier way; Mick's quite dense and refuses to acknowledge it; Fabian holds so many double standards; Patricia's too stubborn, always believing she's right; Alfie's naivety gets in the way of his ability to reason." She smiled sadly, her eyes turning to the plain, carpeted floor. "And I run on assumptions and emotions. I don't think."
"That's not true – " said Jerome quickly, frowning deeply.
"Sure it is," said Amber before Jerome could continue. "Just like how you push everyone away, to the point that it's not even attractive anymore."
Heartbeat. Her words floated in the air, sinking deeper and deeper into him, dots connected and lines completed. There was a violet cloud that seemed to lift; the storm continued to rage, but the possibility of sunlight in the forecast seemed likely.
Jerome let himself smile. "That was very insightful."
"I try," she said lightly, returning to the Internet and unproductive activities. "Maybe you should too."
He sat there, Amber's breathing and the clicking of keys the only noise in the otherwise silent room. His thoughts, meanwhile, ran rapidly to an unknown destination. Jerome stood and Amber said nothing as he made his way out of the room.
But one questioned lingered, nagging him at the edge of consciousness. Jerome breathed twice before voicing it.
"Amber?"
"Yes, Jerome?"
"Do you still love Mick?"
Heartbeat. Silence. But then – "I'll always love Mick."
"Okay," he said, the only appropriate response leaving his lips automatically. "Okay."
He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, the purple walls no longer troubling him with comfort and candidness. Only the empty hallway greeted his descent to his room, one void of humans and questions. But on the seventh step from the top, he paused, another housemate blocking his path.
Alfie stood still as voices floated from the foyer, recognizable and soft.
"I had a great time tonight, Patricia," said the squeaky boy, who Jerome faintly recognized as the vote-counter at the election. That Mick rigged. Note to self; use that against him at some point.
"Right," said Patricia, her voice short. "I'll – uh – talk to you tomorrow, then?" She tried to seem friendly and nice, but only a hint of kindness slipped between her otherwise irate tone.
"Right!" said the boy eagerly. A pause; the boy leaned over and pecked Patricia swiftly on the cheek with his lips. Before Patricia could say anything he sprinted out the doors, leaving the other blinking in surprise.
Jerome caught sight of Alfie's face as the latter ran down the stairs, gliding away to their room; his lips frowning and his teeth grinding, Aflie's eyes glittered with sadness and despair. The dreaded creature appeared again, clenching Jerome's heart with its claws, squeezing out the slime of guilt. His gaze snapped back up when Patricia faced him, a peculiar look on her face.
"What do you want, Jerome?" she asked, her words clipped and her shoulders slumping in exhaustion. If she had noticed Alfie running away, she showed no indication of it.
"Nothing, I was just heading to my room," he said calmly, the creature churning his stomach into a medley of confusing and undistinguishable sensations. "So you and – uh, Reggie, was it?"
"Robbie," she said, the expected defense lacking in her reply.
Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Well, Patricia Williamson, I am surprised at how much you've lowered your standards," he said, shaking his head. "Alfie would have been better."
"Maybe," she said, not bothering to correct his insult. "But at least Robbie's interested." Jerome watched as she climbed further, her back slumped and feet dragging up each wooden step. Frowning, he barely noticed the clock's hands move closer to ten o'clock and the sound of Victor's footsteps.
Jerome could only hear the drop of a pin when he quietly shut his door, unsettling feelings in his chest, exercising his heart in a way he had expertly avoided for sixteen years.
Friday dawned normally; the sun rose, the clouds moved, the birds chirped, and students grumbled and moaned. At high noon, the winter sun melted the morning dew and burned the backs of exposed necks. When the afternoon set upon England, the stagnant mood in the House of Anubis responded to no call from its inhabitants.
Alfie stood before the room, his fist paused before the entrance, only a rap away from a conversation he'd dreaded having. But a deep breath later and his fist collided with the wooden door, the sharp tapping echoing much too loudly for Alfie's liking. Mick slowly opened the door, stepping back when he saw Alfie.
The poster-covered walls greeted him, along with a tolerable odor very unlike the one occupying his own room. His fingers ran over the spotless wardrobe as he made his way to Fabian's bed, taking a seat.
Mick sighed. "So?"
"Fabian and Nina are not happening anytime soon," said Alfie. "Unless Amber suddenly understands math between now and the dance."
Mick bit his lip. "Right. What about Jerome and Amber? Any luck with breaking them up?"
A hot shame ran through his veins. Hypocrite, the little voice screamed at him. "No – I thought you were focusing on that."
"Yeah, I got a little – distracted," said Mick, shrugging and wrapping his arms around himself. "With the whole Nina thing." Alfie nodded, surprised to find himself caring little about the rumors or even the tilt of the world's axis. "And Patricia – ?"
