Authors Note: YAY IT'S SUMMER BREAK! Well, it has been actually. Since last Thursday. Why didn't I update then? Uh . . . Good question.

Chapter Thirteen:

Murdered

I spent the rest of my eighteenth birthday sitting on the roof of a shabby, rundown building I once called home with Fang.

After his initial reaction to my news, he hadn't said anything more on the subject, and I knew he wouldn't ever again. He had this weird thing about not influencing my decisions. In his perspective, I would be able to choose without him pressuring and tugging me towards what he wanted; which was for me to stay in New York with him, Iggy and Nudge. That was just . . . Fang. He didn't want to be responsible if I was upset and ended up regretting my choice.

But most of all (and it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was basically the only person who believed so), he didn't want me to decide based on what he wanted. When I was with Fang, it was always about me.

Unfortunately for myself, that was the only time I was ever put first; mostly against my own discretion at that.

"So this birthday officially sucked," I remarked blatantly, resting my head comfortably on Fang's shoulder. He shifted from where he was sitting, wrapping his arm around me. "Make that the eighteenth in a row."

"Oh come on," Fang scoffed, nudging the side of my head with his nose. "You're exaggerating. You've had to have had at least one good birthday."

"Nope. Never. At least none that I can remember," I insisted nonchalantly, tilting my head up so I could look at him. His dark eyes were, typically, trained on me. We stared wordlessly at each other for a moment, a silent exchange happening that no one but us could manage.

It was times like these that made me forget about how screwed up our relationship was right now. When he was with me, acting normal and Fang-ish, I couldn't even spare a thought towards how aloof he'd been acting of the late. I did now though, and yet I couldn't bring myself to broach the subject. The last thing I needed was that confrontation, especially with how rotten the day had already been. It could wait awhile longer.

"What was your best birthday?" I asked suddenly, the question surfacing through my minds wanderings. Of all the things I could have blurted out, I was glad it was something relatively harmless, like that.

Fang shifted his gaze to the horizon, appearing to be thinking about his answer. I watched him, taking in his thoughtful expression and the way his eyebrows curved slightly downward as he pondered. It was kind of . . . cute. But don't tell him I said so.

"Mhm . . ." he breathed, finally returning his eyes to mine. "I'd definitely have to say my best birthday was when I was ten."

"Ten? Why?" I inquired, grinning up at him. He smirked in return, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards so that it threatened to turn into a smile.

"Well . . . It's kind of stupid, and don't you dare laugh, but . . . Okay, so when I was growing up I always had this thing with flying, right?" he explained, looking to the side like he was embarrassed about what he was admitting.

"Flying?" My mind immediately flashed to the strange dreams I had been having. "Like, birds and feathers flying, or Superman flying?"

"Full on wings -the works- flying," he clarified, chuckling to himself even though he had warned me not to. I nodded for him to continue. "So on my tenth birthday, my parents took me to this museum. It was all dedicated to birds and stuff, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever."

"Awe," I crooned jokingly, poking him in the ribs. "I can just picture wittle Fang getting all excited about some birdies."

He glared at me, shoving my shoulder hard enough to push me onto my back. I laughed as I settled on the dirty concrete, smiling widely up at him as his face hovered over mine. He placed his elbows on either side of my head, carefully keeping his body weight off me, like I would break otherwise. Pshaw.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" he demanded mockingly, his breath washing over my face with each word. From this angle, he appeared even darker and more mysterious than he usually did. The fading blue of the sky, and the diminishing goldness of the sun cast his face in shadows, so that you could see the barest hints of his bronze skin and the glint of his eyes.

"Of course," I said, forcing myself to appear serious and solemn. A small curve of my lips cracked through that though, which I couldn't help. "Please continue."

"As I was saying," Fang said pointedly, "my parents took me to this museum, and I loved it. They had this thing where you could find out what type of bird you'd be, and a simulation of sorts that made you feel like you were flying. Really flying. It was amazing."

I couldn't help but grin at the strange show of emotion on his face, as he spoke. It was such a rare display, that I couldn't pass up reveling in it. A few seconds after he finished though, his expression clouded over again, and he was back to normal.

