Chapter 12: An Untapped Resource

Kaitlyn's POV

Things between me and Warren change after I've told him everything about my home life, but simultaneously they barely change at all; we still spend most of our time together, though that now includes going to his house just less than every evening where neither of us are needed at work, and our conversation topics and joint activities at school are still the same. But the openness I felt with him before has now expanded exponentially, the doors I'd achingly held closed against the rot of my home life now wide open for him to look through if he wants to. He rarely asks me direct questions about my home life, but the knowledge that I can tell him anything if he does ask is liberating beyond words. Well, almost anything; I'm still not telling him how Speed and Lash are age-old bullies of mine who lurk nearby Daisy Bank. That's a whole other mess I need to figure out on my own, so that I can watch their stupid faces as they discover they can no longer trample me underfoot.

I spend as much time as I can round Warren's house. Conscious of their financial situation, I offer to contribute to groceries, given how much I'm eating round there, but Michelle won't hear any of it. So often I "just happen" to have small fresh items in my bag like onions, veg, even meat when I go round. I'm pretty sure both Warren and Michelle can see right through my ruse, given the knowing smiles and secret eye rolls, but neither of them tells me to stop, so I'm happy to be of some help at least.

The times at Warren's house are filled with love and acceptance, whether to the soundtrack of joyous and exuberant laughter or simple companionable silence. My love of music is revealed to Michelle before long, so usually there's some music being played as background music to whatever activity we're doing. Once, when I was getting lost in the music, I hadn't realised that Michelle had gradually turned the music up – so that I would get more lost in it – then gradually turned it down again. When I realised I was singing louder than the music and self-consciously asked her why she was looking at me, she said that I had a "wonderful and incredible" singing voice. I'm sure she's just being nice, but I find myself singing more when she's around now, for her enjoyment, and I even catch Warren pausing in whatever he's doing to listen to me. When I notice him, his smile widens slightly, then seems to remember something and ducks his head, returning to his task gruffly.

I guess that's something that's changed slightly, now that I think about it; in moments of closeness between us, Warren quickly ends it and moves the moment onward. I don't mind it too much, but it feels like he's deliberately wrenching himself away when he does it, and I can't figure out why. I can't help but feel just a tiny bit snubbed; after all the effort we've both expended to tear down the walls we put up for other people, there's still something he obviously can't tell me. Only the reminder of how great our relationship is in spite of this, and of how I'm still keeping a secret from him, too, stops me from asking him about it and trying to find out what I've done wrong.

Anyway, Warren and I decide to skip our lunchtime training session today – apparently he's really impressed with my progress – so we resume our normal discussing schoolwork routine before the others get released for their lunch. I meet them as they collect their lunch, and we start to look around for a table.

"Guys! Guys!"

We look around for the familiar voice, and spot Will sitting with the Pink Wonder and her posse. Goosebumps immediately prickle on the back of my neck, but I grip my tray to steel myself as I follow the others towards the table.

"Is that Will? Sitting with Gwen Grayson?" I can't tell if Magenta is just confused or also disdainful.

"The man aims high, you gotta give him that."

No, Zach. No, I really don't.

We reach the table and Layla smiles down at the seniors. In response, however, the duplicating one fills every free seat with copies of herself. As I blink in shock and outrage, she smiles fake-sweetly at us all.

"Sorry, all full."

I flick my gaze down at Will, waiting for him to call his new friend out on her behaviour, but he just glances up at us, shrugging apologetically. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end for a completely different reason now, and I'm about to rip into everyone at the table for being either vindictive and shallow to openly commit such irrational injustice or spineless to not immediately call it out when Layla speaks up, her casual tone obviously forced.

"That's okay," she says. No! No, it's not! "I think I see an empty table over there. C'mon, guys."

Ignoring the stares of the other people on that table, I lock eyes with Will and spear him with a solid "you screwed up" look. The tray edges bow under my hands as I follow Layla over to the empty table. Finding my seat, I place my tray down harder than usual, throwing my bag roughly under the table. Grabbing the cutlery, I mix the rice and curry on my plate together in great globs, then shovel it in my mouth, glaring a hole in the dish. I'm simultaneously unsurprised and shocked and infuriated by Will's behaviour; I could see the direction he was going in, gradually spending less time with his friends and more time with the Pink Wonder, and yet to just leave them to obvious blatant bullying and exclusion is an unprecedented low for him.

"Uh, Kaitlyn?"

