There were some highlights to my day... For one, I didn't have a lot of homework... Elly was oddly less talkative today... And no one seems to have connected a mysterious strand of pink hair to me - aside from my parents... So, today was great, normal, even. The only thing out of the ordinary was the new kid, who for some reason, kept sitting at my table. It was third hour when he first walked in, then I saw him in fourth, and then again in fifth. I think he has a thing for Elly, because as soon as he saw her in those classes he sat at our shared table or set of desks. That doesn't explain, however, why, any time I looked up, he was staring at me...
Elly spends over half of lunch talking about the tour. She claims he was awkward and didn't engage much.... But, from what I gathered, she wasn't really offering up easy conversation starters. I laugh, at what will now be known as "the whole gay-straight debacle", while Elly recounts it as an incident of conversational catastrophe. No matter how well-rehearsed her speeches are, the new student tour has always "gone awry". Last spring, she forgot to show the student an entire hallway. Last fall she had a cold and had to repeat every sentence six times because it was impossible to tell what she was trying to say over her stuffed sinuses. In freshman year, she had one student who simply didn't show up and she tried to give the tour to a senior by accident. Today's incident is just one more to add to the list; although, arguably, this was the worst one.
Elly describes him, as having "crawled out of a 13-hour D&D game", but he was in the school uniform and seemed like he could be charming, if not for the staring. He rejected her offer to join the drama club during fourth hour, and I think she is still peeved about it. This hammering feeling in my gut tells me to watch out, it's probably just all the staring. I follow Elly out of lunch and drift through my day until the final bell sounds. Suddenly I am wrapped in all thoughts Aidan, in their sweet, dangerous, warm embrace. Aidan, per usual, is leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me in the parking lot. In his smile, I find every ounce of the stable, safe promise that nothing will go wrong.
When I have entered the security of his arms he lowers his lips to my ear, his breath tickling me lightly. "How was your day, my little Candy Caper?" He arms hold me immobile to his chest. His head lowers and his nose nuzzles his nose against my neck, sending pleasant shivers through my body.
So I can focus on answering, I push away. His sad look prompts me to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "It was as boring as usual. Elly had another new student tour today, so that kept her occupied," I say as I dig through my bag to find a package of sprinkle-coated chocolates.
"Should we be worried for the poor girl?" He asks. He steals a chocolate from the pack, “Elly’s a force.”
I shake my head and shove him lightly, "Well, I have three consecutive hours with him and-"
He puts his hand over the bag stopping my hand from grabbing another. "Wait a minute, 'him'?" There's something in his eyes that unnerves me.
I brush a strand of hair out of my face and hurry to get into his car to continue the conversation. "Uh... Yeah... So, like I was saying, I have three hours in a row with him." The look in his eyes becomes more evil and I feel like I've done something wrong, it wasn't me though, "It's weird for sure, just a coincidence. Elly and I each had to transfer instructors the first week of classes to get four of them together, but it must have just been what seats were available. It's weird, right?" I want the look to go away, I want him to smile again, but he doesn't. He is glaring out the windshield; at first, I think it's the new guy, somehow, staring at me again, but I look up and it is Elly. She is standing in the spot across from us, her look conveys her sorrow and disapproval. I feel a buzz from my phone and already know she is cussing Aidan out, but I don't care.
After a frightening moment of silence, Aidan finally speaks to me, "Okay, that all?" His head is bowed, but I still catch the weird expression on his face.
I lean back a little relaxing. “Yeah, babe, that’s it." Another minute passes where he won't look at me, and I shift anxiously. "So, babe, what are we up to today?" I can only hope to distract him from whatever is troubling him.
"I don't want to change the subject, Luna." His tone of voice is scolding and I shrink into the chair.
"Sorry," I mutter.
Now, he looks me in the eyes. "What's this guy's name?" The unexplained anger emanating from him feels like a vice tightening on my throat.
"I don't know, like Johnathan or something?" I squeak, "I didn't think it'd matter. I didn't really pay any mind to him." I turn my attention to the chocolate, hoping it will resolve the tension. So, I offer him a piece of chocolate, but he pushes it back to me. My heart falls, what did I do?
