Chapter 14: Collateral Damage

Kaitlyn's POV

The morning after the day I was angry, I wake much calmer, but with a deep-rooted uncertainty; some inexplicable feeling of dread, that something is wrong. Throughout the whole day, I try in vain to dismiss it, to brush it aside, and when that doesn't work, to just ignore it. But it never wavers, and even swells until I can't focus on much else by lunch. In an attempt to cheer myself up, I get absorbed in another conversation with Mr Robins after Strat & Tacs, and while it's definitely as enjoyable and engaging a discussion as it usually is, the dread never really dies, and flares to life again as soon as I make my way out of the classroom to the cafeteria.

As I queue up for a cold lunch, I glance towards the table Warren and I share, intending to look around for my other friends once I've checked on him. It turns out I don't need to look for them; to my utter bemusement, they're all sat around a very uncomfortable-looking Warren. My shoulders suddenly hitch up as mild outrage and jealousy sneak up on me; I'm the one who sits with him, I'm the one who understands him, I'm the one who treats him differently. Warren is my friend.

Stop being so petty, my mind snaps at me. You should be happy that more people are giving Warren a chance. He deserves this.

Great. Now I feel jealous and guilty.

After I hurriedly pay for my lunch, I quickly walk towards the table, but Warren is already striding away. I shoot him a questioning look, fully expecting him to gesture with his head for me to follow him or at least to explain the situation briefly as he passes. Instead, he scowls and avoids my eyes completely, fuelling the dread. Warring with the idea of chasing after him, I eventually reluctantly decide against it, and take a seat with the others.

"Hey, guys," I say, hoping my voice comes off as cheery rather than strained. "What's going on? Why are we sat at Warren's table?"

"I think we're going to be sat here from now on," Ethan grins, "given that Layla and Warren are going to homecoming together."

I just about restrain myself from doubling over at the table, hiding my accelerated breathing as the sensation of just being sucker-punched in the gut overwhelms me. My head spins, my stomach churns and my chest feels suddenly tight and claustrophobic.

"They're…what?"

Magenta shrugs infuriatingly casually. "Layla apparently wanted to go with Warren as a way to make Will jealous. He figured this out and agreed to go with her."

Layla asked him, not the other way around, and not because either of them like each other. But still, he heard the plan and decided to go along with it. He decided to take her up on it, decided it was worth going with her to wreak havoc rather than just not going or…or going with someone else.

"Ballsy, Layla," I joke with a weak smile, my words sounding breathy and distant. "Hope it gives you the result you want." I clear my throat. "Uh, sorry, guys. I just want to quickly skip to the bathroom. Don't wait for me, you just keep eating."

Before any of them can say anything, I jump out of my seat, shoving the sandwich I bought in my bag because I'm damn sure I'm not going to be able to eat anything when I'm feeling this sick, and I stride straight out of the cafeteria, power-walking directly into the nearest bathroom. Conscious of my bizarrely mounting emotions, I desperately seal the door with ice where the door meets the jamb after ensuring that I'm completely alone in here. By the time that's done, my breaths are rasping out painfully as I try and expel or shift whatever is steadily crushing my chest. The weight is unrepentant and incessant, even as I bow over the sink, coughing reflexively, even as I sink to the floor, stumbling hard against the wall and collapsing as my legs crumple. Raising my hands in front of me, I'm horrified and confused to find them trembling violently, and I swipe them up my face into my hair, clutching and tugging at my roots as I begin to cry out softly with every exhale.

He chose her. He chose that plan. He chose vengeance…over me.

You didn't want to go with him, my mind needles me. You didn't want to ask him because you were afraid of what might happen.

No, but I wanted him to ask me! I just wanted him!

