The Lunacy Fringe

Seventy-Two

When I was finally home, I asked my dad if I could go see Felix.

"Yeah, just—take it easy," he said. He was worried. Mostly because I'd spent the last few days ranting about how I was going to kill Felix's ex-girlfriend. I think he was starting to take me seriously.

Claire answered the door when I rang the bell.

"Hi, Ruby. How are you doing?" she asked, pulling me in for a friendly hug.

"I'm much better. Thank you for taking care of me." She smiled.

"Oh honey, it wasn't a problem at all. We were all so worried about you."

"Sorry I cussed in front of you. It slipped." She laughed.

"Did you? I didn't notice. And I'm pretty sure I would have done the same. Felix is in his room if you want to talk to him."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks." I waved again and headed toward the hall.

"Ruby?" she asked before I disappeared. I turned back to her.

"Hm?"

I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're back in Felix's life. I think you've been good for him." I smiled. She was so nice.

"Thank you. I think he's good for me too."

She went back to whatever she was doing before I rang the bell. So I continued down the hall to Felix's room. I could hear him playing his guitar, and the sound made an awful crunch when I busted the door open.

"Jesus," he said with a jolt.

"Alright, where does she live? Because I'm burning down her goddamn house." He set his guitar aside and smiled.

"Glad to see you're back to your old self again." He reached down to turn off the amp.

"How could you even kiss that nasty mouth? Those germs hospitalized me! I almost died! I can't believe you put your tongue in that girl. I'm afraid to kiss you again. Have you been tested? You should really look into that." His eyebrow quirked in amusement. "I'm serious, Felix! Tell me where she lives!" He stood up and took my arms, but he still had that smirk on his face. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" He shook his head.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep that information confidential. Sorry."

"Fine. You win. I won't burn her house down."

"Good."

"Maybe just—like one Molotov cocktail? I learned how to make one from TV." He shook his head.

"Probably best to avoid anything with fire."

"Could I at least smash a brick through her window?"

"I don't think so, babe."

"Could I just—maybe slash her tires?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Just a little bit? Like, maybe poke it with a nail? She'll never even know it was me." He laughed again.

"How about we avoid any destruction of property? Why don't you sit down before you hurt something?" He pushed me toward the bed, and I sat down with a huff.

"Is there anything I can do? Does she have a favorite pet I can steal? A favorite jacket? I can still get revenge without damaging property." He took the beanbag chair and sat down in front of me. He took my hands in his.

"You should probably let the dust settle before you start planning your revenge. You watch a lot of crime shows, right? You know what they'd call it if something bad happened immediately after an event like this."

"Damn—motive." He nodded for emphasis.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine. Aside from the burning fires of my need for vengeance." He laughed again.

"How's your arm?"

"Bruised nine ways to hell. But it's healing."

"Can I see it?" I stretched my arm out, and he lifted my sleeve, exposing the pure white bandage beneath. "Swelling went down. Can I take a look?"

"Yeah, they said I shouldn't keep the bandage on all the time anyway." He peeled it off to get a better look at the teeth-shaped marks. The surrounding area was a nasty shade of purple that stretched halfway up my arm. I wouldn't even have needed stitches if it hadn't gotten infected. They'd had to cut out the infected skin. It was going to scar.

"When can the stitches come out?" he asked.

"Like a week, I think. And I'm on a bunch of antibiotics."

"How many times have you had stitches now?"

"Uh...." I seriously had to think about it, even counting on my fingers. "The first time I scraped my leg on the back of my dad's chair when I tried to jump on him. There was a nail sticking out of the back. It was right here on my thigh." I pointed to the spot, covered by my jeans. He touched it with his thumb, trailing it down between my legs. His eyes flashed with a momentary desire, and my spine tingled.

"I wondered about that one," he said with another smirk. I just rolled my eyes.

"Then that time I hit my head on the table in the kitchen when I was running through the house. Right here." I showed him, and he moved his thumb to trace the line over my cheek that was barely visible anymore.

"Can't even see it now."

"You can when my face gets red. This one is from when I was little, trying to help my dad make dinner, dropped a pan on my face. Cut my lip open." He moved his finger down the slight dent in the center of my bottom lip.

"Ouch."

"Then the car accident." I lifted my hair back to expose the still-pink scar. He touched it gently.

"I definitely remember that one." I moved back to my arm.

"They said it wouldn't have needed stitches," I explained. "She didn't bite deep enough. But they had to cut the skin around it to stop the infection from spreading. I really thought I was going to turn into a zombie." He laughed again and leaned his hands on either side of me. His dark hair was falling in his face. His green eyes were vibrant in the dim light of his bedroom. He was so pretty it was unfair.

"So that's what? Five times now?"

"Sounds about right."

"Broken any bones?"

"My arm, obviously."

"I remember."

"Broke a few fingers once."

"How'd you do that?"

"My dad accidentally slammed my fingers in the car door. He felt horrible about it. I was like five." He winced.

"The Lunacy Fringe again," he said with a nod.

"Apparently so. What about you? What's your injury count?"

"Right here." He lifted his head back. I never even noticed the scar on his chin.

"How'd you do that?" I asked, running my fingers along the thin pale line.

"Fell off my bike when I was a kid. Fucked me up bad. Broke my wrist and everything. "

"I never was any good on a bike. My dad used to cover me in pads, and the neighborhood kids would make fun of me. But—I twisted both my ankles on the same day once. Never tried again after that."

"I wouldn't let you anywhere near a bike," he remarked.

"Why not?"

"Jesus, Ruby. I've never met anyone who hurts themselves more than you." I sighed in defeat.

"I know. It's a curse."

"And a blessing your dad said." He retook my hands, running his thumbs over my knuckles.

"Sometimes. It's definitely made my life interesting." I leaned down to kiss him, and he smiled.

"Want to practice with me now that you're free?"

"I thought you'd never ask."