"Of course the next year they just gave me a bunch of expensive presents I didn't want and left me to myself. That's how things usually were."

I frowned at the obvious discomfort such a memory caused him, as his gaze flitted to the ground beside us. Taking his face in my hands I moved his chin so that he was looking at me once more. I stared at him, my brown eyes wide. In that look I conveyed everything that would be worthless to say.

That I understood how it felt to be alone. That I understood how it felt to be abandoned.

"Max . . ." Fang whispered, sounding more helpless than I had ever witnessed him before. I couldn't stand it; couldn't stand to see the one person that could possibly match me in stoniness look so defeated.

My fingers slipped through the strands of his onyx colored hair, guiding his lips past the remaining space between us. His mouth was silken on mine; surprisingly hungry as he pressed against me with a force that I hadn't noticed had been missing until then.

We kissed. And we kissed some more. Then we kissed again. And again. And again. And again. I was surprised my lungs could handle only the short breaths I was taking between them. Any light headed feeling I may have been experiencing was the last thing on my mind, though.

Eventually the fast pace subsided, and he pulled away indefinitely. I bit down on my slightly swollen bottom lip, breathless and more than likely blushing. There was a sinking feeling that quickly replaced the temporary high I had been on, when I saw the uncertain look on his face.

"Max . . . I . . ."

"What?" I could barely swallow, the thickness in my throat was so great.

"I . . . Max I . . ." he stopped again, closing his eyes briefly. I could see him gulp, before his dark eyes were parallel to mine again. He shifted, squaring his shoulders. "Max, I lo-"

A piercing, insistent beep coming from his pocket cut him off, and with a groan he rolled to the side, sitting up. I pushed up onto my elbows as he brought his phone to his ear, his legs unfolding from under him as he stood. I watched as he walked a few paces away, just out of hearing distance. His brow furrowed dangerously as he talked to whoever was on the other line.

Confusion, amongst many other things, roiled within me. My mind kept going back to before . . . that one inexplicable second, to be exact. Was he going to say he loved me? I couldn't be sure, and it seemed like I wasn't going to find out after all.

With a sigh Fang slipped the cell phone into his pocket once more, facing away from me. I clumsily made my way to my feet just as he turned back around, his blank mask set into place flawlessly.

"I'm sorry. Something came up. I have to go," he informed me, motioning in the direction of the fire escape. "I'll drive you home."

I nodded, following him down wordlessly. Our surreal moment at passed, leaving us awkward and silent, as was usual these days. I had to clamp down hard on my tongue, so as to not explode. What had happened to us?

I glared out the window the entire car ride, trying not to seem too obviously upset. We were almost to my house when Fang reached across and took my hand, intertwining our fingers easily. If only everything was that way.

"You're all quiet again," he observed, glancing at me.

I shrugged.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tucking a dirty blond strand of hair behind my ear so he could see my face more clearly.

I nodded. Oh how the tables had turned. Since when was I the one not saying anything, as he struggled to make conversation? It seemed to be happening more often than not lately. I didn't like it. It was just another way we were all whacked up and screwy.

I was already halfway out of my seat belt by the time Fang pulled to a stop in front of my house. Not wasting another second I twisted, prepared to duck out of the now gaping door. His hand on my wrist stopped me though, and I turned warily and expectantly.

He tugged on my hand until I leaned closer, his lips brushing against mine gently. I kissed him back, despite how much I just wanted to get away.

"I really am sorry," he murmured. "About everything."

I nodded blankly once more, stepping fully onto the sidewalk. I wished more than anything that his apology counted for something . . . but things just didn't work that way in my world. Problems didn't just disappear on a whim. In fact, they usually stuck around for more than they were welcome. I had learned that lesson long ago.

When I poked my head through the front door, everything was dark except for the blue-ish, muted glow coming from the television. Easing the door shut behind me, I padded softly to the couch. Peering over the edge I saw Gazzy lounging out, very much awake. He glanced up as soon as I looked down at him, his blue eyes bright in the shadows. Another mesh of blond curls popped up from the floor, and Angel regarded me with sleepy, opaque eyes.