Finally admitting a vulnerable truth to myself, the feelings that accompany that truth burst through my now almost non-existent defences, like an over-full dam cracking under the immense pressure, and guttural sobs do the same with my throat. I foolishly clap my hands over my mouth, trying desperately to keep in the sounds, the tears, the truths, but they force their devastating way through until I'm crawling over to a toilet to retch drily into the bowl with the violence of my sobs. My heart is stabbed over and over again as the taunting voices – all my own – tell me of how I'm not enough for him, not enough to light his way out of whatever darkness he's stuck in, not enough to banish that darkness away, not enough for him to choose. Not enough of a hero.

Eventually I sit limply against the back wall again, staring off to the side as my eyes focus only on my failings. My eyes feel swollen and sore, my throat is dry and raw, my skin cracks as tears still dry on it. My heart twinges painfully again as I recall the last time I cried like this; it was with Warren and his mom, after I told them about my upbringing. I remember the feeling after I'd finished, the overwhelming safety, acceptance, and warmth. Here, however, there's nothing like that. No warmth, no safety, no one to hold me. Just the knowledge that I am inadequate and so completely and utterly alone.

The door opens.

I scramble to push myself into standing, but my haste makes me clumsy, and instead I just push myself further against the back wall, staring in horror as Layla Williams enters the bathroom and gazes in painful sympathy at the pitiful broken creature currently trying to push herself through the wall. Neither of us say anything for a few agonising moments, but eventually she gestures behind her to the door.

"There was a lot of water on the floor outside. I think the ice I presume you used to seal this door melted when you were…" She pauses, then points awkwardly to her cheeks, avoiding my eyes. "You know, probably copying the state of that water."

I scrub at my face reflexively, as if I could scour away the evidence she picked up on, and even the conclusion that she drew from that evidence.

"But, actually," she continues, "these little silver strips at the top and bottom of the door are deadbolts. So, you could have just used those."

I curse my previous ignorance and blindness as she reaches to put those deadbolts in place. She turns back to me hesitantly, her expression so contrite it sends another stab through my chest.

She takes a few slow, careful steps towards me. "Kaitlyn…I am a stupid, insensitive coward."

Despite having previously believed I had no water left, fresh tears force their way out of my eyes. "Layla, no, you're n–." My damn voice cracks as more sobs twitch their way out of my chest. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I press my eyes and forehead hard into my knees as I draw them up. A few more footsteps sound slightly closer to me.

"I am so sorry, Kaitlyn," she croons softly, her voice coming from lower to the ground. "When I made this stupid plan on the fly, I didn't even think about you. I should have known, with you being so close, you would most likely have started having feelings –"

"Please stop," I beg, weeping. "Please don't say any more." I raise my head effortfully to look at her, though I'm not sure if I'm glaring at her accusingly or if I'm pleading for help. "I know, alright? I didn't want to admit it but…I can't ignore it now. And I'm too late."

Her eyebrows pull together in an expression so sympathetic it makes my heart scrunch up. She sighs heavily, before taking a deep breath. "No, you're not too late. Because I'm going to tell Warren the plan isn't happening. I'll either find another way or I won't go, but –"

"No!" I scramble forward to clutch at her shoulders. "No, don't do that. Please just keep going like this never happened. If you call it off, he'll ask why and –." My breath catches in terror at even the thought of the hypothetical scenario. "He can't know about this, okay?" I breathe. "He can't know how I feel."

This time, she frowns in confusion. "Why not?"

My vision swims again as it fills with yet more tears. "Because he didn't choose me. Because he chose your plan over not going or going with me. Why would he do that if I meant as much to him as he does to me? So I'm not screwing up our friendship by throwing feelings into the mix."

"Kaitlyn," she murmurs dejectedly. "I'm very sure he thinks of you better than you think he does. We spoke about you a lot last night."

"Last night?" I sniff, confused.

"Oh, uh, he was working, I was there, we talked," she summarises.

"Your date with Will!" I suddenly remember, wiping my eyes.

Her smile is grim and sad. "My date with Will, who stood me up."

"Excuse me?" My devastation is briefly swept to the side to make room for my righteous fury I feel at our moronic mutual friend. "What the hell?"