"Is dating Robbie McDonnell, the damn twit, and hasn't spoken to me since Wednesday," said Alfie, emotionless, despite the fervor of his words. Everything seemed simpler when he shoved swirls and dances and mixtures to the back of his brain. Forgotten and ignored, they appeared to fade away, leaving him numb; everything was just – easier.
"Okay, well, do you want me to talk to her?"
"I'll do it," said Alfie, a pang escaping his boxed room. He quickly grabbed it and shoved it back in the cage, locking the door firmly.
"If you're sure?" asked Mick, an unfamiliar concern twitching Alfie's patience.
"I'll do it," he repeated, his voice sharper. Mick held up his hands in surrender and Alfie reeled in the wayward annoyance. "Anything else?"
Mick paused, nervously running a hand through his hair. "Yeah – why are you doing this?" The unexpected inquiry startled him; caught unaware, Alfie raised an eyebrow. Mick's arm fell to his side. "Jerome's your best friend."
Alfie's laugh was bitter, a biting contrast to Mick's innocent question. "That's what I thought too. But best friends don't betray your trust with their worst enemy."
Mick's frown surprised him. "Why does he hate me so much?"
A vestige of loyalty surfaced. "Maybe you should ask him that sometime." Alfie stepped towards the door. "Well, if you don't have anything else – "
"You like Amber, right?" The question left Mick's lips in a rush, and Alfie barely caught it. He kept his face composed, only narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
"Why?" he said, neither denying or confirming.
Alfie sensed Mick's displeasure with the idea even before he had worded it. "Because maybe you could – " Mick began, but Alfie shook his head.
"No." The knife sliced the casual air in the room, Alfie's stomach flipping in circles. "I can't."
Mick didn't protest; he just nodded. When Alfie left, he only heard a little sigh – whether it was in relief or disappointment Alfie couldn't determine.
Alfie stared at his feet as he went from one room to another, the sunlight streaming in from the hallway window. He followed the ray as it traveled to his shoes, dust floating in the light waves and reflecting as shadows on the floor. Sighing, Alfie threw open the door to his room.
Jerome was – oddly – alone and sitting on his bed, flipping through a textbook. Alfie ignored him in favor for his own soft bed, collapsing on it with as much noise as possible. His breathing stifled by the blankets, Alfie switched positions from stomach to back, resting against the large array of pillows.
Alfie stared at his roommate; Jerome's ever stoic face held no emotion. The occasion flip and shuffle of papers pierced the stillness in the room, but Alfie's eyes never strayed away from Jerome.
Finally, his tongue ran away. "I can't believe you."
Jerome's eyes shot up, taken aback at the sudden noise. "Excuse me?"
"I can't believe you," repeated Alfie, his gaze never leaving Jerome's as he sat up. "You sit there, doing your damn history homework, as if you're not a backstabbing son of a bitch."
Jerome stiffened. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"As if you don't know," said Alfie, scooting forward on his bed. The sheets grouped up around him as the words tumbled through his lips, forces pulling them out. "Your bet with Mick – I know all about it."
"So?" said Jerome, shrugging, but Alfie knew him too well – he noticed the stiffness in the other's shoulders, the thinness of his lips. "I make bets all the time."
"Not about my love life," hissed Alfie. "And not with Mick." The poisonous name was usually forbidden in the sanctuary of those walls.
"Who I make bets with is none of your concern." The finality in his words ineffectively attempted to end the discussion.
"But betting about my love life," said Alfie, frustration cutting through his voice, each word leaving scars. "Is that what I am? Your play-thing?" Alfie's feet touched the floor now, his toes curling against the cool floor. "Am I just your dog, to jump when you say so?" Jerome stared back at him without speaking. "And to top it all off," he continued, his hands up in the air in defeat, "you're dating Amber. Amber Millington, the girl I've been crushing on since day freaking one."
"You don't love Amber, Alfie." Jerome's somber eyes met his, but his words were harsher than perhaps intended.
"What are you talking about?"
"You don't love Amber," repeated Jerome, sighing as he threw his book aside. "You love the idea of her – this pretty, popular girl who's sweet and simple." He moved closer too, keeping his gaze leveled with Alfie's. "You don't love Amber."
"What?" said Alfie, his fingers curling around his sheets. Emotions were building within him; it hurt to breathe. "And you do? What about Mara, huh?" Jerome's arm suddenly tensed and Alfie grinned grimly. "Yeah – Mara – that girl you were running around with for weeks?"
"When you were off avoiding me?" The words were abrupt and Alfie could tell they were unplanned. The tiny seed of doubt and anger had been fermenting and now exploded to the surface. "You left me – you left me for Amber and the others, so what was I supposed to do?"
