As I promised, here's the next one ^^

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien, the extract from Hymn to Beauty belongs to Baudelaire.

Chapter 4

/GPOV/

I knew going to the party wouldn't be a really good idea, but still I went, having heard Meriadoc's "inspirational speech". I don't really have any neat or party-ish clothes, so I decided on my newest Anaal Nathrakh T-shirt, my most comfortable pair of skinny jeans and my beloved neon green creepers(I've always been rather short compared to my classmates, and I like the tall feeling they give me quite a lot). I changed all my piercings from silver to the same neon green - I have an industrial piersing, a septum piercing and spider bites, with intentions to have my anti-eyebrow pierced soon as well. I'm not a tattoo person, but I'm extremely fascinated by piercings instead.

I was early, of course. One thing I can not stand is unaccuracy. I was met by the jolly cousins at my very entrance. "Hey, Grima, who allowed you to be so handsome?" Peregrin gave me a peck on both cheeks, smirking deviantly. Meriadoc did so too, and I was blushing rose red. Compliments towards my persona were rare and usually more of a joke; I was far from used to honest admiration and I didn't care that it came from boys - I appreciated it nevertheless.

We've been hanging in the pub and small chatting for about ten minutes when my phone rings. I get out to answer the call. It's mom, for the third time today. I move away from the front door, turning my back at it and anyone who'd walk in, let out a deep sigh and press the green button. "Yeah, mom?" "Are you at that party you said you'd attend?" I roll my eyes. "Yeah? Why? I already told you I'm going." "I'm just asking! I mean, honey, you never go out..." Oh, Christ. "Well, now I do. Only I'm talking to you and not to my... friends," I carefully sigh out the word. They could be, I guess. Friends. Hm. "Oh, okay, honey. Have fun!" and she hangs up. This woman. She still thinks I'm twelve.

I shake my head and search my pockets for a cigarette and that lighter. The lighter that Theo gave me. I sigh out the smoke. Theo.

We met by the sea two summers ago, or more specifically in the small hotel library; we both detested the sunlight, and we were both looking for Thomas Harris - he enjoyed the grotesque beauty, while I was more about the simple and honest gore. He didn't tell me where he was from, and neither did I; we talked little about our backgrounds, actually. Our parents sucked and we had no friends, but that was about it. We enjoyed talking about art, on the other hand. We shared a common passion for the darker part of the world. Death and blood were sweet, most praised and melodic words, and I hadn't been as ecstatic as I was back then, whispering Rembo and Poe's sacred rhymes in a nocturnal choir with him. I felt as if Theo was my soul twin, and he was the greatest friend I'd had.

Then that happened. We were both supposed to return home from our one-month summer holidays the following week, and we would miss each other, and we would exchange addresses, and we would write each other letters, and all that. We were reciting Baudelaire that afternoon, taking turns, looking at each other's eyes. Theo always began. "Did you fall from high heaven or surge from the abyss, O Beauty? Your bright gaze, infernal and divine, confusedly pours out courage and cowardice, or love and crime. Therefore men liken you to wine." We both fancied Leclercq's translation of "Hymn to Beauty" best, and knew it by heart; it was yet another amazing similarity between us. I took it from there. "Your eyes hold all the sunset and the dawn, you are as rich in fragrances as a tempestuous night, your kisses-" and he leaned down and kissed me. Which was a shock to say the least; I immediately pulled back, gasping in horror. Theo stepped back too, frightened, head-to-the-ground, blushing, stuttering quietly "I-I thought... I thought you al-also were..." he looked up at me, I shook my head in apologetic denial. He ran out of the library then, and I didn't see him there again.

Just my luck, huh?

I throw the cigarette butt on the ground, step on it to put it off and turn around, now ready to get back to the guys... only to find myself facing the infamous Rohirrims. I've never liked them, or even understood them for the matter. Arm wrestling seems like a huge waste of time to me(then again, so does every sport, ever). And now a dozen of arm-wrestlers are blocking my way. One of them points at me and yells, "This scum said shit about my sister!" - and within a blink I'm on the ground and trying to block the kicks with my legs. I have no idea what and why is happening, the only thing I know is that blood is filling my mouth after a hard hit in the chin, and that I want to fight back. But I can't.

And just as I realise I could die here, I hear a tear-soaked yet scaringly furious voice and the kicks stop raining on me. "What the hell?! Get off of him," the girl helps me stand up on my feet and I realize she's Eowyn. "But you said he offended you," says one of the Rohirrims and I realize he's Eomer, her brother. When have I spoken against her, I wonder, trying not to think of the pain. Of the overwhelming, supermassive pain that has taken control over me. Having a bone broken would be but a tickle compared to this, and I wish I was exaggerating. "I misunderstood him. And you should cut down the whiskey, dickhead," with which she rolls her eyes and carefully places my blunt left arm around her frail shoulders; and I'd protest, were I not so exhausted. "C'mon, Grima, let's get you some ice," and we get back in the pub and she asks the bartender for ice. He helps her wrap some in a small towel, she grabs it and drags me to the toilet.

I can't tell what soothes my wounds better. The water, or her hands.

"I think you should be fine for now, but you better get home and clean yourself up... Did you drive to here?" Hell, even shaking my head is painful. I guess I give my suffering away somehow because Eowyn looks even more worried now. "Okay, let's get us a cab and I'll see you to bed." Okay, where on Earth did that come from?! "S-since when are you... being nice to me?" "Since you're in pain and it's my fault and I can help?"

I take a deep breath and it's like my ribcage has been cracked open and my insides are spilling out. And I'm that sixth grade kid they almost killed in the school toilet all over again.

"I can h-handle it," I try to get on my feet, and Eowyn shakes her head in disapproval as she puts my arm over her shoulders again and drags me out of the toilet, pressing the ice-towel to my chin. "No, you can't, now shut up and let me feel useful, okay?" And I cannot deny her that.

The cab driver is into Britney. Eowyn and I exchange looks of terror, she whispers "Same crap when I was getting to here," I whisper "Why did they kick everywhere but my ears?," she smiles, I'm lost.

I'm so, so lost.