She nods. "Warren ended up sitting with me for a bit, and we talked. We talked about you, actually. We talked about being your friend."

Even after what happened in the cafeteria, my heart still stupidly jumps into my throat. "W-what did he say?"

"Not much, honestly," she allows, chuckling briefly. "But he actually seemed a bit flustered when talking about you sometimes, as opposed to other topics."

I sigh heavily. "That could mean anything. He was probably just annoyed I skipped my shift last night and left him with loads to do."

"Fair enough," she sighs, too. "But I remember when he came to reassure you after your fight in PE. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but I remember he left pretty sharply, I think to come and find you. And the stuff he said to you…. That didn't sound like someone with a friendship he could take or leave."

"A friendship, Layla," I echo, glumly. "One that he could very well feel awkward in if he learned that I had non-platonic feelings for him."

"Or he could actually feel the same and be waiting on a sign from you."

"Why would he not ask me to homecoming, then? Or ask me to skip it with him? Why would he go along with you instead?" I exhale sharply, rubbing my eyes. "Sorry, that sounds harsh, I didn't mean it like –"

"I know you didn't," she reassures me, "and no offense was taken. And I don't know why he's doing this. Maybe he's just shy?"

I snort. "Yeah, right. Warren Peace is not shy. Prickly in his defensiveness, maybe, but…"

I trail off, not just because I'm not sure where else I'm going with that sentence, but because of sudden connections in my head. When Warren left the cafeteria, he scowled and avoided my eyes, both classic signs of emotional avoidance from him. Could that have been him being defensive? Hiding some vulnerability? If so, what vulnerability could he have been hiding…?

Don't, Kaitlyn. Don't hope. You know what happens when you hope.

But is hoping really so bad anymore? Hope hurt before because those dreams were unattainable. I'm more powerful than I ever have been, and those dreams aren't as out of reach anymore. Could hoping really hurt that much? Could Warren really…?

Are you insane?! Warren could freak out and not want anything more to do with you. Your hoping could lead to the loss of the best friend you've ever had!

I groan, pressing my fingers into my eyes again. "Can we just drop it? Go to homecoming with Warren; there's obviously some reason he agreed to go with you instead of shutting you down and shutting you out."

"Okay," she accepts reluctantly. "But please think about what I said. You really mean a lot to him, that much I can tell."

"I want you to be right," I admit quietly. "I really want you to be right."

She smiles as me with a mix of affection and sympathy, then begins to push herself up. I stop her with a hand on her forearm.

"Wait." I pause, sighing. "I…. Thank you, Layla. Thanks for coming to find me. Thanks for paying enough attention to figure out what was going on with me. And…" I pause again before taking a deep breath and forcing myself forward. "No matter how I feel about you and Warren going to homecoming together…thanks for giving him a chance. Thanks for seeing at least some of what I see."

She smiles again. "Everything you said about him is true. I'm sorry I believed everyone else first."

I shrug. "He sort of attacked the guy you like. I think you were allowed to have doubts."

We share a small laugh, though mine is irritatingly watery and weak.

"Guys suck," she grins.

"Guys really suck!" I laugh more earnestly. "Why are they so dumb? And why are we so dumb to put up with it?"

"It's one of the biggest mysteries of life," she agrees, standing. She holds a hand out to me. "You ready to face the rest of the day?"

I sigh wearily. "Not even remotely." I grab her hand and pull myself up. "But let's give this shit another try anyway."

Her next smile and words are affectionate enough to make my heart twinge. "There's the brave Kaitlyn I know."

ЖЖЖ

I at least don't have any more breakdowns for the rest of the day, but I'm not exactly in tip-top shape either; my self-doubts and insecurities play havoc in my head, forcing me to question every assumption I make during classes, every answer I want to offer but end up second-guessing, even past knowledge I thought I had grasped before. And that's even just the intellectual side, the side that needles me about not being good enough to save Warren from himself. But the emotional reactions to Warren choosing someone, something, other than me stab at me with enough force and surprise to be at the very least distracting if not debilitating. By the end of the day, I'm bizarrely thankful that this is a rare night when I don't have a work shift or plans to visit Warren's house. I didn't think I'd ever be relieved to not have an excuse to be at Daisy Bank, but I don't think I can act normal around work colleagues and customers or around Michelle if Warren Peace is within ten feet of me.

