DEDICATED TO: villite246, zammielicous98, and FireInMyHeart226! Your reviews were respectively hilarious, encouraging, and all around amazing.
To AlexStrike, please do not cut off my elbow. I will be very depressed if you do. XD thank you!
I found myself yelling, "TMI! TMI!" at my brother, then was like "hehe, that's my name…" aren't I such a failure? -_-"
And I've just realized that every day I've missed school this year was because I had to go play my trumpet at some shmancy gig. XD isn't that cool?
Well. Life was a cruel bastard, wasn't it?
Anne was currently stressing out, her face and shoulders taut with the evidence of that fact. She was talking quietly with Mom at the front door, their hushed voices nervous and reassuring respectively. Anne felt horrible that Ella had gotten hurt during our practice, and it was obvious she took full responsibility for the incident even though it was completely beyond her control.
My sister was safely tucked into bed in her room, already fast asleep and snoozing away. Ella never had a good pain tolerance level, and the exhaustion from her hysterics and injuries had overcame her almost as soon as we arrived back at home. Her hurt arm, clutched in the hold of a stiff white brace, was propped up on a fluffy blue pillow, and Ella's face had been tearstreaked and weary the last time I looked at it.
As for me? Well, I was doing push ups.
Fang watched patiently from his seat on the living room couch as I furiously completed push up after push up after push up. Sweat beaded on my temples and created rivers down my face, but I didn't stop moving even as drops slipped into my eyes and needled at them with their salty sting. My arms and core were burning from the exertion, but I simply disregarded the feeling and continued the steady motion, up and down, up and down.
Thirty three, thirty four, thirty five…
If the world imploded, the definition of push ups would not change.
Thirty nine, forty, forty one, forty two…
If my sister sprained her wrist and fractured three fingers, the definition of push ups would stay the same.
Forty five, forty six…
If one of my best friends announced she was dating the annoying new guy who had weaseled his way into what seemed like all aspects of my life, the definition of push ups wouldn't give a damn. A push up would always be a push up, and the simplicity of that constant gave me the support I was craving when I just felt like pulling an Ella and going into hysterics. I loved my sister, and I hated seeing her hurt in any way. Hated it.
"Max, you're shaking."
A soft voice broke through my thoughts, and as soon as it registered, my concentration rippled drastically. All of that comforting strength and numbness fled my body and shattered into instant oblivion. Reality came screeching back, and I could suddenly feel the dull ache in my biceps and the shudders racking my back.
Needless to say, I immediately collapsed, elbows buckling under my seemingly immense weight. Holding myself up in a simple push up suddenly became akin to trying to stand up with a boulder glued to my back.
Basically, it sucked.
My chin jarred against the hardwood floor as I plopped downwards, but I barely noticed the pain as my teeth crashed together. I simply turned my head to the side and lay with my cheek pressed to smooth, cool wood. My stomach muscles were aching, and I could feel sweat trickling downwards all over me.
A few tears joined the moisture slipping down my face, and I desperately hoped that Fang would mistake them for more sweat. Since the rest of me was sweating, it should only stand to reason that my eyes would be too. Right?
I was only laying there for about five seconds before a strong pair of hands gathered me up like a bedraggled stuffed animal. I fell backwards against Fang's chest, feeling strangely small and frail as he hugged me to him. I'm Max Ride— feeling frail is not something that is common for me. It was really strange, and took me a moment to adjust, but once I was used to it, it actually felt… good.
Yeah, it definitely felt good.
"Ella's okay, Max," Fang whispered, his breath slipping past my ear in a warm cloud. "The doctor said she'll be out of the brace in two weeks. But if you collapse from exhaustion now, your mom won't let you play tomorrow either, we'll be up against the Trojans with you, Ella and Nudge out."
I couldn't help it. I tensed at the sound of Nudge's name.