"I didn't leave you," said Alfie, throwing his arms up. He was sick of the constant blame. "You started hanging out with Mara ages before I started hanging out with Amber and Patricia – Patricia, who was there for me when I had those damn nightmares!" His eyes flashed and narrowed, and Alfie knew he had won when Jerome flinched. "Yeah, so much for being my best friend – betting on my love life, abandoning me for some girl who's already taken when I'm having nightmares."
If Alfie didn't know better, Jerome's cutting response would have surprised him. "Like how both Patricia and Amber are taken?"
Alfie's eyes narrowed further. "Patricia has nothing to do with this – "
"So is that why does she thinks you don't like her?"
Something squeezed in his stomach. "What – "
"Oh, but don't let me forget. You love Amber, right? And I'm the bastard because I'm the one dating her," said Jerome, paraphrasing Alfie's own words back to him. His feet hit the floor with a thud and the muscles in his arm clenched against the bedframe. "But I'm not the bastard who betrayed his best friend by teaming up with enemy."
"Mick is not the enemy, Jerome," said Alfie. He ignored the increased churning in his stomach, flickers of guilt joining the anger.
"Years of rivalry beg to differ, Alfie dear," said Jerome, sneering.
"Your rivalry – a petty one, all because you're jealous and he's defensive," said Alfie, his voice growing louder.
"It's not petty," said Jerome, the edge in his voice sharpening. "You would know if you'd loved a woman – oh wait, you've already screwed that up."
Heartbeat. Alfie stood abruptly, flashes of aches in his stomach, augmenting with each passing comment. He was done; he marched over to the door before he locked eyes with his roommate. "You better be sleeping when I get back, or I might not be able to restrain myself from strangling you."
Without waiting for a response, Alfie opened and slammed the door behind him, shattering glass vibrating against the zombie movies and superhero comic books and attempted schemes. Alfie rested against the sturdy wall, trying to steady his shaking legs. The cloud of sensations that consumed him danced in his vision. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, and waited. One. Two. Three. He opened his eyes and pulled, sucking in all the flyaway emotions before bottling them in the vial; he caged it away, the imaginary key disappearing before his eyes.
Nothing. I will feel nothing. Emotions assaulted and struggled to break free, but he closed off his mind. Unable to feel his toes, he coldly walked to the stairs, heading for her room. But before he could reach it, another stopped him.
Her face brightened at the sight of him. "Alfie!" said Amber, her voice jovial.
"Amber," greeted Alfie in surprise. Fate, you can suck it.
"How are you?" she asked, genuinely interested.
"I was just heading over to talk to Patricia," he said quickly, hoping to avoid further conversation with Amber. Her blonde hair, her presence, evoked reminders of the argument he had just escaped and the boiling anger threatened to overflow once again.
"Oh," said Amber, a thoughtful smile appearing on her face. "Okay." Alfie made to move on and avoid the painful reminders in the air, but Amber continued before he could flee. "You know how Fabian loved Joy?"
"He didn't love Joy – " said Alfie, pausing in his steps, confusion momentarily overtaking urgency.
"Okay," said Amber, "he didn't love Joy – romantically at least. He loved her platonically for sure; they were Harry and Hermione, except without all the Voldemort stuff." Alfie blinked. "But Nina – Fabian loves Nina, romantically, in that fireworks and rainbows and midnight picnics type of way."
"Okay…" The door on the opposite wall called out to him, away from a sea of references and violet truths.
"I just wish – " Amber looked at the floor and Alfie found himself frowning.
"You just wish what?"
Hazel met black; Amber smiled sadly. "I just wish people would realize that sometimes, it's better to love platonically then to be forced to love romantically. Soulmates aren't just dates – they're mates too. And the ones who are both – both friend and lover – " The smile morphed into a shrug. "Those are the best."
Alfie blinked a few times, the corners of his lips reaching upwards. "Wow Amber, that was – "
"Oh sorry, Alfie!" said Amber, cutting off his complement. "Here I am, rambling. Off you go, Romeo." She motioned grandly towards her former room, and too shocked to say anything else, Alfie just watched as she skipped down the stairs. She doesn't even realize how incredibly smart she is.
His smile suddenly fell. You just love the idea of her. The accusation echoed in his head, but he shoved it aside. Focus.
When his fingers grazed Patricia's door, he immediately spotted her working at her desk. She looked up – Alfie has expected a smile or a greeting of some kind, but instead he got a flicker of emotion amidst blank eyes.
"Hey," she said flatly. Her eyes ran over to the other bed. Alfie followed her vision, spotting Mara; she lay blissfully unaware, headphones in her ears. "Hallway?"