"You're back," Gazzy stated the obvious, sitting up to make room for Angel, who was crawling onto the sofa beside him. I made my way around, noticing the bed of pillows and blankets Angel had made for herself on the floor. It seemed the two of them were camping out for my arrival.

"Where is everybody?" I asked, picking my way through the destruction. I slumped into the chair adjacent to where my siblings were seated, watching me placidly.

"Aunt Valencia and Mom are upstairs talking. We were taking turns listening in on them, but then Gazzy ruined it," Angel informed me, quick to pin the blame on her older brother. I was proud that they were trying to gain as much information as they could. Normally they probably wouldn't bother, but they knew I would want to know what was going on.

"It's not my fault!" Gazzy insisted hotly, glaring at her. "I can't help my . . . problem."

"Digestive system acting up again?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow as I tried not to laugh at the sheepish look now adorning his face.

"Always," he admitted.

"They were talking about Arizona though, last time we heard," Angel explained. My mood quickly darkened at the reminder. "Aunt Valencia said she didn't have a choice, or else she'd get fired from both jobs."

"She said that the two practices were in agreement about the transfer, or something like that. If she doesn't go back to her old job, then she won't have this one either, and we can't afford that. Her only other option would be to open up her own clinic, since the demand for vets isn't very high in existing ones at this point," Gazzy picked up where Angel left off, obviously quoting word for word what he heard Aunt Val say.

"So it's inevitable then," I said grimly. No matter what I chose, it was either between here or there. There was zero chance of Aunt Val and Ella staying in New York. They were going back to Arizona . . . and they were taking my family with them.

I came to my feet, rubbing a hand over my forehead. "You guys get some rest. I'm going to head to bed."

Without waiting for a response I quietly went up the stairs, ignoring the hushed voices I could hear behind closed doors. When I went into my room, Ella was nowhere to be found. Most likely with Nudge. After all, they wouldn't have much time left together after this.

I could barely force myself to change into different clothes, suddenly overcome with fatigue. By the time I dropped onto my mattress, my eyes were already slipping shut . . .

Just for me to be awakened by a sharp crack. Instantly I shot up in bed, my gaze immediately finding the window. It was similar to the last time I had been woken up like this, the whip-like sound completely identical. This time though, where there had previously been nothing but the sky outside, there was now a looming figure crouched just outside my window.

My face was white as a ghost as I tripped across the dark room, fumbling with the window pane. I couldn't see anything other then the shadowy shape of the person, but I instinctively knew it was the one that had been following me around.

And it seemed they wanted to be found now.

I finally managed to heave the unwilling glass upwards, allowing the guy enough space to squeeze through. I took a few steps back, giving him some room. All the while I crouched down into something resembling a fighting stance, but less obvious. I was on my toes though, ready to knock this guy out if he tried anything funny with me. I may have been out of practice, but that didn't matter. You could take the girl away from the fight, but you couldn't take the fight from within her.

"Who are you?" I demanded, once whoever it was was standing on steady feet. They looked up, raising their hands so they could slip the hood of their head. I peered intently at them, taking in their familiar features.

"Max," they said simply, voice low.

"Dylan?" I asked incredulously, though I had had my suspicions all along. There was some part of me though, that had been denying it from the second the thought entered my mind. Dylan couldn't be back. He just couldn't.

"Look," he said hurriedly, sounding agitated and . . . scared. "I know I'm the last person you want to talk to right now. I get that. But I have something important to tell you, and I think you'll want to hear it."

I regarded him warily, not relaxing in the slightest. He took my silence as his cue to continue.

"It's about Jared."

"What about Jared?" I practically growled. He nodded knowingly, and I hated that he had the knowledge to pique my interest automatically. Where Jared was concerned, I definitely had to know what he was so worked up about.

"He didn't really commit suicide . . . He was murdered."

Authors Note: Anyone expect that? Mhm . . . anybody? I HIGHLY DOUBT IT. Haha (:

P.S. What sort of pets do you have? I ask this in honor of the cat I stole from my friend. (I'm not joking..)