It hurt, okay? I know I had told her it was fine if she liked Dylan and everything, but that was mostly to get back on her good side. I'm a horrible person, whatever, but to be perfectly honest that Dylan guy just gave me no good vibes whatsoever. I could sense his bad apple-ness almost immediately, and usually I'm not wrong on these character analysis things. So for Nudge to suddenly announce she was dating him right after my mini emotional breakdown was kind of a suckerpunch.
She had known him for all of… what, a day and a half? Wasn't that a bit hasty to start a relationship? Apparently not, in Nudge and Dylan's books. I wonder what kind of crap they read.
Great. Now I was resorting to cracking uselessly corny jokes to keep myself distant from reality. Next thing you know I'll be in Richie's office again, right alongside Iggy as we complain about our problems.
"Max," Fang interrupted my thoughts gently, rocking me back and forth as we sat there in the middle of the living room floor. "You did fifty six push ups just now. I think you should stretch out and cool down."
I nodded wordlessly, my head clipping his chin in its bobbing. Neither of us spoke, but we both knew I wasn't going to move out of Fang's arms. I was perfectly comfortable right here, and I had a sinking suspicion that as soon as he let go of me I'd be cranking out another fifty push ups from sheer stress.
"You're all sweaty," Fang remarked, keeping the one-sided conversation alive. Well, this was a drastic switch of positions. Usually I was the one who spoke and he was all taciturn and Fang-ish.
I shrugged. "Like you said: push ups," I replied simply. "Physical labor usually produces sweat." Unless you're some sort of creeper super human or something, sweat is usually present during push ups.
"Why exactly did you start doing push ups?" Fang inquired, sounding kind of bemused.
I had expected this question, and had been planning out a safe answer for at least four minutes. Hopefully my reply wouldn't raise any more questions from my overly-perceptive boyfriend. "When I get nervous or angry or scared, I have to do something physical," I explained. "Like running laps or… doing push ups. It calms me down, drains my emotion or some crap like that."
I could feel Fang's chin moving slowly against the top of my head as he nodded in response. I felt a bit guilty about leaving something kind of important out of that explanation, but hey! I was having a rough day as it was. I didn't need Fang to find out about my past anger management issues to add to my stress. I hadn't hit anyone in serious anger since fifth grade, and consequently Mom had stopped sending me to crappy therapists when we moved to California. It's not like those idiots ever helped, anyway. I just got angry every now and then, it wasn't like I was depressed or God forbid, suicidal or anything.
Well, I hadn't hit anyone since fifth grade… except for those Flare girls. They had broken my peaceable streak, and if that one action sent me back to therapy, God so help me I would get my revenge.
I could bury the past now, and bury it I would.
"Nervous, angry, or scared," Fang repeated softly. His thoughtful tone broke me out of my thoughts, and I tensed up again. Would he make the connection? "I don't know if I've ever seen you nervous, so I don't know about that," he continued, his arms gripping a little tighter around me. It almost seemed like he was afraid I would try to escape his embrace. "But scared… you just did push ups because you were scared about Ella, and you run laps at school when you're angry."
He didn't connect. My shoulders started relaxing, and I felt relief starting to lap at the tight ball of worry in my chest.
"And you went wild yesterday when Nudge broke her wrist. You took those girls out like they were—"
I didn't let him finish that sentence. Instead I started to struggle against his arms, tried to break free of his hold. What had been so comforting moments before now seemed to constrict my every breath.
He was connecting. Oh God, he was connecting it.
"Max, what's wrong?" Fang asked urgently, tightening his grip on me so I wouldn't flee. "Max! Why are you— stop!"
I couldn't stop. He was going to find out, and he was going to leave me. I knew I shouldn't have trusted my heart with someone. Hadn't Sam taught me that? And Sam hadn't even known about my less-than-perfect past.
Fang would figure it out. He was smarter than Sam, more clever, and so much more perceptive there wasn't even a comparison between the two. Fang would find out every shameful detail of my anger issues, the exact events that happened so long ago that all I could remember were fists, faces, and screams.