"Yeah." Alfie stepped back to let Patricia out the door and found himself staring awkwardly at his feet as Patricia softly shut the door behind her. He looked up to find her look at him expectantly; he gulped before sighing. "Jerome and I got in a fight."
There was a flash of gold in her eyes, but they quickly settled. "Oh," she said; nothing more and nothing less.
"Um," said Alfie, "yeah." His eyes met hers briefly, igniting a small spark. "He mentioned that you, uh, thought I didn't – "
"I kissed Fabian," said Patricia quickly, the words falling out of her mouth without thought. She blinked rapidly before focusing her gaze on the top of his shoulder. "I kissed Fabian and you don't like me, you like Amber. So yeah. I'll see you around."
She spun around on her heel, fleeing to her room, the soft snap of the closing door echoing loudly in Alfie's ears. He blinked several times, a burning in his eyes blurring his vision. He avoided the banisters and the stairs; he didn't trip over anything or run into anyone as he journeyed back to his room.
His heart burned; the searing sensation of pain burned through him, scratching against the cage he'd locked away. Deep breaths, Alfie. Deep breaths. His jaw relaxed, but his chest continued to spin in a chaotic dance.
By the time he reached his bed, only a few tears had escaped his eyes; yet several tears ripped through his heart. That night, Alfie didn't cry himself to sleep – but the grief and anger and confusion and frustration grew.
So many feelings overwhelming him, Alfie didn't notice Jerome's empty bed.
That night, Mick lost seven seconds off his best lap time.
That night, Patricia dyed her streak of hair black.
That night, Fabian wrote his best lyrics since term had started.
That night, Amber gushed to the stoic Nina about how she finally understood how to graph rational functions.
Heartbeat.
Her eyes opened without preamble. The lids didn't droop, begging for more sleep. Her back lay straight on her bed, her fingers curled against her side. Dragging her feet towards her, heels touching thighs, and bending her knees, she curled into the fetal position. Arms crossed around legs, she embraced herself; she no longer shivered, but she still felt cold.
The sunlight shone on the foot of her bed, swirling amidst the darkness that pervaded the room, Amber's soft snores rhythmically calming the surroundings. Nina fingered her necklace, her thumb running over the clasp. Eyes closed, she imagined Sarah's comforting presence and touch, a reminder of ties to the reality outside the House of Anubis.
Nina tiptoed to the bathroom, making quick work of her daily routine. Brushing teeth, combing hair, washing face – Nina looked decently presentable when she climbed down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. She munched on a bagel, sliding around in her slippers, before finding Trudy in the laundry room.
"Trudy?" said Nina quietly, unwilling to disturb the peace that had settled throughout the house – for the moment.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Can I call my Gran?" The timidity in her voice shocked her, a weakened reminder of the fall so far.
Trudy glanced at the clock. "It might be really late over there – "
"Gran's a night owl," said Nina, a small smile grazing her lips. "It's fine."
"Alright then," agreed Trudy, her warm beam spreading to Nna's fingers.
"Thanks, Trudy."
Nina returned to the foyer, letting her eyes glide over the elegant chandelier; her fingers swept over the telephone before she pulled up the stool and dialed.
One ring. Three. Ring ring ring. Finally, the ringing stopped and the static began.
"Hello?" The tender sound evoked repressed homesickness and an intense yearning for a maternal embrace.
"Gran," said Nina softly, resisting the urge to cry. "How are you?"
"I'm good! Lonely, missing you," she said. "And you? How's England – picked up an accent yet?"
"No, not yet," she Nina with light giggle. "And it's – good. Just some normal high school drama, but nothing too bad," she lied smoothly. High school drama? Yes. Nothing too bad? Yeah, because finding a source of eternal youth and having a psychopath after you is 'nothing too bad.'
"Good, good." Nina could hear Gran's comforting smile. "I miss you, dear."
"I miss you too," said Nina, the warmth that spread through her threatening to melt the ice behind her eyes. "A lot."
"You should call more often."
"I'll try – oh, it's not too late, is it?" asked Nina, glancing over at the clock.
"Not at all – you know me, a night owl."
The smile on Nina's lips grew wider. "Of course, Gran."
"Well, I'll let you get to it then. Don't get into too much trouble."
"Never, Gran." Nina sighed. "Love you."
"Love you too, Nina sweetie. Bye."
"Bye." The farewell pulsed against the receiver as the line disconnected and Nina replaced the phone. The sudden hush startled her, a stark contrast to the previous warmth that filled her; now she was alone and quiet in a sleeping house, cramped with mystery and secrets.
A moment passed when no noise interrupted the deathly calm that permeated the House of Anubis.
Then Nina slid off her chair and returned to the kitchen, finding four starving boys gobbling down breakfast. Fabian paused when she entered, but she quickly averted her eyes, instead smiling at Trudy when the matron handed her a plate of eggs. She had just moved onto pancakes when the other three girls groggily entered.
