Kissing Skulls *Revised*

Chapter 6

            When she didn’t, I tried to think of something comforting to say. 

            “It’s alright,” I said with a false cheeriness I didn’t feel.  “Dustyn’s the best remember?”

                In some quaint family sitcom, my corny words might have worked. 

                As it was, Misty wrenched out of my grip with a scoff.

             “I’m not ten, fucking years old, Mary.”  Her tone was scathing.  

            Angrily, she whirled on me; her bouncy curls made her appear like some pissed-off cherub. 

            “This isn’t some stupid game where a few scrapes and bruises is the worst you might get.”  Her chest heaved, and I watched in horror as giant tears began to roll down her chin.

              “This is real!” She sobbed.  “I don’t want another friend to die!”

            “Mist…”  I didn’t know what else to say. 

            She was right—probably more than I even realized.  She had been with the slayers longer than I had, after all.  Who knew what kind of messed-up stuff she’d seen?

            If I coddled her the way I wanted too, I had a feeling she would see it only as me being a condescending bitch.  

            So, I did the next best thing and swallowed her in another bear hug instead.  This time, when she tried to fight me off, I only squeezed tighter.

            Comfort-talk might not have been my forte, but I knew a thing or two about mini-mental breakdowns.  Sometimes, simple physical contact was the best cure. 

            “You never met Maloney,” Misty blubbered into the sleeve of my sweatshirt.  “But she was….so…so—”  Her breathing hitched.  “I don’t know why she went there that day…I don’t know why…”

            She didn’t speak for a long time, but I didn’t let her go until I felt her stop shaking.  She wasn’t crying anymore, I saw as she turned to face me.   If it weren’t for the wet sheen over her splotchy cheeks, I would have never known she had been in the first place. 

            Her eyes were clear, but the look on her face wasn’t typical that Misty smile.  It was cold and hard; as if she were thirty years old instead of barely thirteen.  There was a fierceness in those blue eyes that scared me. 

            “I’ll never forgive those bloodsuckers,” she said in a voice of iron.  “I wish…I wish Dustyn would let me go so I could stake ‘em all!”

            Her eyes were like blue fire.  Those blond curls seemed to sizzle with an electric charge.  A murderous tilt to her scowl made her look so much older than she was…

            I had never seen Misty so unhinged. 

            Then all at once, her face fell flat, and the fire in her eyes went dead.  It was as if she’d flipped a mental switch that shut her emotions off.   

            “I’m going to get ready for later.”  She turned to her worktable, as though she’d forgotten I was there.  As if her outburst had never happened. 

                But, her tone conveyed her meaning better than her words; Leave me alone. 

                “I’ll see you later, Mary,” she said firmly, without turning around.