Omega, Darla, Jack, and Mike. They were the ones I remembered the most. Fifth grade was hands down the worst year of my life, with no competition whatsoever from any other year. I used to have a crush on Omega, with his blue eyes and perfect blond hair, and his almost scary devotion to baseball. He loved baseball the way I loved soccer, and we could relate easily. Darla was beautiful and sweet, my best friend in the world in Florida. Jack was quiet and sweet, and won my friendship by sharing his cookies with me when I forgot my lunch on the first day of school. And Mike— poor, neglected Mike. He was an orphan, a foster child angry at the world. I was his friend because he needed me, and somehow my eleven year old self had understood that. Mike needed my friendship like Omega had needed baseball, like Darla needed Jack, like Jack needed Mike himself.
But in the end, I was the one who brought everything we had crashing down.
"It was all my fault," I muttered brokenly, still straining against Fang's arms.
His grip didn't falter, keeping me close against him. "What was your fault? What are you talking about?" Fang asked gently.
"I can't tell you!" I snapped, trying to fight the urge to punch him. I couldn't do that. No, I would not sink to that level. Never again.
"Max, just tell me why-"
"Fang," I interrupted desperately. I tried to press all of my urgency into that one word, tried to make him see that I couldn't explain anything. "You don't want to know anything about what I used to do to deal with my anger." My eyes dropped down to my hands, clenched and tight, itching to hit someone or something.
Never again.
"I do want to know, Max," Fang insisted. "I want to help you."
My heart tore a little at that one, I have to admit. "I don't need any help," I replied resolutely. Those damn therapists gave me too much help. I had enough help to last a lifetime— there was no way I needed more. Not even from Fang.
"Max," Fang murmured, tightening his grip on me even further. His voice was strangely comforting and pleading all at once. My fists twitched involuntarily, and a twinge of dread clenched in my stomach.
Hit him.
The thought whispered silkily through my mind, a satin ribbon of danger curling through my head. My tight fists spasmed in response, and a flood of ominously familiar anger crashed through my senses.
Hit him.
My body acted on its own, twisting craftily out of Fang's hold and rolling into a kneeling position several feet away from him. Fang looked at me with shock clear on his face, his arms still stretched out towards me.
Hit him.
The biceps of each arm tightened, muscle clenching almost painfully as I fought the horrible urge to lash out. I couldn't look away from his eyes, couldn't tear my gaze from his surprised face. I loved him. I would not harm Fang.
"Max?" Fang's voice sounded strangely small in my head, dwarfed by the screams of the thoughts begging me to strike him. Vaguely, I registered Mom and Anne still chatting by the front door, the teapot steaming in the kitchen, the soft ticking of the red clock on the wall. It was such a strangely normal setting for such dark thoughts and such a dramatic scene. Shouldn't it be dark and stormy, or something equally as forboding? The emotions roiling on my inside had no comparison whatsoever to the calm, cheerful atmosphere of the room around me. It was as if the world was mocking me, telling me I wasn't important enough for a proper change of scenery.
Fang's voice broke me out of this feverish, rather creative thought process. "Max, what aren't you telling me?" he asked softly. It was as if he was trying to confront a cornered wild animal without frightening it into attacking.
Hit him!
"No!" I screamed suddenly, springing to my feet. My hands flew up in front of me as I slid into into an automatic fighting stance. It was an almost frighteningly comfortable action, as familiar as tying my shoes. No! Why was this happening now? I had been doing so well… I hadn't hit anybody since fifth grade! Anybody!
Except for Veronica and Thirteen. I was losing my cool, and I didn't like it one bit.
The voices of my mom and coach had halted at my yelling, and now all I could hear was the teapot and the clock. Hissing and ticking filled my mind, combined with those horribly appealing urges to lash out at Fang.
I would not hit Fang.
"Max, you're freaking out," Fang informed me seriously, his eyes brimming with concern. "What's wrong? Ella said—" he took a step closer.