People blurred Nina's focus; she mechanically ate her breakfast, ignorant to any conversations or moments occurring before her. Her insulated world consisted of only herself – blink, breathe, heartbeat. Repeat.
Hours passed. She stationed herself in the armchair in the sitting room and read all day. The words weaved across the pages, stories and adventures and characters dancing in her imagination. Jane Eyre relieved her from reality; she was so engrossed in the chapters and plot that when Mick slid into the room, so much time had passed. The sun warmed the air, stifling the cramped area, her clothes sticking to her skin. Her gaze followed Mick as he dragged his feet towards her.
"Hey," he finally said.
Nina sat up straighter, placing a bookmark between pages 351 and 352 and storing the book on the desk beside her. "Hey," she said. "Can we talk for a second?"
"Uh, sure," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and sitting down on the couch opposite her, next to the wide window.
"This whole rumor thing," said Nina bluntly, causing Mick to blink several times, "did you start it?"
"What? No," said Mick, shaking his head. "I wouldn't do that."
"Okay." Nina relaxed against her chair again and picked up her book. "Sorry I bothered you then."
"Uh – um, it's no big deal," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He started to stand, but paused momentarily. "I'm sorry, by the way."
Nina adorned her staple – a bitter smile. "I know you are." Mick bit his lip, but left the room without words, leaving Nina to return to her book and fairytale. She had read ten pages, but when she was interrupted again, Nina felt only seconds pass.
When she spotted Patricia entering the room, the smile that brightened the latter's face falling quickly, Nina bit her lip and forced herself to resist the urge to grind her teeth. Patricia kept her gaze leveled with Nina's as she sat down.
Heartbeat.
"I really don't want to talk to you right now." Nina's voice cracked as she struggled to remain neutral and collected. "Please." The final word cackled in sarcasm.
Patricia's eyes narrowed. "It's not my fault. I don't like Fabian."
Nina rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I just really don't want to talk to you."
"Who's asking you to talk to me?" said Patricia, frowning deeply. "And why do you keep expecting everyone to do whatever you say?" Her eyebrow rose smoothly, and Patricia's lips turned upwards in a sardonic smile. "Oh, that's right," she said, rolling her eyes, "you're Nina Martin. You're the damn Queen."
Patricia's words struck her in the stomach, drawing blood. "What are you talking about?" Fire blended into her veins, spreading swiftly through her body. "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay? You've done enough."
"I haven't done anything," said Patricia, her voice squeaking higher. "Stop pretending like you're an angel and I'm the devil or something."
"Whatever," said Nina, muttering darkly, aches in her abdomen making it harder to breathe. "I'm not the one who ruins friendships."
"Oh, don't act all innocent," said Patricia, her fists clenching in her lap, a long abandoned dislike surfacing, "you think you're the best of us. All high and mighty."
"I do not," said Nina, gripping her book tightly, ignoring the flashes of lilac that rolled in her stomach. "Stop putting words into my mouth."
"I don't have to," said Patricia. "I ruin friendships? You walk into this house, all I'm American! And you start brewing this mystery and rope in the one friend I had left. And then, Amber stops talking to me. Then you fill me in and I think, hey, maybe you're not that bad?" Patricia shakes her head, tongue running across cheek. "Oh no, it's Nina this! Nina that! Your ideas are the best ones; your plans are the ones we follow."
"It's not my fault no one else comes up with anything!"
"Maybe," said Patricia, but pent up frustration continued to spill, "but when Alfie tries joking – what he does best – to cheer you up, you snap at him! And oh, everyone rushes to Nina's defense because she's always right." Patricia stood up, her eyes flashing. "Nina, you were right. You're not trying to replace Joy. You're just trying to control everything else."
Patricia spun on her heel and stormed out, leaving no room for Nina to interject. Air seemed to calm, descending to the floor. Panting heavily, her hands relaxed from gripping the cover of her book, but the shock of criticism shook her; red and raw, her check felt as if it had been slapped. I do not try to control everything.
But even as the sun sank further and the light from the window diminished, Nina knew it wasn't true. Dinner edged closer, and Nina continued to study the floor, carpeted strands connecting dots. I get angry every time someone wants to join Sibuna. I have less power then. I have less authority. I get upset every time Fabian smiles at anyone – boy or girl. I'm jealous and controlling.
Even as the others headed to the dining table for dinner, the parts began fitting in place. Every action seemed suddenly premeditated to maximize control and minimize room for questioning it. I'm right and everyone else is wrong.
"Nina? Time for supper." Amber's voice cut through her thoughts and she surfaced to reality. Everyone else already sat at the table, plates circling around.
