A Proscriptive Relationship

:A Proscriptive Relationship: 37

"Holly?"

I jumped violently, nearly slipping on the wet bathroom floor. "Y-yeah?"

"Are you done?"

"Almost," I responded, grabbing Mr. Heywood's shirt and throwing it over my head quickly.

The sleeves were about four inches too long, so I rolled them up. I then did the same to his sweatpants, rolling them up to the ankle. I pulled the waist strings as tight as I could to make sure they wouldn't fall off. Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I quickly ran a hand through my hair to make it a little more presentable before stepping out of the bathroom.

"Put this on," Mr. Heywood ordered, throwing a sweatshirt at me.

"Okay," I responded, pulling the article of clothing over my head.

I took a deep breath, a small smile spreading across my face. It smelled just like Mr. Heywood. I wondered what kind of laundry detergent he used... I grinned to myself when I realized how stalker-ish that sounded.

"Let's go in the living room," Mr. Heywood suggested, putting a hand on my back and leading me into the room. "Sit."

I did as ordered, watching him curiously. "You aren't going to order me to make you coffee or something?"

Mr. Heywood smirked. "Do you want me to?"

I shook my head, looking away from him. In a way, I actually kind of wanted to. It just seemed like an ordinary thing between him and I. But I wasn't about to let him know that.

"I made some hot chocolate."

I frowned at Mr. Heywood. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine," he responded, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You're being so... un-you."

A wry smile appeared on his face. "I can't be nice?"

"No! That's not it!" I said quickly, waving my hands in front of me. "It's just that-"

"Do you want to hear my story or not?"

I shut my mouth instantly, glaring at him. Well, he was still being as rude as usual. He took a seat on the chair across from me, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"It's a long story..."

"I've got time," I pressed, a frown on my face. "You promised-"

"I'm going to tell it to you," Mr. Heywood cut me off, rolling his eyes. "Don't whine."

"Sorry," I muttered, clenching my teeth together, and turning my attention to the floor.

"I guess I should start by saying that I lied to you."

My eyes snapped back to him, growing in surprise. He had lied to me? "When? About what?"

He sighed, running a hand through his messy, still damp hair. "Remember the time at the fair when you first followed me into the forest?"

I blushed slightly at the memory, at my stupidity at the time. "Yeah..."

"Everything I said on the Ferris wheel was a lie," Mr. Heywood admitted, his eyes piercing into mine.

"Everything?" I echoed, a frown passing onto my face.

Mr. Heywood nodded. "There was no friend I wanted to protect. I joined the gang out of my own free will. I liked fighting. I liked hurting people."

"But..." I slightly recalled the conversation. How I had cried because I thought I had the wrong opinion on him. "So I was right..."

"You were right?"