He pulls out his phone and distractedly asks, "What's his last name?" He types furiously, but I can't read what it is.
"I don't know, I didn't ask." I feel like I'm being put on trial for something and it ignites my own ire. "Honestly, Aidan, why does this matter? Can we move on?" I plead.
"No, it matters to me and I didn't think I was asking for much," Aidan says without lifting his eyes from the screen. The scowl on his lips is serious and his voice comes out rough.
"Okay, um... I think his last name was Tane, or Drane, or something?" I shake my head.
Aidan's fingers move fast and type more text than the details that I gave him. "What did he look like?" He scrolls down and begins typing anew.
"Seriously, Aidan, what is with the inquisition?" I ask.
His expression is somber, "I want to keep you safe."
"How does this help you keep me safe? Aidan, help me understand. Talk to me, please." I grab his hand.
He leans back and glances at me pained. "I have a file on everyone at your school..." I stare at him mortified and dumbfounded. "It's so that I know what to say to the police, if anything were to happen..."
I try to shake off the discomfort as I rattle off what I remember, "His hair is black, a bit shaggy. He's taller than me, 5'8"? If I had to guess. Lean and slightly muscular build. He has blue eyes, more round than almond. Narrow jaw, strong cheek bones." As I realize how odd some of these details sound, I find myself hoping it is enough for him because I can't think of anything else. I could share that he stares a lot, but I don't think that is quite necessary at this moment to ease the tension.
"Fine, that's enough," his scowl lessens, but there is no ease in his eyes as he starts the car.
"What’s wrong?” I ask. “He just sits next to me in Journalism, I don’t even know him.”
He grunts, “You told me you have two other classes with him…” His eyes focus on the road, deliberately avoiding me.
“And? I have classes with other guys. Why is this an issue?” I nibble on the chocolate to comfort the unsettling air that cools me to the bone. He has a scheming expression and as he figures something out, his anger dissipates, until he finally sighs, relieved.
"It’s not an issue, not anymore. Pay no mind to what I said before." There's a strange smile on his face.
I open my mouth, "What about the fi-"
He interrupts me, "Let’s just be quiet, we wouldn’t want an accident from a distracted driver, would we?" There's a threat beneath the calm of his words and it effectively silences me. Sweat beads at his temples, and as he leans into the wheel, focusing on the road, I notice how the back of his shirt sticks to him. I don't know how, but this has stressed him out more than I could have imagined. I sit silently in my seat the next few minutes, by way of apology.
The silence softens his demeanor. When he appears content, I put my hand on his thigh, hoping to further comfort him. His hand finds mine and I relax in the passenger seat, closing my eyes and letting my mind wander for a few minutes.
He turns to me and smiles, in the dark I follow blindly as we pass through a neighborhood filled with cute little houses, all with white picket fences. He hands me a canvas bag that choruses with the rattling sound of dozens of spray paint cans. We hop over one of the fences and into the clean cut suburban yard, where at the side of the house, out of sight, he holds me passionately and hums Clair de Lune in my ear. Even when I pull away, the melody follows me hauntingly. I grab a can of pink from the bag and spray a big CC into the wall and finish by framing it with a heart.
He grabs a can of blue spray paint and covers my tag with a gigantic Z, framed in a lightning bolt. His lines are precise, where mine are sloppy and at certain points in the overlapping image the colors form a beautiful purple. The paint drips down the wall slowly. He faces me and I smile at him, adrenaline making my heart beat faster... for him and for the joy in the wrongdoing. I drop the sack of paint and fall into his arms, open for an embrace, warm.
We start doing a waltz, his hands tugging me along and pressing me tighter to him. I feel intoxicated, as I inhale his cologne. Vertigo takes over as we spin under the stars. And I close my eyes, hoping to regain balance. When we stop, it is sudden, and I fall to the damp grass, still smiling and humming the song. He sits beside me and we stare at the sky together, watching nothing in particular and enjoying the glow of the half-moon.