The seat at the head of the table was the only remaining empty one. As Nina walked over to it, she caressed the familiar markings and pulled out the chair. My seat. At the head of the table.
My seat.
Taking her seat, Nina fingered the clasp of the locket on her neck, the nail polish on her fingers momentarily twinkling like lavender glitter.
Perhaps if someone had looked out the window before dinner, he or she might have seen the clouds gathering and the early sunset.
But no one did, and the pieces scattered to the wind.
Stiff and mechanical, hands picked up utensils. Food entered mouths, jaws chewed food, water fled down throats. Dinner was merely a routine that night.
Mick rolled a carrot around in his gravy, head resting on hand, elbow on table. Quiet ruled the night, only the sounds of clanking metal and slurping tongues interrupting the silence. Tension sat proudly, floating over them all, as if waiting; waiting, Mick hoped, for something that would never come.
Unfortunately, it did.
"Pass the corn, please," said Nina, her voice so unfamiliar to Mick, hoarse and splintering under the pressure.
Without comment, Amber reached over and made to hand Nina the container of corn, but her elbow missed the space between glasses and knocked water onto Mara.
"Oh!" said Mara, scooting back her chair and blinking at the wet stain.
"Oh, I'm so sorry – let me get you some napkins!" said Amber quickly, moving to the kitchen. Mick stood up without hesitation, preparing to help Mara.
To his surprise, Jerome stood right beside him.
Ignoring the raging beast in his stomach, he merely raised a suspicious eyebrow at the other. Jerome completely disregarded him, smiling at Mara and handing her a napkin from Amber's hands.
"Oh, it's fine, guys," said Mara, the smile not reaching her eyes as Mick grabbed a tissue to start drying the floor. "Really, Mick," she said again when Mick took more of the napkins to do further cleaning, "it's fine."
Mick paused and nodded. "Okay, okay," he said. Grudging up a smile, he returned the unused napkins back to Amber, disregarding the flick of the creature when his hands grazed hers.
Dinner continued, although Amber kept whispering apologizes and Mara kept dodging them. But finally, the creature had enough; Mick accidentally knocked over the saltshaker, sending tiny grains flying onto the plate across from his.
Jerome stiffened. "Watch it, Campbell."
"Oops," said Mick, his voice very unapologetic. "Sorry."
Alfie and Fabian were dumping their plates into the sink, Nina hesitating before following. Amber frowned at Mick, her eyes glittering in that way where he knew she needed to say something. Patricia nudged her, however, and the two stood off in a contest that Mick could not understand. But his eyes went back to Jerome's, battling for dominance. Déjà vu.
When Mick's attention diverted because Amber giggled and Mara stroked his hand, Jerome broke and Mick almost missed him grinding his teeth.
"So Mick – how goes the progress on our little bet?"
The unspoken agreement of secrecy snapped, broken by increased pressure. Jealousy and distaste cut the strings; now, Mick and Jerome had to fight to hold the remaining ends.
"What is he talking about Mick?" Mara's timid voice reawakened the beast within him, the urge to defend and protect overtaking the rational part of his mind. "What bet?"
Mick's glare intensified on Jerome, the smug cat snacking on a canary. Jerome grinned back at him. "Yes, what bet, dear Mick?"
"Like you don't know, Clarke," hissed Mick, picking himself up, fully aware that all eyes were on him. Subconsciously, he stepped away from the kitchen and towards the sitting room, back against the wall. "It was your idea."
"Yes, but I didn't ask you to bet about your friends' love lives. You agreed to it."
Silence hovered over the room, and no one spoke.
Then Amber dropped her plate. "You made a bet about our love lives?" Her voice was so quiet, Mick wondered if he was the only one who could hear his heart shattering into a million pieces.
Mick gulped, his eyes stuck on Amber's, ever aware that Mara's breath tickled his side. "Yeah, I did," he finally said, stepping back so he faced everyone. Nina's harsh laugh did nothing to stop the sudden flow of confessions that left his mouth. "Yeah I bet that Nina and Fabian wouldn't get together by the dance and that Alfie and Patricia would and that you, Amber, wouldn't have a date afterwards," he said quickly, unloading the burden that built inside him, each weight lifting slowly and lightening his chest. "And I bribed Robbie to rig the election in Mara's favor in return for him getting a date with Patricia," he continued, smiling wryly at Patricia and Alfie, the former who bit her lip sardonically and the latter whose eyes narrowed dangerously. They converged upon him, cutting the table off from their elliptical orbit. "Oh and I purposefully didn't turn in Fabian's Rosegrams so that Nina would get jealous of Patricia and ruin that relationship. And I sent one to Patricia to make it look like Robbie did. And I used Alfie to get back at Jerome. And I'm a damn bastard, okay?"