I jerk my head up to look at Ethan sat opposite me, and he smiles sheepishly as he points to the drinks bottles of everyone on the table. They must have noticed it happening and intervened, because the caps are off each of the bottles. The liquid isn't jumping, but steam is very clearly escaping from all of them. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, then blow out the tension in my shoulders, the figurative bad taste in my mouth, and the heat from each of my friends' drinks as a refrigerator might. Calm guilt replacing my energetic outrage, I open my eyes and frown at my friends.

"Sorry."

"No worries," Zach shrugs and smiles mercifully easily. "I just didn't want it to blow up in my face. Also, warm orange juice is gross."

Magenta huffs a laugh before looking at me meaningfully. "We don't need 'em."

I half-smile at her. "Damn straight."

My mood can't be improved much though as that whole interaction plays on repeat in my mind. Somehow, I find my gaze drifting to a particular part of the cafeteria. Warren glares at Will silently from over a textbook before he realises I'm watching him, and he softens his expression. His eyebrows raise in a silent question, though I can't tell whether he's asking what the hell that was about or whether I'm okay, so I just give a non-committal shrug in response to either question before aggressively spearing my food again.

The rest of lunch passes without any further drama of the senior variety or the boiling drinks variety. As we make our way to our respective lockers to put our books away, however, the lingering irritation from the exchange drags a sharp sigh from me as I reach mine. The bright and colourful poster on the door of my locker, announcing the approaching homecoming event and informing me I should hurry and get a date, makes me scoff in annoyance and disgust. Of course I'm not going to homecoming; it's just going to be full of entitled kings and queens like the ones at that table. Besides, going on your own is just sad, and Warren sure as hell won't be going to something so nauseating.

My locker door clatters against the one next to me as I don't catch it after opening it overenthusiastically, my mind short-circuiting at the thought that just passed through my mind. Why did I automatically think of Warren when I thought of a homecoming date? He's just a friend. A really good friend, definitely, but still just a friend. But friends can go to homecoming with each other, right? Just because they're called a 'date' doesn't have to mean anything. But would Warren think that way, or would he interpret it as a date-date? Ugh, this is all just a useless thought experiment anyway given that neither of us will be going!

Slamming my locker shut, I push a forceful breath through my nose. Closing my eyes and leaning my forehead against the door, I suddenly pick up familiar voices.

Will sounds uncomfortable. Good. "No, you know, that table…Penny was being –"

"Please, not a big deal." Dammit, Layla, yes, it is! Stop putting yourself down.

"No, no, it is," Will rightfully insists. "And I feel bad, so let me make it up to you. Maybe tonight we can go to The Paper Lantern?"

"But you hate Chinese food."

"But you don't."

For the first time in almost a half hour, I grin. Smooth, Will. Very smooth.

Layla is obviously similarly impressed, given the smile in her voice. "Paper Lantern, eight o' clock."

I have just enough time to feel happy that she sounds like her old self again when a panicked "Will!" to my left makes me look up. Just in time to see Lash drag Ethan back towards him to be crammed in a locker. I run towards them, joined by Will and Layla arriving from the corridor to the right, and Will gets between Speed and Lash, grabbing our friend and glancing at the two dipshits. Said dipshits obviously decide Ethan isn't so much of an easy target anymore, so release their captive. Will pats him on the back as he joins us. Speed and Lash lean back casually against the lockers, but one of them has something clearly glowing brightly and chiming softly inside. I clench my fists, but Will just raises his eyebrows pointedly and gestures to the locker.

"Zach, too," he demands.

The bastards have the gall to look irritated and put out, and dawdle a little too long with deciding to actually comply; I stride forward with an ice crowbar already in my hands. Before I get close enough to force the door though, Lash pushes me aggressively back so I stumble a few steps. I'm about to smash my crowbar across his stupid head when he wrenches the locker door open. Zach extracts himself from the space that's obviously too small for a guy his height, and glares at Speed and Lash.

"Not so tough when my boy's around, are you?"

I'm sorry, your 'boy'? And what about me?

"Man," Lash scoffs, "you just think you're so big and bad, huh, Stronghold?"

'Stronghold'? Am I invisible here?!

"N-no, I –."

"Please!" Ethan interrupts. "Will would totally take you!"

While Speed and Lash make dismissive gestures, Zach joins in: "Yeah, you saw what happened to Warren? You want a piece of that?"

Will looks between both his friends in alarm.

