Fallen

Chapter 22. Faking sick [Caleb]

Right when I hang up, Lucy stomps down. Her school bag is slung over her shoulder.

"So, you're faking sick?" She asks, raising her brow at me. That little eavesdropper.

I hum in response, taking a sip from my mug filled with the rich taste of coffee.

"Why do you get him all to yourself," Lucy complains. "It's so unfair."

"You can spend time with him when you get home," I say, taking out my wallet from the counter and handing her a few bucks. "Here's your lunch money, now go away."

"Fine," She groans reluctantly.

She rolls her eyes as I push her along. She salutes me before she smacks the door shut.

I feel like such a mom sometimes. And I can't help but gag at the thought.

I'm on my second cup of coffee and still fuming around the kitchen when M comes down, wings dragging along and in his usual attire of only grey sweatpants. He's rubbing his eyes and sporting the most charming bedhead.

"Morning," I greet him.

After yesterday's events, I decided to stay home. Besides, there are bigger things at play right now. And it's not my attendance or grades, for that matter.

"Did you sleep well?" He asks me.

"Yeah," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

It's a lie, but I don't want M to feel bad.

"I'm sorry if I seemed restless doing the night," M says. "Sleep did not come easy."

"That's totally fine," I shrug and glance up at him as he's coming closer. "Need anything?"

He's standing right in front of me, towering over me.

We're standing chest to chest. M's breath, tingling my forehead. He's close enough to make me get the wrong ideas. Like, as if he's going to kiss me. There's a surge in my stomach. Would I be against it if he did? Should I?

He aims his finger at the cupboard behind me. And my cheeks are already flaming red.

"The bowls for the cereal are in the storage cabinet behind you," He says calmly.

It must be all in my head. I feel so dumb. Here I thought he was going to do something else. Mentally, I'm smacking myself in the face.

"Oh, sorry." I move out of the way.

He pours himself some cereal, then some milk. He's a fast learner, or maybe he's just hungry. I think it might be the latter part, considering he's already at his second portion in the blink of an eye.

I decide to go to the living room. Falling down on the slightly gross couch and turning on the tv on some random channel. He sits down beside me, bowl in hand.

I decide this is the right time to discuss what I've been having on my mind. What kept me up all night, besides M's restlessness.

I stand up, going over to the whiteboard. It's just been standing there in the corner, picking up dust ever since the last use.

I can feel M's eyes on me. When I turn around, we meet eyes.

"Okay," I start, pulling off the lid of the whiteboard marker. "So I thought about what you said yesterday. About how your father was like all weird."

M nods. He's looking at me unsurely. Although silently waiting for me to go on. To elaborate, and I do. In between what we know and what we don't know, I write my initial question. And in bold letters.

Was it really M's father?

I know it's kind of absurd. Who else could it be? M obviously would now if it wasn't his father. I think. But he did say how unusual it was for him to tell him to give up. So there is a slight chance that maybe whatever it is wasn't his father.

Then comes the question. Who else could it be?

If I'm actually on to something. Then that means whatever it is knows that M is here. And if that's true, then we're already screwed. It's a wonder nothing is happening yet.

M's face turns into a scowl.

"You think something or someone else disguised themselves as my father?" He points out the obvious in my question.

"There's a chance," I tell him.

He bites his lip. He's obviously upset.

I should have thought this through. It's a sore topic. And maybe one that I shouldn't have pulled up so early in the morning.

"It was just a stupid idea," I jump in. "But if there are big brooding angels like you out there, then maybe there's also something like shapeshifters. Things that can take the form of something else, I'm not really against the thought anymore," I tell him honestly.

"If it is true, then why have they not just rid of me already?" He asks the one question I have absolutely no idea how to answer.

"Maybe it's waiting for something. Maybe it wants to create doubt in your head, so then you'll give up and make it easy for it. Maybe it's scared of you."

M scoffs.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," He says. "I'm pretty helpless as it is, with my wings injured and my lack of memory."

It might be true, somewhat.

I look over at the board.

There's still so much we don't know yet, but we're getting closer to something. We still barely have a clue about anything. But we know one thing now. Whatever it is, well, it wants M out of the picture.