So I use my age-old defensive technique of hunkering down in my room, avoiding any and all sub-human contact from the other residents of the slum that has housed me for fifteen years. I managed to elude them all yesterday, thankfully, but, as expected, the infestation won't let me get away with two consecutive evenings undisturbed; they pour water all over my mediocre dinner of what I think is trying to be shepherd's pie, making the whole thing one unappetising mush. I jump up in outrage and disgust, putting on all the airs of being inconvenienced as I snatch my plate up and retreat up to my room, before I smirk behind the door, simply manipulating the water content of the food back to what it should be, my smugness morphing the tasteless dish into something actually satisfying.

The next morning, I wake with a surprising amount of energy. If you'd have asked me in the bathroom yesterday to predict what would be the state of my inner being today, I would probably have said something like "drained" or "defeated". I am neither drained nor defeated. I am…powerful. Stronger, faster, sharper…. Taking a breath feels like charging a battery, or shifting into position to throw a punch after dodging one. I am completely aware that this day may well be a total shit-show, but, for once, I feel totally prepared for whatever bullshit gets thrown my way. It's not until I'm on the bus, surrounded by my friends that it finally clicks as to what this icy composure might be; I'm angry again. But this isn't like two days ago, that first time experiencing anger, where it was all overwhelming and unfocused. No, this is refined, polished, galvanised. But I am angry at Warren Peace for making another shitty decision regarding a personal grudge. I want to think I'm forgiving enough to chase after him and support him whenever the darkness of his life tempts him back, but at the same time I am not some unfeeling emotional harness that he can discard whenever he feels like being a dick and then immediately pick back up again when he again realises his brokenness. I can't believe he agreed to such a pointless and hurtful plan without even asking what I thought.

This newfound edge I have continues throughout the morning with no signs of dulling. I get into a spirited discussion with another student in History about the pros and cons of the historic shift of the identity of heroes being public knowledge to the existence of heroes with concealed identities, and I'm pretty sure by the end everyone agrees with me rather than him; in Mad Science my hand is steady and precise with the careful mixing of various household products to create an acid – for when our powers for some reason aren't able to get us in somewhere we need to – and the laser-focused use of my powers to carefully monitor and control the dilution of the solution impresses even Medulla.

By lunch, I feel like I could take all of my finals right now and ace them. Honestly, I feel like I could start teaching some of the classes. And win a fight against Speed and Lash. And knock some sense into Will. Basically I feel like I could do anything…except speak to Warren about how I feel about him. But, maybe I can at least convince him that going to homecoming with Layla to spite Will is a stupid idea. So I happily grab a sandwich meal for lunch, then head over to the gym. Warren isn't far ahead of me, only just setting his bag down on the bleachers.

"Hey," he greets me as if nothing is different. "I still need to change."

"No worries, me, too," I answer, cursing myself for accepting this false casualness. "Meet back here in a minute."

I quickly change into PE clothes, then join Warren in the main gym for some warm-up and stretches. As we spar, my mind is still razor-sharp, and Warren struggles to land a hit on me as I dodge or parry his blows, while counterstrikes are quick and precise. After almost getting a sharp elbow strike to the ear, Warren flinches back in a dodge, laughing in disbelief.

"Damn, Kait, you are deadly today." He raises an eyebrow at me pointedly. "You have some things to get out of your system again?"

Oh, you have no idea.

I shrug. "Not sure. I'm just feeling sharp today, you know, like supercharged."

"'Sharp' is the right word," he grins. "Break for lunch?"

I smirk at him. "Sure, you can tap out now. You know, just before I beat you."