"You better watch it, Stronghold, or that big mouth is gonna get you in a lot of trouble," Speed sneers.

Will laughs awkwardly. "I didn't say anything."

He might as well have not said anything then, either. "Why don't we settle this in PE?"

"Settle what?" Will tries again.

"You're on!" Ethan answers for him. "If Will beats you in Save the Citizen, you lay off the sidekicks for the rest of the year."

"Yeah, and if he loses you can dunk Ethan's head in the toilet every day until graduation," Zach offers.

"Yeah!" Ethan agrees enthusiastically before regarding Zach in horror. "Huh?"

"You got yourself a deal," Lash says, and Speed slams the locker menacingly while Ethan groans at Zach. Will unsuccessfully tries to call after the assholes, but they completely ignore him.

Exactly like how I was ignored. Throughout that whole exchange, not one person remembered that I'm actually a threat, too. Not my enemies, not my friends, no one seemed to know I was even there.

My apparent invisibility makes something inside me blaze into an uncontainable heat, and as Will huffs and groans about a potential encounter in PE, I snap, smacking a fist against a locker and making them all jump and stare at me with wide eyes.

"Goddammit, Will, stop being such a coward! All that work I've done to help you study fights and think of better strategies, has that all been for nothing? Also, who even cares about statistics and odds? You've been given an opportunity not just to take those bastards down a peg but to also improve the daily lives of more than half the population in this school, and you don't want to take it?! How about you think about someone other than yourself for a second, look this whole bullying situation in the eye, and take your chance to do something about it!"

A water fountain a few feet away erupts, but before a single drop can hit the ground, I freeze the whole thing. Not as in I turn it to ice, I just stop the whole stream of water. And it stops because I told it to. I don't give it any other choice and don't allow any room for discussion. So it hangs, this jet of water, suspended in the air. With my spare hand, I gesture to a nearby valve on the water pipe, freezing a bit of ice on the valve wheel and manipulating that to turn the pressure off. Once I feel the pressure die down in the pipe, I force the jet of water back into the pipe, then seal it with some ice.

Ignoring the stunned gazes from the whole silent corridor, I take a deep breath, then storm off in the direction of the sports hall.

ЖЖЖ

After changing in awkward silence with Magenta and Layla, I'm surprised to hear my phone buzz. It's a fairly new acquisition, a second-hand thing, and something that I absolutely keep secret from the infestation at Daisy Bank. I don't use it much though, and only a few people know my number. Opening it up, I blink at the name Warren Peace showing a new message.

"Staff are fixing up a fountain that didn't spill a drop despite being straight wrecked. Your handiwork?"

I sigh, rubbing my fingers over my eyes before replying.

"Yeah, both the wrecking and the lack of spillage. Are they seriously pissed?"

"Nah, they're at a school of supers. They're pretty used to this sort of crap."

My lips quirk half-heartedly. I'm about to put my phone away when it buzzes again.

"Everything okay?"

Shockingly, my eyes sting and my vision begins to swim just slightly. I swallow against the rock suddenly lodged in my throat and try not to let my breath shake as I exhale. He knew something must have happened for the fountain to explode like it did, and he's checking up on me. When was the last time someone made the effort to ask if I was okay?

I type out a number of answers, but most of them end with me brushing off what happened, which doesn't feel right, so I delete them. In the end, the urgency of PE class starting and my inexplicable need to be honest with him makes me type out something quickly.

"Something stupid happened in the hallway and I let it get to me. Just a lot of thoughts in my head is all."

I really wish I could stick around to see if or how he replies, but the demanding sound of Boomer's voice from the hall forces me to put it away and lock my bag in my sports locker. I run out onto the bleachers to sit with the rest of the group, and Magenta smiles at me, only slightly uneasily. Will avoids my eyes altogether. I sigh heavily, torn between feeling guilty as usual and frustrated, still riding the adrenaline high of that sense of righteousness I felt earlier.

My irritation only grows as I watch multiple 'hero' teams get completely annihilated by Speed and Lash, their ego obviously growing with every victory. As the third mannequin gets shredded, I'm having to sit on my hands to stop them cramping in fist shapes.

"Ramirez, Hamilton," Boomer drones from his umpire's chair, "your citizen has just been mulched because you failed to defeat your villains."

As the defeated pair leave the field, he turns to the assholes. "Alright, next fight. Speed, Lash, you want to be heroes or villains?"