Hit him!
"Ella doesn't know anything," I snapped back, my fists clenching as Fang moved into closer proximity. "And you don't need to either."
"I want to know you, Max," Fang replied earnestly. "Just let me—"
"No!" I yelled again, pressing my back to the wall in a futile attempt to distance myself from Fang. "Don't ask about it! Okay? That's all I'm asking you!"
"I can't just ignore it if you're reacting like this!" Fang retorted, his irritation flaring up for a moment. "Tell me what's wrong. I can help." He stepped closer again. My senses went on hyperdrive, and I was quivering with the stress of suppressing those awful thoughts of bashing out my anger and fear on Fang. I was over violence. My fifth grade friends had taught me that lesson well, that violence wouldn't ever answer my problems. It only succeeded in complicating them further. And yet, the thought kept springing, unbidden, to my mind:
Hit him!
My arms sprang out on their own accord, finally succumbing to the dark thoughts wanting to strike. My fists flew toward his chest, aiming for the spots I knew from experience would forcefully knock the breath from his lungs.
Wait, no!
A split second after I had punched forward, something else cried out in my head. This was Fang in front of me, not Omega, not Mike, not anyone else. And I would not hurt Fang. I would not hurt Fang.
I wouldn't hurt him!
My hands opened reflexively at the last second, and instead of punching him hard like initially intended, I managed to soften the blow to a rough, open palmed push. Fang stumbled backward a step, clearly completely thrown by my action.
I was horrified. It didn't matter that I had managed to pull back at the last moment— I had almost hit Fang with the purpose of seriously hurting him. I hadn't changed at all, despite my previously firm belief to the contrary. When the going got tough, I was still depending on my fists. I was still resorting to violence to solve a problem. I was still too easily angered, too easily provoked into hitting someone who didn't deserve it.
I was still a monster.
My hands dropped, trembling, to my sides, and I stared wordlessly at Fang. "I'm so sorry," I croaked out.
He just stared at me, only his eyes conveying the barest hints of the confusion and hurt I knew he was feeling. "You hit me," Fang said simply.
Those three words were like a chop to the windpipe for me. I suddenly couldn't breathe, the world growing brighter and dimmer all at once. I hit him. I said I wouldn't hit anyone, most certainly not Fang, but I had. I had hit him.
Monster.
The word clawed at my mind, demanding recognition. I was nothing more than a bully and a monster, and that was the dead truth of the matter. "You deserve better than me," I whispered, my voice cracking mid sentence. My heart tore at the admission of this painful fact, but I couldn't deny it. I couldn't bring myself to look Fang in the eye as I pulled another one of my patented Maximum Ride reactions to trouble.
Before Fang could say a word, I had whirled past him and was sprinting past Anne and Mom, down the front steps, and out to who knew where. I had to run. My choices were either to stay and get furious or crushed and end up hitting someone else, or run. It was an obvious decision to make.
And the thing that bit deeper than anything else? When I chanced a look over my shoulder, Fang was nowhere in sight. He hadn't come after me. And for whatever reason, this hurt more than anything else.
What did I expect? No one wanted a girlfriend or a best friend with violent anger management issues.
But Fang was supposed to be the exception to the rule. He was supposed to be the one who would always chase me when I tried to run away. He was supposed to catch me when I fell. He was supposed to hold me back from stepping into that metaphorical quicksand.
But he was gone now. And I had the worst, sinking belief in my gut that he would stay gone.
And that's when tears started crashing down my face.
School the next day was absolute hell.
After I had run off, I found myself running that same hidden path that I had stumbled upon in one of my previous blind escapes from Fang. A bitter smile crept onto my face as I realized exactly where I was. It was like my feet were programed to find this exact trail when I was distressed.
I slowed to a walk, gazing around at the lush greenery screening Hidden Path from the rest of the world. It was the perfect hiding place, and I was suddenly glad I had ended up here over anywhere else.