At some point, the blue paint can materializes in Aidan's hand again. I look lovingly into his eyes and he gazes back in a similar trance. I go to sit up, but I am paralyzed. Stuck to the grass like a mouse in a sticky trap, I can't even wriggle. The smell of paint invades my nose as he sprays paint on my chest and face in a zig-zagging motion. I can't breathe and panic sets in as his body dips to mine and his lips brush my cheek, “You’re mine.” My senses are numb and as I lose consciousness, I internally claw back to the moment was bitter sweet...that felt sweet, until it killed me.
When I open my eyes I realize we are no longer in Clearwell, and I freak out for a moment the daymare lingering. "Umm... Where are we going?"
"Last night, you brought up something that you are passionate about, and I want to support you as best I can. But, I am worried for your safety. I know you trained in basic disarming techniques, but that will not be as effective against the IWAAs." For the first time, since getting in the car I look in the backseat. Resting on the seat is an ominous, black duffle bag.
I point back at it. "What's in that?"
"Weapons, guns mostly..." The tone of his voice unnerves me, it becomes real that I have never seen just what Aidan is capable of. The idea of the barrels scares and excites me. “Yesterday," he continues, "we didn’t pose any kind of threat, but my sweet, this agenda isn’t going to be fun. People die. And you may be responsible, are you prepared for that?"
No...“Yes,” I say, I want him to take me seriously... For Brody... For revenge... But the worst part of me, or maybe the best, asks, is this necessary?
He parks the car off the side of the road and I look out the window to a mirage. There is an open field and a vintage-looking playground. The scene has been worn down by the whims of the weather and time, the remnants of childhood innocence preserved here and seemingly forgotten by the world. Surrounding the scene are abundant trees, enjoying the sun and isolation, afforded by human forgetfulness. My strongest urge is to sit on one of those creaky swings and live a cheesy moment with Aidan from a cheesy movie. The guns in the backseat are a stark contrast.
Today will not be romantic like that, even if it is memorable. I try to imprint in my mind the scene as it is right now, a summer oasis, nostalgia of playdates and a limitless imagination. These imagined memories calm me and long for a simple date with a simple boy. Aidan breaks my reverie and longing with a slam of his car door. Mine is promptly swung open and my heart aches at the idea of disturbing the peace of this playground. I follow him anyway away from the car, noting the duffle slung on his shoulder as he stalks heavily into the site.
On the other side of the playground, down hill he stops, there are two logs set up in the distance and I see a line up of beer cans on them. On two nearby trees are paper targets shaped like people. My pace slows behind him and I mentally count how many beer cans are on those logs, then I spot a pile in a different area, when did he have time to set this up? He pulls out two small black guns; one with pink accents, which I presume is intended for me. It's now I notice all the animals in the area have disappeared or quieted. I feel my will fading, as I fear the dangerous object that will soon be in my hands.
He pivots towards me and I self-consciously adjust my wig, "These are Beretta 92s," he tells me. "They aren't loaded yet, I just want you to hold it."
As I take the gun carefully, a shiver runs up my spine. I feel like I am crossing a line; the energized elation that fueled the previous crimes is absent. Something in me screams to throw it or give the gun back, but another force inside me – something like fear or self-preservation – tells me I can't. There's an unforseen threat and this cold piece of metal might be my last defense. It's the fear that makes me hold that gun tight.
I look up to find the barrel of the other gun aimed at my head and I freeze. I know Aidan wouldn't hurt me, but the look in his eyes scares me so bad, I can't even beg him to put the gun down. I don't know where we are and I am alone with him. I remember his mood earlier and wonder if this is it, I close my eyes and try to remember when he was happy. When he wasn't pointing a gun at my head. Then he starts to laugh, it's low and rises as his gun lowers, "It's not loaded, remember?" I am distraught, but I try to hide it, staying only because now I'm not sure I could escape this if I wanted to.
I listen carefully as he shows me the gun's parts and how to load it. By the time he finishes, I can load and unload it easily. He then unloads my gun and starts critiquing my stance. It's surreal how much he knows about shooting a gun and this does nothing to remove my caution towards him. He has me cock it and pull the trigger several times, while standing and moving, reminding me to aim.