"Villains," Speed chuckles.

"Ooh, there's a surprise," Boomer mutters as he marks something on his clipboard. Can he seriously not see the danger here? If he isn't surprised by these two choosing to play villains, then why can't he see the issue with that?

"Alright, who do you want to beat next?" Oh, wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, coach.

The pair nod to each other meaningfully. "We'll take little Stronghold."

Will's shoulders sag in disappointment, even as Zach pats him enthusiastically on the shoulder. I scowl down at him, giving him the slightest nudge with foot.

"And we pick Peace."

And just like that, my anger is snuffed out. My breath catches in my throat and I stare into my lap with wide eyes before jerking my gaze up and searching wildly for him. He looks dark, dangerous and menacing as he glares at the arena while he stands, but it just feels wrong. Even as Will rises to get prepped for the fight, my eyes stay locked on Warren. Why did those assholes pick him? Why did it have to be him? Obviously, they want to take the opportunity to humiliate him, playing off the fact that he and Will hate each other so they won't work as an effective team but…I don't want him to fight. I don't know why, but I just really, really don't want him to fight.

As he rolls his shoulders under the pads, he looks up to Boomer as the coach calls attention. But his dark eyes drift easily to me as I sit nearby. Without realising it, one of my fists is now clenched over the centre of my chest, my breath stuck and my heart raging underneath it. I have no idea what expression my face is making, but horror may be somewhere in there. Those damn eyes take in my whole state, and, for whatever reason, his face softens, the tiniest smile pulling up the corners of his mouth and melting his eyes. My heart and breath stutter again as I inhale, but I swallow and force myself to nod almost imperceptibly, hoping to display even an iota of the calm he has now.

But his eyes harden again as he notices Will waving to the Pink Wonder.

"Hey!" he snaps. "Get your head in the game."

Boomer continues as if the outburst didn't happen. "You have three minutes to immobilise your opponents, and save the citizen."

Another mannequin drops from a rope above the spike pit, but this one seems to be some sort of creepy animatronic with an awful voice to boot. Will and Warren turn towards the villains as the countdown starts.

"Ready, set, battle!"

Speed and Lash start the fight with what seems to be their signature and irritatingly effective move; Lash stretches his arm out to act as a bungee rope to propel Speed forward, who then darts around the arena like a giant pinball, battering anything in the way. In turn, he knocks first Will then Warren flying into the air. Will hits the wall panels while a piece of fake landscape crumples under Warren as he collapses on it. Fists clenched again, I glare daggers at Speed as he continues to blur around the arena, but Warren abates my anger as he easily pulls himself up and hurls the ruins of the prop over the wall, staring down Lash. Before he can react though, the asshole stretches his arms out and wraps them around Warren's arms, pinning them to his side as his captive bares his teeth.

"Ha! What now, Peace?" Lash jeers at him.

Burn him, I whisper dangerously in my mind.

As if he heard me, Warren ignites his arms, and Lash quickly pulls back as he exclaims in pain, whining to Boomer. I grin darkly at Lash's comeuppance, and as Warren adjusts his stance again, he catches sight of my expression and smirks similarly at the asshole, too.

Meanwhile, Will has been laser-focused on the citizen, foolishly continuing to try and reach the pit area while Speed knocks him back every single time as he zips around the arena. Eventually though, Will has obviously had enough; he sets his jaw, jumps in the air slightly, then drives his fist into the ground as he lands again. My eyes widen as a shockwave ripples through the floor, destabilising anything it encounters.

Dammit, Will, teamwork! You didn't warn Warren!

Just as I'm about to shout a warning though, Warren barely glances behind him then backflips over the incoming wave. My jaw drops as he lands easily, barely fazed.

"Since when could he do that?!" I cry, laughing in disbelief.

Magenta frowns at me briefly. "I guess he must train or something."

I'm about to reply that of course he trains, before remember just in time that only I know that, and no one else would understand my outrage that he hasn't taught me that move yet. So I mutter a non-answer, feeling weirdly lonely all of a sudden.

But the sight of both Speed and Lash getting flung into the air perks me up again. Speed, the lucky asshole, manages to grab onto a prop as he's flying, and rights himself by the time he hits the ground. Lash, on the other hand, lands satisfyingly heavily on a fake bench, and I cheer with the rest of the stadium. Will wastes no time, striding right up to the prone villain and picking him up before he can recover. Pinning him against a lamppost, Will starts pulling on Lash's limbs and folding them around and through each other until the asshole is tied securely to the lamppost, his limbs unable to free themselves from their knots. I roar with laughter with the group, wonderfully fulfilled at seeing one of these jerks finally put in a vulnerable position as they love to do with me and so many other people. Speed tries multiple times to get Will away from his teammate, but Warren is always there, hurling volleys of fire around Will to discourage Speed from getting too close.

