Six

Chapter Five

(Chapter Five)

I can feel Ian's eyes burning deep into the back of my head as he remains completely still behind me, his facial expression not wavering in the slightest.

"I didn't do anything wrong to you Ian, and you know that. You thought I was the enemy and attacked me. Of course I was going to fight back."

His eyebrows rise in mock surprise, a chilling laugh escaping his throat as he steps forward, us now only feet apart.

"You punched me, sweetheart. That doesn't sound like much of a plead for me to realize that you weren't the enemy. Which, obviously, you are."

I can't help but laugh in disgust, my fingers running nervously through my hair as I struggle to find the right words to reply with.

"This is ridiculous. You choked me. I did explain before punching you, and I know you remember. Just stop being a hot-headed pig. I don't want to fight you."

Bad choice of words.

Ian steps forward at dramatic lengths, his face now a blazing fire in color. His fist swings over my head sloppily, the bottom of his arm sliding over the top of my head only briefly.

I push him to the ground instinctively, my hands latching onto the collar of his hospital gown as I bring my face only inches away from his.

"I wouldn't suggest doing that again, Ian." I warn, my lips brushing up against his ear with each word.

I release him with carelesss hands, quickly jumping back to my feet and making my way to the opposite side of the room. Everyone remains behind me, their faces still painted in absolute shock as they turn to help Ian get back up.

Taking a seat in the corner, I force my eyes shut and block out my surroundings, images of happier thoughts slowly pouring into my brain as I attempt to distract myself.

I immediately picture my mom. I see the curve of her jaw and slope of her nose that so closely mirror mine. Her hair was a rich brown, and fell to her shoulders in beautiful curls that seemed so relaxed and natural. I've always taken pride in my good looks, but I can only imagine what the boys thought of my mom when she was my age. I know they must have loved her as much as I did.

I think back to when we made cookies for a party at her work, and we ate an entire container of the dough before even making the second one. I can still smell the baking powder and chocolate icing that covered the floor and counters, the mess taking a full hour to clean. We didn't care. It was too fun to even consider caring.

That same night she let me stay up late and watch soap operas with her; her favorite thing to do when she had free time. I sat in her lap, my Scooby Doo blanket wrapped tightly around the both of us as we devoured the rest of the cookies and enjoyed the show. It was her and I against the world in that moment. Nothing else mattered more.

A cold hand suddenly grabs my shoulder, their touch instantly sending me into defense mode. My memories are torn from my thoughts just like that.

I snatch the person's fingers with quick reflexes, my body twisting around to face them. The boy steps back immediately, his hands shooting up in defense.

"Woah, woah, I'm not here to fight you." He says softly, his deep blue eyes studying me closely as the words flow out of his mouth with ease.

The boy towers over me, his tousled brown hair resting messily on his forehead. I watch as he brushes it to the side with the swipe of the hand, just before he holds it out for me to take.

I turn away from him, my gaze only focusing on the white wall in front of me. The boy laughs lightly as he takes a seat right next to me, his head turning in my direction as he continues.