I continuously checked my phone for the time, wondering how soon it would be to safely go home with fear of encountering Fang. The paranoid part of me made me wait a full hour before returning, a full hour of wandering Hidden Path, staring uselessly into space, wishing I had managed to keep my fists under control, and ignoring the constant calls and texts from my worried mom.
There wasn't a single message from Fang.
I had eventually dragged myself home, mumbled some half-baked excuse to my suitably frantic mother, and fell into bed. Sleep was elusive though, and I simply laid in the darkness for hours, staring at the ceiling. The scenes of the afternoon kept replaying in my head, ceaselessly and viciously. Ella hitting the goal post, the fear and dread that had flooded my senses as soon as I saw her crumpled in a heap, the complete emotional shut down I had forced myself to go into to avoid hitting anyone… I blinked, my gaze peppered with the glow in the dark stars that dotted my ceiling.
The trip to the emergency room.
The announcement of Ella's injuries.
The ride home, blurred in my memory from my focus on suppressing the overwhelming urge to bolt away and just keep running.
Helping Ella to bed, watching as her tear streaked face relaxed and she fell into a peaceful sleep.
And of course, my little scene with Fang.
When I blinked again, my vision became strangely foggy, and the stars elongated into twinkling blobs. Only when I felt the wetness on my skin did I realize tears were sliding down my face. It was almost impossible for me to stifle the sob that threatened to tear my chest open, but I managed it. Just barely.
Soft clicking sounds from the hallway stirred me from my thoughts, and I tensed momentarily. Was Mom coming to check on me? I moved so my head was covered by blankets, effectively shielding any teary eyed evidence.
The clicking got louder, accompanied by a light jingling that sounded vaguely like car keys clinking together. I listened as the clicking and clinking approached my bed, pausing for a moment before leaping up to land on my covers. The perpetrator trotted over my shoulder and nestled into the space under my neck, licking my wet cheek with a small, rough tongue. He tucked his little black head into my body, whined softly, and licked my face again.
Getting a dog was the best decision Mom ever made.
"I love you Total," I whispered, stroking his soft little doggy ears with trembling fingers. Total nudged me gently with his wet nose, and I couldn't help but let another tear slip from my eyes. This was the companionship I needed. Someone who wouldn't ask questions I couldn't answer, someone who would cuddle into me and just be there. I lay there with my arms around my dog and tears stinging my eyes for a long time.
You deserve better than me, I told him. And he did. Fang deserved so much better than a moody girl who used her fists when she was too angry or upset to act properly. I couldn't help but remember something Terra had said to me once.
"You're Max Ride, the hot new chick at Cromwell who managed to befriend THE Fang Rianild in less than a week. The amazing athlete who outstripped Gazzy Richards without trying. The girl who sailed easily onto the soccer team with barely a ripple her freshman year, and the one all the guys are drooling over. You have haters, Max, actual haters! Do you know why? Because you're so damn perfect!"
If only she could see me now, that 'perfect' outer layer stripped away to reveal a crying girl clutching her dog for dear life. Terra didn't know as much as she thought she did about me. She didn't know about the things I had done in fifth grade. She didn't know about the therapists, about the real reason I had those strange black moods that only wore off when I ran. She only saw who I tried to be, not the girl from the past I was desperately trying to fend off from returning. And that was the way I liked it.
"You won't tell anyone I was crying, will you Total?" I whispered, pressing my lips to his furry black head.
He didn't reply, obviously. My weakness was safe with my dog, at least. I stared at the clock on my nightstand, wondering vaguely if I would ever fall asleep.
The last time I remember glowing on my clock face was 3:28 AM.
Morning came all too fast. I dragged myself out of bed, somehow dressing myself and finding my way downstairs without any coherent thought in the matter. Ella couldn't understand why I was so exhausted and moody. Thankfully, she just figured I was in another one of my trademarked Max moods, and I could just run the whole thing off later and become normal again.
If only, Ella. If only.