The palpable silence that followed threatened to devour him and the frayed group that stood in that room. Only the clicks of the clock pierced the otherwise suffocating quiet.
Mick expected Mara to start screaming at him; instead, she spun sharply towards Jerome, cornering him against the wall. The rough circle was suddenly complete; each could see the others, equally separate and equally together.
"You made a bet about Alfie's love life?" Her question was intended to be quiet, but the shrill words carried easily over the dense and fractured silence.
Jerome blinked. "Yeah, but you heard Mick – he bribed the – "
"Is that why you're dating Amber?"
Heartbeat.
"Yeah, is it?" asked Amber suddenly, her dazed look shooting to her boyfriend. "I know you wanted Mara jealous, but were you doing it because you wanted it to look like I was dating someone?"
Wait, the hell? Making Mara jealous? "What the hell, Jerome? Were you after my girlfriend?"
"Stop talking about her like she's a possession," said Patricia, grimacing at him. "Pig."
"Shut up, Patricia," cut in Amber, her eyes leaving Jerome's face for only a moment. "Answer the damn question, Jerome." Her vivid words brought the world closer; gravity pulled harder and harder.
"Yeah," said Jerome finally.
Mara shook her head in disgust, clicking her tongue. "You're a pig. Maybe you were right and Mick is a meathead," she said, her words piercing the safety net around his heart. Red fire crawled through his blood. Mara sighed, shaking her head, "but I expected more from you, Jerome."
"I'm Jerome freaking Clarke," he said, his eyes flashing dangerously in time with his dour smirk. "I don't do expectations."
"You don't do anything," cut in Mick. "Yet somehow, you've taken everything."
"Oh really, Mick? What do I have that you don't? Parents? A scholarship? Friends?" His sour chuckle vibrated against the tightening walls. "Oh wait."
"You have Mara," corrected Mick, stepping further away, enlarging the circle further. The burning in his heart reflected the searing pain behind his eyes, the throbbing pain growing in his forehead. "You have Amber, you have Alfie, you have the popularity, you're now-former best friend won't abandon you for a girl. Everyone loves the bad-boy, Jerome."
"Oh call a whambulance," said Alfie, rolling his eyes and waving a hand at him. "At least he doesn't cheat on elections."
"I didn't abandon you," said Fabian softly, while Patricia continued to seethe beside him. Mick was prepared for Patricia's blow-up, but not for Fabian's cutting disappointment. "You abandoned me when you disappeared, picking sports and girls over me."
Before Mick could respond to the one who used to be his refuge when the pressure became too much – when the bubbles threatened to explode and overflow – Patricia blew.
"I can't believe you used me as leverage!" she said, her voice rising dangerously high.
"Why do you even care? You don't even like Robbie," said Alfie.
"At least he likes me! Unlike you, you like Amber."
"No, apparently I just like the idea of her."
Jerome laughed unpleasantly amidst the sudden outpour of unfamiliar conflicts and Mick frowned as words flew past him.
"What do you mean – the idea of me?" Amber's voice wavered, based in anger and confusion. Each wave was a jagged line, cutting through the numbness that had begun to settle over him.
"He means that you're this ideal he can never get. You're unattainable."
"I am not unattainable." Mick narrowed in on the one voice – her voice – the other louder and angrier sounds too suffocating; he was drowning in a sea of loss and confusion and words and her voice was the sunlight, guiding him to the surface.
"Yes you are," said Mara, rejoining the fray. "You still love Mick."
Mick would be ashamed of the ignited fire in his heart if he weren't already enraged.
"And you love Jerome – yet you're dating Mick. So what does that make you, Mara?"
"What are you insinuating, Amber?"
"I was insinuating that you're a two-timing whore but if you'd rather I call you something else - "
"You bitch - "
"Oh, please, Mara. You're no better than her. We're all bitches, haven't you heard?"
"You specialize in bitch, Patricia, but that doesn't mean you get to label the rest of us. What did I do to you?"
"To me? Nothing. Except try to excuse away your judgmental double standard, when it's as messed up as Nina's."
"Hey. Leave Nina out of this!"
"Why should I? She's as much in this as you are!"
"No she's not – "
"Yes, Fabian, she is. She blew up at Patricia today about nothing. And don't you get started with me. You kissed Patricia and you're acting like you're a bloody saint!"
"WHAT? You kissed Patricia?"
"She kissed me, it was nothing – "
"No, Patricia kissing Jerome was nothing; this, on the other hand – "
"YOU KISSED JEROME? You bitch."
"Takes one to know one."
"Will you leave her alone, Patricia? You're the witch around here."
"Oh man up. Say it with me – bitch. You're acting like such a girl. Maybe Patricia's not the only bitch around here."