That's how it's done!

When Speed recognises he's not going to be able to save his teammate, he resorts to just racing around the arena, and for all he tries, Warren can't keep up with him as he throws his fire. He snarls as he misses again, then shouts to Will, who's busy admiring his handiwork.

"Hey! Save the citizen!"

Will rushes towards the centre pit, where the mannequin dangles dangerously close to the spinning blades. But as he reaches the pit, Speed hurtles straight at Warren. Warren flares up in preparation for a collision but Speed swerves at the last minute and starts dashing in a tight circle around Warren. Pretty soon, the flames that he called up start to dissipate, but it doesn't look like he dismissed them intentionally. I frown.

Why…? Wait, with Speed whirling around at that rate, he's creating a vortex, which sucks upwards and would deprive any flame of –.

Just as the horrifying answer hits me, Warren clutches at his throat begins to sink to the floor with an expression I've never seen on his face before: panic. A similar emotion rises in me in response, accompanied by a fierce column of internal fire. I leap to my feet.

"He's suffocating him!" I screech, outraged.

Immediately, every molecule of water in the room is arcing towards my hands, and I freeze it into a blunt javelin. Just as I hurl it at the blur currently killing someone very important to me, the people around me pull me down, begging me not to get involved, not to do something so reckless, not to pick a fight with the two bastards in the arena, and it shatters uselessly on the arena floor as my aim is thrown off. I thrash against their hands and yell over their pleas, my eyes glued to the young man now lying completely prone on the floor as no one does anything to help him!

Except an average-height kid in the arena who looks like his protective pads are way too big for him. He walks up to the blur, and slowly – so damn slowly – plucks someone out of it. The blur stops, and this smaller kid is holding up some idiot whose limbs keep moving super speed even though he's not moving himself. So the kid sets him down gently pointed away from him, and the blur returns…to run smack into some striped idiot. The kid then picks Warren up. He doesn't help him up like I expect him to, though; he actually picks him up, one hand holding his shoulder pads, the other holding the base of his body pad. Then his senses obviously just leave him, as he throws his partner over the spike pit. Warren grabs hold of something hanging over it, then rolls to a stop on the other side of the pit.

As I breathe a sigh of relief at his safe landing, the stadium erupts into cheers, including the people around me. Throngs of the audience start to flood the arena in celebration. Will runs over to Warren and holds out a hand to him to help him up, but Warren sneers in distaste, pushing himself to his feet and stalking out of the arena. Everyone else completely ignores him, and I scoff in disbelief as they fawn and crow over Will. As soon as I realise Will isn't even going to come over to celebrate with his friends, I push myself from my seat and head straight for the changing rooms, intending to quickly change then ambush Warren when he leaves.

Before I can reach the doors though, a hand clamps around my shoulder and half-drags me out a side-door, bypassing the changing rooms and going straight out into the corridor. As soon as the door is closed and privacy is achieved, my shoulder is released as I'm spun violently until I'm looking up into the furious face of Boomer.

"You were way over the line with that stunt, Rivers!" he fumes. "You weren't one of the contestants, so you didn't have my permission to use your powers, plus that was a stupidly dangerous move!"

"Dangerous?" I shoot back, voice already raised and fists already clenched. "I was being dangerous? My javelin was blunted so, if it hit, Speed would have felt exactly the same as if someone punched him. Nothing that doesn't happen in that arena. That jackass was killing one of your students, under your watch! Don't you think you should have done something about that damn danger?"

"These sorts of situations come up in real fights," he narrows his eyes. "My classes are about training you to prepare for those eventualities."

"Sure, but there's a limit!" I shout. "Like, maybe, I don't know, before they start to pass out from asphyxiation!"

"It was controlled danger," he insists firmly. "You think I'm new to this job? You think I don't know when to call things to a stop?"

"Do you even know what happens when you're asphyxiating?" I snap. "Your brain is starved of oxygen! It doesn't take long before brain cells start to die off, the damage of which could be permanent!"

"And the likelihood of which is very small!"