Mom seemed to know better than my sister, though. She gave me a cup of hot cocoa smothered in whipped cream, and I saw her slipping a bag of her special chocolate chip cookies into my lunch bag. She didn't say anything about these two occurences, but I knew my mom was worried about me.
I slinked into homeroom as late as I possibly could, wanting to avoid all unnecessary contact with Fang. When I finally plucked up my courage and slipped into the seat beside him, he didn't say a word. We sat in silence for a minute, listening to announcements drone on and on. Then Fang turned in his seat to look at me, and I knew I was in trouble.
"Why did you run?" he asked simply, his dark eyes boring a hole through my head.
I didn't respond, simply staring straight ahead. What could I say? That I didn't ever want to talk about what he obviously was itching to know?
"Max, I know you're listening," Fang continued, his voice soft but persistent. "Please answer."
"I can't tell you," I whispered, feeling my voice crack and wobble as it traveled up my dry throat.
"Why not?" Fang asked, his voice laced with an almost undetectable hurt. "Don't you trust me?"
"More than anyone," I murmured, hugging myself tightly to keep from bolting out of my seat. "But I still can't tell you."
"Why not?" Fang repeated. "You aren't making sense, Max."
Anger flared up in my chest, lighting the soggy mess of emotions bottled there into a suddenly roaring flame. I clenched my fists tightly, focusing on the sharp little pains of my fingernails digging through my palms. I wouldn't get angry again. I couldn't let Monster Max win again. I was over that, she was a thing of the past. "Fang," I breathed, trying to keep my voice soft and even. "Can you please drop it? Please?"
Fang's eyebrows furrowed. "This is important. I'm not going to let you pretend nothing is wrong," he informed me.
"What if I want to pretend?" I asked carefully, praying that something, anything, would cut off this conversation.
"You can't do that to yourself," Fang replied simply. "It's only going to hurt you."
"I can deal with it," I assured him. "You don't need to get wrapped up in a little problem of mine."
"Little problem? Max, you've kept this secret from your own sister," Fang retorted. "What's so bad that you won't even tell Ella the whole truth?"
"Maybe I don't want my sister to think I'm a monster," I croaked, trying to keep my voice down and not attract the attention of any of our classmates. "Maybe I don't want you to think I'm a monster."
"I'm never going to think that," Fang replied instantly. "Max… I love you. How could I ever think you're a bad person?"
Tears pricked at my eyes again, and I blinked furiously in an attempt to get rid of them. I refused to cry anymore, and certainly not with Lissa sitting in front of me. "You would if I told you everything," I whispered.
"I can make my own decision on that… if you told me what's wrong," Fang reasoned.
I didn't reply. I couldn't tell him. Not in the middle of a full classroom, not with a Queen Bitch who hated me waiting to exploit anything bad about me she could sink her claws into. I didn't say anything else to Fang for the rest of homeroom, or on the walk to the science room. And when that class ended, I bolted out the door before Fang could even rise from his seat.
For once, PE did not help me feel better. We ran laps for most of the period, and although I sprinted as hard as I could, nothing melted the shard of ice stuck firmly through my chest.
Iggy was as quiet as I was during history, and although neither of us were called to Richie's office, neither of us were in good spirits either. He stared uselessly ahead of him, chin propped in his hands and lost in thought. I kept my eyes trained on the board, and although I probably appeared attentive, I didn't hear a word Ms. Hell said the whole period.
Iggy and I stood up wordlessly the instant the bell rang, heading to the door and out into the bustling hallway. Iggy was still preoccupied, a little frown creasing his forehead and his stride more careless than normal. It seemed like it wouldn't matter to him if he crashed into a wall, if only he could solve the problem he had been worrying over the entire period of history. I didn't bother him with conversation, knowing exactly how he was feeling.
