Freaks

22 • peace

"—Maple syrup?" Cassandra completes. Markus responds with a wide grin.

Personally, I am not a fan of the spread. It is like Marmite—but worse. I'm still slightly scarred from the first time Markus made me try it, however, to preserve the touching scene going on, I don't mention this. Of course, Willow isn't as chivalrous. She has no qualms with vocalising her obvious disgust.

"Heathens," she mutters as Cass and Markus proceed to drench their toast in maple syrup—after covering them in thick layers of the spread. "As a Canadian, I'm deeply offended by such abuse of a national treasure."

"National treasure?" I question with a raised brow. "Really?"

The corner of Logan's lower lip quirks into a smile. "Willow takes her maple syrup very seriously," he explains. Then his gaze wanders back to Cass and Markus and a pained look quickly takes over. "Though, seriously guys. That's disgusting."

"Don't be jealous of our superior tastebuds," is Markus's only retort.

Willow and Logan both roll their eyes.

"This is what I have to deal with everyday," she tells Logan.

He responds with a sympathetic look. "I can only imagine."

I know I shouldn't raise my hopes up, but I do. As Markus and Cass bond over their 'superior tastebuds' and Willow and Logan exchange weak smiles of mutual understanding, the hope that they'll finally make up only blossoms.

Cass said so herself, she was beginning to doubt if there was any point of them arguing—it didn't keep them out of danger, not really. The guilt ridden looks Willow and Markus have worn around me ever since Friday echo the same sentiment, they were tired. Tired of the drama and the fighting and the consequences it brought.

This may not be my best idea, but I was tired too. And really, was it wrong to finally want a little bit of peace?

❧

   "Fire."

At the back of my eyelids, I envision flames, slowly rising, yet rapidly spreading, engulfing the furniture around me. I imagine metal walls beginning to push against me, a stinging feeling in my neck, and banging. My breath begins to quicken. Then the vision is replaced with a more recent one. More soothing. It calms me down.

"Ice," I reply.

My eyes are closed and my back is flat against the sofa. I cannot see Professor Horowitz' reaction to my response, but I assume surprise is among them.

"Powers," he shoots.

"Control." My response this time is faster.

"Enrichment."

"Dome."

We are doing a memory exercise. The professor lists off a random word, and I reply back with one that has links to something that happened in the past.

"Feud."

"Arguments."

I'm not sure where this is going...