"Stay out of this, Clarke."
"Make me, Rutter."
"Maybe I will – "
"No, he won't, Nina's watching. His precious Nina, who won't say anything because she's just a meek and perfect little girl – "
"Shut up, Alfie."
"Leave him alone!"
"Then tell him to stop insulting Nina!"
"Then tell her to start defending herself!"
"What, like you don't just run away from every fight anyway?"
"What, like you don't, mister I'm-too-cool-to-let-anyone-through-my-big-fat-walls-because-I-have-such-a-troubled-soul. Please, find another cliché, Mr. Rochester."
"Would you look at that, Alfie reads!"
"Of course he reads!"
"Oh, but you don't, do you Amber? You're just a dumb blonde, pretty and a guy stealer."
"That means so much coming from you, Mara."
"At least I'm not stupid."
"Stop it." Mick's voice cracked, his words dying under the shouts and insults. "Stop it."
No one heard him as Fabian threw an accusation in Patricia's face, who retaliated with a broken promise to Amber. Jerome snarled and Mara bristled; Alfie's numb façade broke as words he'd never heard spilled across the room.
Mick looked at Nina; she'd stop staring emotionlessly at the walls and instead her eyes seemed to flicker around, one by one. For a moment, they locked eyes – this is stupid, why are we doing this, this shouldn't be happening – but the moment passed quickly. She closed her eyes; her clenched fists were the only evidence that chaos surrounded her.
"You were helping Mick?"
"Of course he was. Alfie specializes in pathetic."
"Says you – you probably sent Mara – who has a boyfriend – a Rosegram."
"Had a boyfriend. Her and Mick aren't together anymore."
"Since when? You don't dictate my love life."
"Oh but Mick does – he just does it through bets, haven't you heard?"
The tornado whipped his hair across his face; sweat formulated across his forehead.
"Well – Mick's still in love with Amber! He's a sneaky, cheating bastard! How are you still with him?" Mick didn't bother trying to piece together how Jerome knew; his attempt at sabotage did little to faze him.
Mick smiled dryly. "Yeah, maybe I still love Amber. But I never cheated on Mara. I never tried to hurt her. I never tried to force her into something she didn't want."
"You're just the second choice, Mick," said Patricia, her frown harsh and almost black. "You're the safety net."
Punches against his ribs, swipes at his dignity; Mick ignored the storm cloud hovering over him. Insults continued to be cast, bouncing off furniture and hitting their closest targets. Meant to cut and bruise, words left mouths, unplanned and uncouth; each moment the storm grew louder and stronger, the wires stretching thinner.
"YOU TOOK MY BOYFRIEND."
"HE DIDN'T LOVE YOU."
"HE JUST SAID HE STILL DOES."
"WHAT, LIKE HIS WORDS MEAN ANYTHING?"
"YOUR WORDS ARE SHIT, JEROME, DON'T EVEN – "
"I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU – "
"LEAVE HIM – "
"STOP DEFENDING – "
"I WASN'T FINISHED – "
"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION – "
"NO – "
Snippets of shouted phrases bombarded him, nonsensical fragments of no value. His headache prodded him painfully, increasing in vigor as the argument – my fault, I started it, I should be the one being yelled at – gained momentum. Faster and louder and stronger and snappier – the intensity grew, melting any peace that had previously inhabited the House of Anubis.
Yellow and timberwolf and violet and silver and orange and sapphire and indigo and scarlet. Colors crashed against the walls, pigments no longer complementary and no longer supplementary. Isolated and alone, they refused to mix and mingle, persistent individuals clashing rather than blending.
Mick was done. "STOP IT!" His voice was louder this time, slamming against the other shouts. But it wasn't enough.
"I WILL NOT STAND HERE – "
"YOUR FACE DISGUSTS ME – "
"I CAN'T – "
"OH, PLEASE – "
"I SAID," repeated Mick, his breathing labored and consciousness leaving him faintly, "STOP IT – "
The amalgam of voices continued, until –
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" Victor's voice cut through all the broken hearts and wounded souls in one swipe, piercing the room with silence.
No one spoke. Only stillness responded to Victor as answers sunk into their questions, secrets revealing their inherent poisons.
Heartbeat.
"Absolutely nothing is going on here, Victor." Nina at last spoke, the finality in her voice cracking the last trace of peace, settling the rising friction, pushing aside the tangled wires of friendship. Her eyes traveled across the room, reaching seven others, resting lastly on Fabian's. Their crimson faces and panting chests gave her the only response she needed. Her gaze snapped back to Victor and a sour smile masked the sound of the cracking hearts. "Absolutely nothing."
And she walked away, the final, violet pigments of dust settling on the ancient floor.