Iggy led the way to the cafeteria, carving a path through the crowd with his usual scarily effortless precision. We fell onto the bench next to Gazzy, none of us speaking as we opened our lunches and started to eat. I didn't know what to say to anyone right now. All I could hope was that I could successfully avoid Fang for the rest of the lunch period. I had no clue how I would manage to ignore him in art class, but I figured I would wing it when I got there.
Gazzy was acting uncharacteristically moody too today, but I didn't question his silence. After all, I had no place to critique someone else's attitude when my own stank to high heaven. At least Gazzy didn't beat up his best friends to take his anger ou-
I shook my head vigorously. That thinking would get me nowhere fast. Those memories belonged in the past, not here.
"Hey guys!" The perky voice chirping behind me belonged to Terra, but I didn't look up as she slid onto the bench beside Gazzy.
"Hey Terrs," Iggy greeted her tonelessly.
"Hi," was my own short addition.
Gazzy just stared down at the sandwich in his hands, not saying a word.
Terra frowned. "What's up with you guys?" she asked curiously. "Did someone die?"
Iggy shrugged. I just shook my head wearily. "Not that I know of," I sighed.
Gazzy still didn't respond. It appeared that he found his sandwich to be extremely interesting.
Terra's eyebrows shot up, and she looked at us skeptically. "I swear that it feels like a funeral right here," she announced. "Bad vibes, bad vibes. Hey, there's Nudge! She'll perk things up! Nudge! C'mere!" Terra stood up and motioned for Nudge to come join us.
Almost simultaneously, Gazzy and I snapped to attention, searching for the girl in question. There she was, hand in hand with none other than Dylsn Gunther and smiling brightly as the new couple walked towards our table.
"Hey, what's up?" Nudge greeted us cheerfully. "Gaz, you know Dylan, right?"
Gazzy stiffened, his eyes locked on Dylan. "Yeah," he replied shortly. "I've seen you around."
Dylan smiled at Gazzy, flashing that toothpaste commercial smile. "Hey, aren't you that soccer prodigy I've heard so much about?" Dylan asked genially. "From what I've heard, you're pretty much a god on the field."
Gazzy just stared up at him, his eyes flitting blankly between Dylan and Nudge. Then he stood abruptly, almost knocking over Terra's milk carton as he did so. "I have to go," he murmured, slinging his legs over the bench. "Bye guys."
"Wait, Gazzy," Terra tried to say, looking after him in disappointment.
Gazzy had already disappeared in the swirling crowds of the cafeteria.
"I wonder what was up with him," Dylan remarked casually. His disturbingly bright turquoise eyes lit on me, and his smile brightened ten notches. "Hey Max! What's up?" he asked, sounding genuinely glad to see me.
I copied Gazzy's actions here, simply staring up at Dylan and Nudge. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him or argue with Nudge, not after my fight with Fang yesterday and my restless night. I was utterly drained. "Gazzy and I have to…" I trailed off, trying to think up a good excuse while I slowly stood up and inched off the bench.
Absolutely nothing suitable came to mind.
Screw this. "Bye," I said quickly, not even bothering to finish my first sentence. With that, I snatched my lunch from the tabletop and hurried off out of the cafeteria.
"But Max!" Terra called behind me, sounding confused. With a twang of guilt, I ignored her call and simply forged ahead until the noise of the cafeteria swallowed up her voice.
But guess who I had to bang into?
I crashed into someone in my blind rush to get away from Dylan and Nudge, someone I definitely didn't want to see right now. But destiny hates me, and no matter what that Hunger Games chick says, the odds are never in my favor. So obviously the person I collided with was none other than—
"Hi Max," I said, as blandly and coldly as possible.
Max II, who had staggered backwards from the force of our collision, started to smirk. "Max," he greeted me cordially. "Long time no see. But must we always so literally bump into each other like this?"
I shrugged, wanting to get away from him as soon as I could. "It's fate," I replied blankly. "Good bye."
As I started to move away again, j could hear Max II call out, "Good luck in your game today, Max! You're going to need it against Frida!"
As I forged away, I couldn't help but wonder a bit at Max II's strange farewell. Who the hell was Frida?