"Not to mention the psychological damage from the experience," I continue as if he hadn't interrupted. "From what I've heard, your body is obviously telling you that you're not getting enough air but your brain knows that there's nothing obstructing your airways, so your brain gets really confused. The result is this insurmountable panic that something isn't right and you can't do anything to correct it! Can you imagine what that sort of experience does to a person regarding future fears of when something covers their mouth or they're in enclosed spaces?"

"Don't preach at me with that psychological crap, Rivers!"

"This is real!"

"Okay, okay," a soft, placating deep voice cuts into our verbal skirmish, and a set of hands holds my right shoulder and left arm, gentler than Boomer's earlier.

"Let me deal with this, coach," the voice implores. "Please, don't write her up or anything."

Boomer glares at me one last time before he whirls and strides away. The hands hold me tighter as I fight to free myself, though the voice tries futilely to calm me down. As I'm dragged to a private corner of the corridor, I throw an elbow behind me, hard. I hear an "Oof! Dammit" as I hit something solid, but the hands never loosen until we're fully around the corner. When I'm released, I whirl around to confront the one who dragged me away from that argument.

"Well, at least I know I don't need to work on your elbow strike."

And there he is. Stood before me, still in his ridiculous PE kit, and rubbing the side of his stomach with a rueful grin. How is he able to smile so easily after everything that happened? And yet, one look at those eyes and at that smile, and the burning pillar of flame inside me immediately dies down to embers. I bring a hand to my mouth as my sobs start, but as my tears begin to flow, I cover my whole face with both hands, before giving up completely and flinging my arms around his torso and burying my face in his PE shirt. The energy I had before – the energy that told me to fight or yell at something – now comes bursting out in huge twitching gasps. He stiffens at first, caught off guard by my violent emotions, but soon envelopes me in his strong arms, resting his face on top of my head. Just like the first time, he doesn't hurry my tears along. He simply lets me expend that extra energy, that restlessness, stroking my hair occasionally. Once I'm merely sniffling, he lowers his lips nearer my ear.

"Kaitlyn," he murmurs, "what's really wrong?"

Fresh tears squeeze their way out of my eyes and I choke on another sob at his unbearably tender tone. Of course, he knows that something is wrong. Of course, he was able to see through my dismissive text earlier. But there's one truth I have to say before any other.

"I was so scared," I whisper, my voice strained just shy of breaking.

He sighs and tightens his grip, pausing for a long time before admitting quietly, "I was, too."

A minute passes before I feel his cheek rise slightly against my temple.

"Not many people would be scared for me," he says, "so thanks."

That only pulls another set of shuddering breaths from me, as I think of how lonely I know that to be. However, his whispers continue in my ear.

"But I know that can't be the only thing to get you into this sort of state. What else?"

So perceptive and attentive. My heart swells at how secretly caring he is. I pull away from him to look into his eyes, and see only patience and a desire to help. I stutter as I try to think of the right words to explain what I'm feeling, and eventually settle on the closest I can think of.

"I feel like I'm burning."

Warren's brow twitches and his lips part in worry as he starts urgently checking me for injuries, holding my hands under the light and inspecting them closely. I sigh and tug my hands away from his face to get his attention.

"No, no, not like that. I feel like I'm burning…here…" – I place one fist over my chest – "…and here." I place the other over my stomach, watching him carefully to see if he somehow understands.

Miraculously, he does, and his expression softens into something almost parental; wisdom with the barest tinge of amusement.

"You're angry," he says.

Still retaining some of the reactivity from the rest of the day, those embers flare up at his simple tone. "No shit," I hiss, barbs duller than earlier in the day but still present.

Luckily, he isn't offended by my outburst, and instead shakes his head. "No, you don't understand; you're properly angry. And I don't think you've let yourself feel anger like this for this long before."

Memories flit through my mind as I stare into those overwhelming eyes, quickly coming to the conclusion that he's right; I can't remember a time when I was this angry, in either intensity or duration. He smiles gently at me, obviously aware of my revelation. I step further into the darkness of his eyes, searching for cool and comfort.

"How do you deal with it?"

He sighs sadly, looking guilty. "If you're asking me personally, badly. I cling onto it, I feed it, I never want to let it go, because often that burning feels better than whatever I would feel if it wasn't there."

I curl into myself, trying to smother the embers still glowing within me. "I'm not sure I like being angry."

