Author's Note: AND we're rolling. Three more chapters left? WHOOP.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Consumed

It's cold. Really, really cold. That's the first thing I noticed. Then how white everything was, spanning on for miles and miles. Eventually it reached a formidable wall where jagged peaks of gray rock could be seen. The mountain range sprung up from the long plain of flat, powdered ground in anything but gentle slopes. The lowest peak seemed like nothing less than an intimidating cliff face from my perspective so far away.

I could only imagine what it looked like up close.

After observing this fits of shivers wracked my body, my teeth chattering at such a speed I hardly noticed the clacking of them striking together. My thin t-shirt and cotton pants were in no way fitting for the weather, and the icy wind snaking past only made matters worse.

I was sitting, half immersed in a drift of snow. Snow. That's what all the whiteness was. That's what was biting at my toes, and every other part of my body for that matter, turning my skin black and blue and a vulgar purple shade that made my stomach flip nauseously. It was like I could visibly see my usually peach colored flesh stained with the unnatural shades, starting at the tips of my fingers and toes; like blood running sluggishly through my veins.

Hypothermia. I was going to die of hypothermia. It wasn't like I had any hope of salvation this far from any civilization. There wasn't a living thing in sight . . . and it was so cold . . . and I was tired. Really, really tired.

My aching eyes blinked shut of their own accord, my frozen lashes brushing against my cheekbones; dropping bits of tinkling ice onto my face. Even my breathing began to slow, the thudding of my heart diminishing every second that passed.

The ground was soft too; like a nice, downy bed. In fact, it really wasn't even so freezing anymore. Maybe I was getting used to it. The temperature seemed much more manageable now. So maybe I would just lay down . . . right here . . . and sleep for awhile. Then I could think about ways to save myself. Yeah. That was a . . . good . . . idea.

I instinctively knew when my heart stopped beating altogether.

Then everything around me seared in a white hot heat, and my eyes flashed open. The intensity of the fire dulled as my gasps relaxed, the comforting sound of my pulse filling my ears. I was alive. I wasn't trapped in some arctic hell, I was . . .

In the desert.

At first I couldn't see anything but cloudless blue sky. I was laying on my back, my fingers sifting through the coarse sand all around me. When I had gained control of my heartbeat again I slowly sat up, glancing all around.

The land was dry and cracked, flat just like the frozen tundra I had recently inhabited. Sand, which was really just crumbles of the dirt ground, blew along with the lazy wind. Cacti stuck up in every direction, along with the colorful blooms of desert flowers. I didn't see any rattlesnakes sunning themselves on rocks, so I was clear on that.

In the distance, much like the snowy mountains from previous, a high outcropping of dusty red and brown spikes reached into the sky. Some of their tops formed plateaus, skimming the heavens just the same.

And the heat. Oh, the heat was stifling. The sun sat high in the sky, basking its volcanic glow onto the land beneath. It made the air dry and stuffy; hard to breathe. It wasn't life threatening though; not immediately at least, so I liked it much better.

Still, I had to get out of here. Somewhere safe; where there was food and water. I wouldn't last very long all the way out here without it. Which begged the question, how did I arrive here in the first place?

Sighing I pushed myself to my feet, bits of rock and dirt sticking to my palms. As I swept them away I began to walk; in a direction I somehow identified as north. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. It was . . . instinct; like I had some sort of internal compass pushing me towards a certain path.

I didn't question it. It wasn't like I had much of a choice in the matter.

As I traversed across the wide open expanse of land, giving the cacti a wide berth, it became increasingly clear that there was an unknown pressure on my back. I rolled my shoulders, thinking it was just aching under the strain of so much walking with my head bent against the blistering rays of the sun that baked my skin.

But it wasn't, because as soon as my shoulders relaxed back into place, a flurry of feathers exploded around me, like I had hit some secret button and they had become unhinged.

Wings.

I don't know how long I stood and marveled them in fear and awe. It must have been an awfully long time, because the sun was beginning to dip down low, beautiful pinks coloring the sky by the time I looked anywhere but at them.

After that I did the only natural thing one would do if they suddenly found wings sprouting from their back . . .

I tried to fly.

It didn't work so well. I just flapped uselessly, never leaving the ground for more than a few seconds. I tried everything I could think of: standing in place, running and leaping into the air, jumping off of piles of rock (careful to check for poisonous snakes beforehand). Nothing worked. I was stuck, just as I had been previous to my discovery.