He glares at me, but doesn't otherwise object, so I know I'm right. Awkwardness between us aside, I can't help feeling a thrill at how good I've got at fighting under his instruction. I'm really proud of how far I've come, and I'm pretty sure he's proud of me, too. And that makes me sit a little straighter as I unwrap my sandwich. We both take a few bites of our sandwiches before I swallow thickly and decide to go for broke.

"I hear congrats are in order; you got yourself an awesome homecoming date."

He grimaces, angrily staring at nothing in the gym. "I can't believe I got roped into that."

I frown, trying not to bristle in irritation. "You're the one who agreed to the plan. I would have thought you'd have a little more enthusiasm for it."

"If I hadn't agreed, the hippie would have hounded me for who knows how long."

The intensity of his distaste for this plan – this stupid plan that has taken from me something that I want more than I have ever wanted anything before – sets the fuel in my veins alight.

"Layla," I snap. "Her name is Layla. You might want to get used to saying the name of your dear sweetheart if you want to actually convince Will."

He scowls at me, his eyes hardening. "What do you care?"

"Nothing," I shoot back defensively, "I just hate seeing so many friends hurt on such a shitty plan."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I shrug, spreading my hands wide. "Exactly zero people want this; you don't want to go with Layla, Layla doesn't want to go with you, and Will doesn't want any of this. If you all end up going to homecoming like this, everyone will be miserable. Literally no one wins."

"Well, I get to mess with Stronghold's head, so I count that as winning," he glares at me.

"And that right there is one of the main issues," I return the glare with just as much venom. "You hold so much hatred for this kid, just because of his name, that you are willing to sacrifice your own happiness and comfort in order to try and sabotage his. Don't you think it might be time to stop letting the Strongholds dictate your life?"

"Excuse me?!"

I can immediately tell I've gone too far. That scalpel-like precision I have carried all day, that has enabled me to hone all my capabilities, has found the most effective way to make my closest friend bleed. I stare in horror at the damage I've done; he stands above me, fists clenched and breathing hard, his eyes filled with a fire I've only ever known him to reserve for Will. But our close relationship means I can see the hurt cowering behind the flames, and my own blade twists in my grip to slice straight down my chest.

"I-I'm sorry," I murmur, my throat tightening. "I didn't mean…. I just really hate this plan because –"

"You think I just let Stronghold rip my life apart?" he accuses. "You think I'd have just let him do whatever he wanted to my dad, say whatever he wanted about him if I'd had any hint of what was going on? That I wouldn't have fought for my dad if I was ever given the chance? I was never given a choice back then! No one ever asked me about any of it! So yeah, I hate the brat's guts! And yes, I'm going to use my choice, the one I have right now, to make him feel even something of what I felt back then! But if you think that means he's calling the shots, that he's the one making me choose this, then you're completely clueless and don't know me as much as you think you do. So, f**k you, Kait."

He's grabbing the rest of his food and shoving it into his bag before I can find my voice again.

"We're done for today," he growls, striding with all his stuff to the changing room.

When my throat loosens enough for me to speak, my voice is cracked and breathy. "Warren. Warren, wait, please."

But the door slams shut and I'm left alone.

My hands try to shield my eyes from the trail of blood he left, but the knowledge of it still stabs at me, and fresh sobs push their way up my constricted throat. Warren was right; anger can make you better, but, God, the damage it can do is horrifying. In an attempt to not ruin the best friendship I've ever known, I've hurt that good friend in a way I swore I never would – I swore I would never be like the other smaller-minded and insensitive people – and jeopardised the friendship anyway. I can't believe this happened. Will, Layla, Warren, me…. So many people hurt by such a careless plan, and on multiple levels. I finish the rest of my lunch in ashamed dejection, lamenting at how much collateral damage a single decision can have.

I didn't expect it to be so agonising to write a scene where Kaitlyn and Warren fight! I hope you all found it as painful as I did. But not so painful that you don't want to come back! Let me know what you think!