CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: LITTLE THINGS GIVE YOU AWAY

7

I.

Am.

Angry.

I am angry. So angry, my heart aches. No, not just the expression, it literally hurts. As if someone was punching me in the chest over and over again, and with each hit my anger grows bigger and bigger.

All exhaustion and doubt are suddenly washed away the second they appear between the trees.

Three figures, silhouetted against the gloomy background of trees and bushes. Their voices cut through the steady drumming of the rain, disrupting the evening silence of the forest I found myself in.

Mog voices, coming closer. But also another voice between them, one I know all to well.

I manage to leap behind a thick bush before they can see me, not really caring about the thorns cutting into my face. I role off my shoulder and get right back up on my knees, peaking through the scrub at the three silhouettes as they come closer. When they are within earshot, I quickly duck back down and hold my breath so they don't notice me. My heart is pumping so quickly, I fear it will explode.

No, that's not true. I don't fear it will explode, I dare it to. Explode, blow up, and destroy. Let out all the anger that's cramping my insides. Abandon myself to the rage and forget about the all the rest. Jump up and give everyone what they deserve.

I may regret this moment some time later on, but right now I couldn't care less. I am mad, and I am going to explode.

And here they come, three figures comfortably strolling through the trees, deeply engrossed in a nice little chat. Just wandering around, not paying their surroundings any attention.

Not paying me any attention. Not realizing that there is an insanely angry Loric just waiting to lose her compulsion just behind this bush.

Leading the way through the forest is the big Mog guy from the train. His big, bulky hands buried deep inside the pockets of his military Mog uniform, he is silently walking in front of the two others, staring at the ground in front of him and listening to their conversation.

Right behind him follows that creepy Mog girl from earlier. Her shoulder-long black hair waves in the wind, lashing against the back of her head. I have to bring up quite some willpower to stop myself from joining her hair right now.

Walking beside the Mog girl, is – oh, what a surprise – Eight. With a big grin on his face and a skipping pace, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit. He keeps gazing at the Mog girl out of the corner of his eyes as the two of them come strolling along side by side, excitedly whispering to each other. Chit chatting about this and that, not a care in the world. Why not hold hands, too, while we're at it?

I shake my head in silent anger and wonder what it will take for Eight to finally realize he has to carry some responsibility himself. His very existence is a responsibility, and he can't just throw that away this easily. He can't always rely on us to come and get him out of trouble.

Eight's clothes are soaking wet and his shoes are covered in mud and dirt, but he himself looks unharmed.

A fact that somehow just makes me angrier.

I just spent a goddamn hour looking for him in the blistering cold and the surging rain, I ran further than I ever ran before and I never gave up, even though my feet are killing me right now. My lungs are still burning and I don't think I will be able to even walk the next couple of days after a run like this. All just because I was afraid something might happen to Eight. I pushed my limits more than I should have, but it was always worth the effort, because at the end of this terror run, chances were that I'd see Eight alive and well again.

And now that I found him here, taking a turn in the wood with two Mogs. It's just so different from what I had expected it to be. He's not dying, he's not fighting, he's not even hurt, and he sure as hell won't be grateful when I storm out there and 'save' him from those Mogs. In fact, I have no idea what he's doing with his two new friends, but it looks like he's having the time of his life.

Without us.

Without me.

My hand is shaking so hard I have to press it against my chest make it stop. It hardly helps, though. With a numb feeling in the back of my head I slowly lay down on my belly and burry my face in the ground, trying to shut out the world around me. Partly because Eight and the others are coming so close that they'll easily spot me if I don't duck lower, but mostly because I just don't want to think about all this anymore. Sometimes, I think it'd be easier to forget about all this.

But I can't, can't suppress my thoughts anymore, can't swallow the anger and frustration, can't always be the forgiving one.

Can't bare the idea that Eight let me down once more.

I roll over to my back and stare into the pouring rain, letting the drops wipe the mud off my face.

Watching the storm from below has a special kind of beauty to it. The masses of tiny raindrops shimmer like long silvery strings in the gloomy daylight. As they drum on my face, I can almost imagine myself flying away, my soul escaping this dark world and fleeing to far away places. Somewhere my life doesn't look quite as grim, somewhere I don't have to chase after people who don't even want my help, somewhere I can actually make spend my time the way I want it to. Why is this whole thing so pointless?

Eight's voice echoes through the forest as he lets out a loud, cheerful laugh about something the girl just said. My insides cramp up at the sound of it and I feel like I'm going to throw up any second. What the hell is this guy's problem? Seriously, I don't get it. First, he has the rest of us worried to death by suddenly disappearing like that, and then he has nothing better to do than to crack jokes with our biggest enemies? Does he really believe those Mogs won't kill him at the first chance they get? Loric are supposed to be outstandingly smart, it's about time Eight starts to act like one.

A sudden new rush of adrenaline kicks in as the three of them come closer and closer.

Why would I try to hide anymore? Why would I hold myself back? Why would I give a damn about Eight if he so obviously doesn't care about me at all? Why?

The answer shoots through my mind the second Eight and the others walk past me.

I may be Marina, the shy and reserved girl from the abbey, Marina the gullible idiot who will believe every single one of your bad excuses, and Marina the unskilled, scared good-for-nothing, but I am also Marina, the one who gets fucking angry when you decide to so obviously make a fool out of her.

And I am also Marina, the one who's about to get up and smack everyone into the next best tree.

Hey everybody!

Rather short chapter, the main reason for this is that I've been sick for the last couple of days and the fever just doesn't allow my brain to work on a single thing for very long. Really, I've been trying quite hard. So I thought I might as well put a cut to it right here and send this out, so you people won't get bored of me not updating.

Ughh, that didn't make much sense. It sounded way better in my head, though.

Aaaaaaaaaanywas, here is the review-answer-thing:

ZazzyZ: Thank *sniffle* you *sniffle* very *sniffle* much

lordpujan: Holy moly, those indeed are quite awesome ideas. I already plotted out a different plot already, though, but why not take all those great ideas and make a fanfic yourself?

destinybroughtme: Aaaaaaaaand I love you, random citizen. Seriously, thanks ;)

ArcticBlue: I hope that 'o.o' was a good o.o and not a that's-kinda-stupid o.o ;)

That's it for today, hopefully I'll get better soon and start producing more than just these tiny bits of junk. 'Til then, I hope you have a great time, and thanks to AAAAALL of you for reading my story =)