Art class was a very tense and uncomfortable affair.
Why wouldn't it be? After all, Fang and I weren't exactly on good terms right now. I still hadn't wanted to answer any of his questions, so instead of sitting in the empty chair he always reserved for me, I slid into a desk in the back corner of the room.
Even though I didn't want to, I couldn't help but catch his eye to gauge his reaction. Fang was turned in his chair and looking straight at me, a hint of hurt tinting his impassive expression. My heart panged, but I forced myself to stay in my seat. Fang would want to talk about the cause of my little scene yesterday again, and I could not handle that discussion right now.
"Hey Max!" A tall blond someone greeted me cheerfully as they claimed the empty seat beside me. "What's up?"
"I'm not really in the mood to talk to you, Gunther," I replied dully. My eyes were still locked on Fang, even though he had already turned back to face the front of the room. I just couldn't seem to look away from him. Why couldn't he accept that I didn't want to talk about my past? I hadn't pressed on him about those weird-ass scars on his stomach, after all. And I had never even mentioned how his mom told us he and Iggy had been attacked, even though I was dying to know Fang's side of the story on that one.
Dylan nodded sympathetically, drawing me out of my thoughts and back to the conversation. He was acting like he understood, although he obviously didn't. "Nudge said you were upset," Dylan informed me. "I hope it doesn't have anything to do with me asking her out…?"
I shook my head stiffly, irritated that he had guessed the other, smaller reason for my moodiness. "Nudge can do what she wants," I replied tightly. "I can't stop her from dating you." Although, I wished I could.
Dylan nodded again. "That makes sense," he commented. "So I guess I'll be seeing more of you while I'm going out with Nudge?"
Hold the phone. What did he say? I cast Dylan a suspicious look, wondering if his words were meant to hold the meaning I had perceived them to have. "What are you trying to say?" I demanded.
My obvious wariness of his remark made Dylan backpedal furiously. "I'm just saying that since you and Nudge are good friends, I might be around more," he revised hastily. "You know, hanging out with your group."
"I know," I replied shortly. Unfortunately, I had already realized this and forced myself to be resigned to the fate. But why was Dylan pointing this out to me? Was he insinuating that he wanted to hang out with me more? He wasn't going out with Nudge to get to me, was he?
Damn, I over-analyze way too much. Dylan wouldn't date Nudge to hang out with me. That's just messed up. Even with my strong dislike for the guy, I don't think he would stoop that low.
Dylan and I didn't speak again for the rest of the period. Ms. Rykitel was lecturing about some painting by Degas and how we were supposed to imitate his style in the front of the room, but I only vaguely heard what she was saying. I had a soccer game in only two hours, and I had gotten three and a half hours of sleep last night, used far too much energy trying to run off some of my resurfacing memories in PE, and barely eaten anything at lunch. I was gonna suck.
And Anne was gonna be pissed.
Dammit.
"She didn't tell him?"
"No. Apparently she's trying to keep it as secret as possible."
"That makes sense, but you would think that their connection would make her feel safer telling him."
"So you might think."
The two men fell silent, studying the files in front of them. "So all of our plans are put into action?" the first man confirmed.
"Yes. The first of the attacks has been launched, and it was a bonus that her sister also sustained an injury. Also, our other operative has set his orders in motion, and the third operative will be in action in approximately two hours."
"Excellent."
"So what are we going to do about the women protecting her? There's three now."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let's sit back and watch the show play out, shall we?"
"Of course, sir."
hehe, sorry this took so long. I was up past midnight every night for the past two weeks doing homework and crap. -_-" and I had a hard time figuring out exactly what would happen between Max and Fang, and I'm still not completely satisfied... any thoughts?
also, does this story appear to have a plot to you? I have to admit that I'm very curious to see what it looks like to someone who doesn't know all of my thoughts and dilemmas about the story...
Review and enlighten me! I'll love you forever! XD
~TMI~