ASUNDER (I) : tmr newt

03: I'm Fighting

That isn't how this works. There needs to be a leader of any group, and if we are going to be in a coalition against those boys, we had better work together.

"That's what this isn't." The brunette continues, but I know if I bite back she will give in and let me take charge. "We aren't making a plan to get together and organised just so that we go out there and have to get back."

"Would you rather be here?"

"I don't think they want to hurt us." The funny-talker cuts in.

I scoff. "Yeah, sure, that's why they locked us up. Because they don't want to hurt us, and that makes sense."

The funny-talker rolls her eyes, and I look to the brunette with a challenge, and I watch as she falters.

"I'm not saying we should listen to them, and let them take charge of us." She corrects me, and I'm surprised to hear her speak at all. "Let's think this through, we need the time and the information."

"We don't need information." I shake my head. "We need the action. If we just try hard enough-"

"Quiet."

Everyone listens to the pipsqueak, as they wait for her opinion. While the rest of us have risen to standing, something I only just realised, she still sits. With closed eyes that crinkle, she concentrates on something I can't hear, nor can I see.

The door cracks open. On the other side is the funny-talking boy, and the leader.

"Locked her up for a good five minutes?" The brunette laughs.

"You want to stay in here longer?" The leader asks.

The brunette shakes her head, but none of us move for the door. As much as I hate being locked up, I'm not racing out of here. There is an expression that goes something about a frying pan, and a fire, and I'd rather not find that applicable here.

"No." The funny-talker answers. "The bonfire is this close?"

"What bonfire?" The brunette asks, tipping forward, closer to the door.

They're giving in to these boys, and floating towards them. Never mind the fact that all they seem to want to do is keep us locked up in a cage. For some reason our mere existence requires them to keep us trapped, and I don't trust any of them for one minute.

"Planning on staying in there all day?" He isn't talking to me, and when I dare to glance up, I realise he is looking at the brunette.

She stiffens, about to say something when the funny-talker takes the stage. "No."

Swiftly, she pushes past the two boys in the doorframe, and moves outside. The brunette is the next to follow, looking back at the pipsqueak. The last girl doesn't move for a second, before she stands up and walks over to me, standing with me in solidarity.

I may not trust her completely, but at least she shows some loyalty to me. Granted, it may be false. She might just be trying to trick me.

"Still not speaking?" The leader asks me.

Leaning off the wall, I push past him, my shoulder colliding with his body as I move on. I am so done with boys, and I've only ever known them for a couple minutes.

The light is coming from a roaring fire in the centre of the clearing. It's taller than a human, taller than anything I've ever seen as the flames lick the sky, and I can't help but be impressed by its height. It takes no time for me to move closer, before I am jogging up and under the fire.

Around it sit boys, most of whom are drinking a strange brown liquid from glass jars. They seem to be laughing, and running about, and suddenly this place doesn't feel so bad anymore. Through the chaos and laughter, and the lack of order I feel as if I can breath after what has been a lifetime under water.

"Hey ginger," a boy laughs as he sees me, moving up closer. "What a fancy sight for you to be here."

"Who let Ben have so much to drink?" The leader asks, moving around to see. "Where's Gally?"

I move past the boys, already done with their behaviour. Great, as if a pleasant moment couldn't be ruined. As if the only nice half a minute I have had here hasn't been stolen from me.

My feet find a way past them all, moving around the fire and over to the big house. Construction on it seems to have halted since the tomato-faced boy yelled at his crew to stop staring at us.

I move, sitting down on part of the construction site. The boards creak under my weight, and I can't help but notice how terribly constructed this building is. One foot out of place, and the whole structure will come crashing down on top of me. I sit on it anyway, doubting that I will make a mistake and tip it in one direction or the other.

"Hey why did you run away?" The drunk asks.

His feet slur beneath him and his mouth trips and tumbles along the words that spill out of his mouth. When he sees me, he runs a hand through his short blonde hair, tucking the longest strand behind his ear. As he moves closer, the liquid in his glass sloshes out and on to his hand.

"Why would I stay near you?"

He laughs at me, like I'm a joke, and continues to step closer. I don't back away, but still manage to stay out of reach. "Funny thing that, a shank like you would be lucky to have a shank like me."

"A shank like me would rather die." I spit, and at this he frowns.

"Come on, feisty, I'm just having fun."

I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him as the anger bubbles inside me. Waiting for him to lay a finger on me, begging him for an excuse to hit him. And how I want to hit him, so badly. Not just him, but every single smug little face I've ever seen, and every single pair of beady eyes that has been flashed in my direction. I want to beat in all the smug expressions on this earth, and all the people who put me here, and everyone I have met and have yet to meet.

"Please, doll." When his fingers touch my face I swipe them off of me, and he sways backwards. When his expression turns to anger, mine hardens. "Do you know who I am?"

"Do I look like I care?" There is no laughter in my voice, as I say it.

He reaches for me, and grabs me by the wrist. It wraps around me tightly, and when I reach to try to pry him off of me he does not budge.

"Let go." I mutter, but he pays me no mind.

"I'm Ben." He slurs, though he maintains a strong grip. "And you'll be screaming my name all night."

"I'm Michelle." The name is in my lips before it is in my head. "And I will be in your nightmares."

I move with my foot to kick him, but feel him torn off of me. His body rolls along the dirt, and he grunts but does not get up. Stepping closer, with a foot ready to kick him, I suddenly feel myself being pushed back.

In front of me is the tomato faced boy, who shoves me back slightly, but not harshly. As if he is afraid of harming me. I am not a delicate flower, and if he for one second thinks I am going to let him manhandle others while stepping into fights for me, he has another thing coming.

As if I wouldn't know his strength; he is the boy who attacked me, and brought me to their prison.

"I don't need you to help me." I spit.

He reaches up over to the side of the building, lifting a drink off of one of the planks of wood that holds its skeleton together.

"Please, as if you could've handled that." The jar is raised to his lips after he laughs.

I snatch the glass from his hands, raising it up to my lips. It burns like fire as it swims down my throat, and I only keep drinking. The glass is empty. I smash it off the ground, and it shatters in a bunch of pieces.

"Don't help me again."

~~~
Ooh, so Michelle is fun. I really enjoy her. Honestly, she is one hell of somebody to write. That's what I really enjoy about this story. Everyone is a totally different person, which is pretty rad. The final point of view will be up tomorrow.