"Good," he replies emphatically, tipping my head back so I look him in the eye again, "because otherwise you'd become someone like me; someone who relishes it, who lashes out with it because they don't know how else to act." He sighs again, burdened by the open admission of a fundamental flaw of his, but he pushes onward before I can offer any sort of comfort. "But, listen, Kait; I went to therapy classes after my dad got arrested. I was always a bit of an angry kid, and it got so much worse when my dad was taken away, so Mom made me go to therapy. It obviously wasn't super effective, but I learnt some stuff that has stuck with me since.

"I don't want you to be afraid of being angry, because you don't need to be. Anger is the emotion that comes along when something is wrong, and anger gives you the energy, the drive, to do something about it. Used right, it can be such a powerful tool, to change your life – hell, change the whole world – for the better. But anger is such an active emotion; it gives you energy to use for a particular task. I think you haven't felt like this before because…well, there was no point. Your life was awful, but there was nothing you could actually do about it, so your brain didn't see any point in giving you extra energy that would just sit there and not be useful."

His next smile is brighter, prouder. "But now, you're starting to gain control of your life. And you don't like the things that aren't right about it. So you want to do something about them."

I get it. This all makes so much sense now. All that excess energy I had, that wanted to do something, to be expended somehow…. That was because I was angry about everything that happened. The changes that I had always wanted in my life – to be seen, accepted and appreciated – are now more achievable than they ever have been, and my brain is pushing me to accomplish them. I have this huge untapped resource, this pool of power, ready to push me to new levels of success.

I slump slightly in defeat. The ambitions in question are slightly more than I can achieve in a day though, so what do I do with all this excess anger that just won't go away? I voice this concern to Warren, but he just grins in response.

"When my anger problems really started, my mom quickly devised this fool-proof method of blowing off steam. Wait here a sec."

He disappears back into the guys' changing room, then reappears with his backpack, still grinning.

"Okay, I've taken out everything hard and/or valuable and filled it with my hoodie. So, come on," he swivels the bag so he's holding it in front of him. "Punch it."

For a second, I just blink at him. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me," he replies. "Hit it. It's not as good as a punching bag or pads, but it does in a pinch."

Once I realise he's serious, I uncertainly but automatically take a fighting stance as I've learnt in our training sessions. I throw my fist forward to push into the bag, but Warren just raises an eyebrow in response.

"I know from our sessions that you can do better than that," he says. "Again, like you mean it."

I nod, my frustration already building that I can't even apparently throw a punch right now. Closing my eyes, I deliberately bring to mind all the things that pissed me off today, feeling like I'm throwing rocks at a bear. But when I throw my next punch, Warren rocks one foot back to anchor himself better.

"That's better," he encourages. "Keep going."

Now grunting with exertion, I hurl continuous punches as I cycle through things that fuelled my anger today.

Those stuck-up bitches at the table at lunch!

Punch.

Speed and Lash completely ignoring me and writing me off as not a threat!

Punch.

My own friends ignoring me and writing me off as not on the same level as the legendary Will Stronghold!

Punch.

Will being a goddamn coward about fighting Speed and Lash!

Punch.

My weird, invasive, non-platonic thoughts about Warren!

I gasp, stumbling forward off-balance as I throw the next punch. Warren quickly steps forward to stop me from faceplanting the floor. He grins at me impishly as I gaze at him with wide eyes, trying to catch my breath.

"Feel better?"

Heat fills my face at how kind he's been, for most of our friendship but particularly right now, at how much he obviously cares about me, and at how close his gorgeous face is. His velvet eyes swallow me up completely in a blanket of the warmest darkness.

"Will you –?"

I manage to choke the rest of the words before my reckless tongue can say them, but he looks at me expectantly. I pull away from him, sighing as I push my thumbs into my eyes.

"Will you tell Lin I'm too ill to do my shift tonight? That helped, you helped, really, but I don't think I'm going to shake this headache and I really don't want to blow up in any colleague's or customer's face tonight."

"Sure thing," he says easily. "Just hole up at home. Keep drinking, too; you'd be surprised how dehydrated you get just from being angry."

Huffing out a disbelieving laugh at how he's still being caring, I risk a hug of thanks before pushing through the door into the girls' changing room, desperately trying to ignore how dangerously close I came to asking Warren Peace to go to homecoming with me.

There you go! Hope that was a new side of Kaitlyn for you all to enjoy. As always, let me know what you think in a review, just so I know my work is being appreciated.

Fly on!