Chained to the ground by gravity with useless appendages providing me with a tainted glimmer of hope . . .

The insistent beeping woke me up. I was groggy at first, unaware of my surroundings. Groaning I made to turn onto my side, trying to place my hand under my head. When I began to situate it though, something pulled against me, and someone gently stopped my movements.

"Mhmhmm," I moaned, blinking my eyes open. The horribly tasteless salmon and blue cotton candy colored curtains made my stomach churn, and I immediately twisted my head so I was facing a different direction.

This time my sight was encompassed in a wall of black, which, with my gaze traveling upward, eventually reached Fang's unsmiling face. Well, someone was awfully grumpy today, I noticed in disgruntlement.

"Where-?" I began, my voice croaking. Water. I needed some water.

"Hospital," Fang interrupted me sharply, and as if reading my mind, handed me the glass of clear, cool liquid sitting on the bedside table.

"Why am I?-" I started to speak again, after taking a few gulps of the ice cold water, when he once again cut me off. Hmph. He was being awfully rude this morning . . . or afternoon . . . or evening. I wasn't really sure.

"Because that idiot you were stupidly fighting knifed you, remember?"

Harsh, much? What was wrong with him? He didn't even seem relieved in the slightest that I was, oh, I don't know- not dead. In fact, he looked like he couldn't wait to abandon me in this hell hole he called a hospital as soon as possible.

"Yeah. That kind of hurt," I admitted, fingering the place where I could feel one of my previously healed wounds reopened.

Fang snorted in contempt, running a stiff hand through his messy hair as he glared away from me.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, my brow furrowing in concern. I reached out to catch his hand, interlacing his fingers with my own. He squeezed them back for a moment before letting them go limp under his heavy stare.

"You're the one strapped to a hospital bed, and you're asking me if I'm okay?" he asked tensely, gritting his teeth. A bitter laugh escaped between his lips, which only shot my worry radar up a thousand notches.

"You seem upset about something," I hedged, tiptoeing around to find the source of the problem.

He laughed even more at this, a frown blossoming throughout. It painted a completely wrong picture, as he continued to look at nothing but my hand in his. I applied more pressure, but he didn't respond to my touch.

"You got stabbed. And it's my fault . . . so you're asking me why I'm upset?"

"Fang, this is not your fault. Why would you think that?" I demanded hotly, pushing myself up to a sitting position. I grabbed his chin with my free hand, forcing him to look up. His beautiful, obsidian eyes locked on my own, but I was unable to find any trace of emotion within their depths.

Not a good sign.

"We make each other do stupid things, Max."

"Yeah, so? It's because you're stupid. I'm stupid. We're all stupid sometimes. That doesn't mean you can blame yourself for every bad thing that happens to me. My life is full of bad things, and it probably always will be. I'm a magnet for trouble. It never ends. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

"I know that, but . . ." His voice continued to slip into a monotone, and I was afraid of what he was going to say next.

"But what?"

"Maybe . . . if I wasn't around . . . that would be less trouble for you. Maybe bad things wouldn't happen so much."

I looked at him blankly, as his gaze shifted back to our hands. Suddenly the contact of his skin on mine burned. No matter how much it hurt, as he tugged his fingers gently from my own, I wanted nothing more than to hold on tighter. To him. To everything.

My breath left me in a shudder, and I swallowed thickly around the lump forming in my throat; creating a barricade there that left me finding it difficult to breathe. I stared at the smooth, white wall, no spare thoughts trailing through my head. Just nothing.

"Are you . . . are you breaking up with me?"

Silence. Silence so thick you'd need a butcher's knife to cut it. Or a machete. It consumed every particle of space, ranging on for so long I briefly wondered if I had spoken too late; if he was already gone.

"Yeah. I am."

Well then.

Author's Note: Who saw that one coming? Huh? Huh? REVIEW AND TELL ME! Yeah? Yeah. I respond well to any form of praise and/or death threats you can possibly imagine. Be creative my little readers! :)

(sorry for the shortness, by the way)

P.S. Who has me on their favorite author's list? . . . If you don't you should . . . you know . . . add me . . . because I'm kind of like two away from two hundred . . . and it would totally make my day (possibly week/month) if I reached that/got over it. :)