I point the gun at one of the cans and Aidan yells at me, "Aiming is different than pointing," I adjust, but don't quite know how to do this. He steps behind me and positions my legs, nudging at my ankles with his foot and pushing down on my hips with his hands. "Steady your center or the kickback will land you on your ass."
I load my gun to take aim at one can in the center, as I'm about to try to shoot again, he smacks my arm. My arms drop and suddenly the gun is pointed at the ground, it fires and I jump back in alarm, screaming, "What the heck?!" Looking at the dirt, the bullet missed my foot by two inches. My eyes begin to water from frustration or fear, I'm not sure anymore.
"Strengthen your arms, remember what I said about kickback? Your arms, legs, core, and coordination all need to be on your mind! If one of these fails you, the wrong person could end up dead." He ignores the tears sliding down my face and sets me up again.
After, I wipe my tears, I carefully cock the gun, aim, brace myself, and pull the trigger expecting the kickback he talked about. Except nothing happened. I look at the gun confused. “Did I load it right?” I ask.
I’m about to look into the barrel, when he snatches it from my hands, "YES! It is loaded! Don’t do that! The safety lock is on. And thank goodness it was, you closed your eyes after pulling the trigger. How do you expect to hit your target if you aren't even looking at it?!"
He turns off the safety and holds it out to me, disgust painting his features. I adjust my feet, set my back and hold my arms steady as I aim and pull the trigger this time watching as the bullet flies into the log with vicious speed. I smile with relief, because I am still standing and I hit something. It wasn’t the can, but the log was closer than I had hoped for it to go. Aidan’s face doesn’t hold the triumph I expect, instead he’s scowling, again. “Are you trying to waste bullets?"
"No, I hit the log!" I defend.
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you missed. If the big log was your goal tonight, then congratulations. But if you are going to survive against an IWAA, you'll have to do better than being able to shoot an object near your target. That is, unless, joining Brody was the plan all along.” His words now are a slap to the face, it is unnecessarily cruel and uncalled for. Can’t he tell that I am trying? I’ve never shot a gun before!
I shove the gun into his chest, then I challenge him, "You try it then! Shoot the damn can!" He can’t expect me to be perfect my first time. Frustration burns me and I feel smug, what’s to say that he’ll be able to do better? A lot is coming out of his mouth, but he probably got this idea from a movie. Besides he's never handled a gun before. At least, I've never seen him handle one before...
For a moment, I think sympathy passes through his eyes, but they become ice cold as he pushes the gun back in my hand, then pulls his own out from the holster I had missed on his hip. In a fluid movement, he flips off the safety and cocks his own gun. I must have not seen when he loaded it... Or it was loaded... I realize frozen once more. He aims at the cans and shoots, sending three bullets in quick succession into the cans. They fly off the log with hollow metallic clangs. I see his stance is the same as he instructed, and I see how the force of the gun fails to move him. His smile grows wicked as his gaze falls on me and he lowers the gun.
I look back at the log, and my mind adds streaks and splatters of a liquid, thick and red. The fictional puddles of blood seeping out from behind the log. I blink and it's gone, leaving me to grapple with how deadly this game has just become. The shock stills me, and regret leaves a sickening feeling in my stomach; maybe it's for doubting the boy I love, or for not refusing the gun even still. His eyes lock on mine and the warmth I remember is long gone. "Now, continue." His voice is a low hiss.
He flicks the safety back into place and secures it back in the holster. Now retreating to the car, I hope foolishly that the lesson can end, but he comes back. In his hand is a can of beer, and as he cracks the pop-tab and sips, I can only stare, clutching the gun to my chest. His head inclines towards my targets and, ashamed, I turn back to the line up and start anew. We are here late, we only leave when I have hit close to the targets' center twice and successfully take out six beer cans. It doesn't elude me that he has had two beers, but I say nothing as I climb into his car eager to escape the nightmare of tonight.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.