"Am I the king of nothing at all?"
L I A M
I led him as far away from the sounds of scuffle. There was not one safe place on this campus as long as the Eagles were still here, but the small gym-classroom would have to suffice. The lights were dim and full of dust, hardly anyone used this room anymore.
I released Medley's wrist and met his charcoal eyes, they were a stark contrast to his dull-pale skin. There seemed to be no evident forms of injury on him, but I knew that if I hadn't arrived in time, George might've hurt him beyond repair. Medley never had been a great fighter, at least not with his hands. But with his words, his mouth—
"Why the fuck were you outside with them? What the hell is wrong with you?," I growled.
Miles rubbed his arms and ducked his head slightly.
"Answer me," I spoke, more forcefully than I should've.
The boy in front of me flinched—and I wanted to rip apart the Earth. Turn back time and start all over again.
I fought all the particles in my body to hold him close, make him warm. If I did, I'd be falling over the edge. To the point of no return.
Instead, I said much softer, "Look at me."
And this time, he did. There was slight fear in his eyes, along with anger. At me.
"Why'd you start that fight with him?," he asked, quietly, like he was much too tired to raise his voice.
I inched closer to Miles, testing his barrier, and he made no move to create further distance between us.
I arched a brow and said, "Because he pissed me off."
My chest felt the slightest bit lighter when Miles tried to fight the smile on his face. Then he rolled his eyes, "I'm being serious."
"You haven't answered any of my questions, so why should I answer yours?," I shot back.
It was silent after that, much too silent as I fought hard not to pin him to the wall and drown him in kisses. After a few seconds, Miles bit his bottom lip and drew his brows together, shaking his head.
"You're an asshole, Liam," he said, without any hesitation.
I wouldn't fight him on it, so I let him continue.
"You...," he started, breaking off. "You make me feel horrible, and then you defend me. It's almost like no one else is allowed to hurt me but you. I hate it."
He was now leaning on one of the creaky desks, arms crossed. His black hair unruly while his eyes were tired. The picture of frustration.
"I make you feel horrible?," was all I could ask as I moved to be near him.
He scoffed and put his head in his hands. "Yes," he said. I gently pried his hands away, forcing him to look at me.
"You need sleep, Medley," I said, sternly. "We can have this conversation when you're not cranky."
"I'm always cranky," he mumbled.
Not a lie.
"I have to ask you something," he announced when I didn't reply. He met my gaze full on.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Don't."
"Please?," he pleaded, rubbing his eyes.
It was something about that word on his lips, how vulnerable it was. I couldn't deny him anything.
I nodded reluctantly for him to proceed.
"Be honest," he demanded.
I gave him a mischievous look, "We'll see about that, darling."
He shoved my shoulder and gave me a look that said, be serious. I held my hands up in surrender. "Ask away."
Barrier after barrier, I was becoming—
"Don't you think...don't you think Carl's been quiet lately?," he asked tentatively. "Too quiet."
Oh, how hard I had tried not to think about that demon.
M I L E S
Liam toyed with the golden ring on his right hand, carefully crafting an answer to my question. Maybe it was because my eyes were undergoing the effects of sleep, or because I wanted a true answer from him, but I blurted out my inquiry before I came to my senses.
He kissed me, and then—
And then Daisy.
He was so full of shit.
"The last time we talked about this, things happened," Liam said, casting me a warning look. "Are you sure you want my answer?"
Things. Yes, I remembered.
I slowly nodded, despite my urge to recoil.
He shrugged and took a breath, still seemingly unfazed. "My guess is, he already knows we're here. I just...," he trailed off, throwing his hands helplessly in the air, "I don't know what the hell he's waiting for."
"Or who?," I spoke quietly.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Or who."
My days were limited, unknown, and there was only room for truth now. So, I didn't care if Liam wasn't prepared to discuss what we did.
"Liam," I voiced, grabbing his attention. "You kissed me. On your bed."
Such simple words. Simple words with intricate underlyings.
It was as if the air halted it's movement, going still. The ocean blue of Liam's eyes turned darker, but held amusement of some kind as he examined every inch of my face.
The air particles resumed their work as Liam let out a quiet chuckle, never taking his eyes off of me. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"
I scrunched my brows together. "Yes. Why?"
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and then shrugged. "Because I fucking felt like it. It was the only way to stop that pathetic weeping."
"You asked me to stay—," I began, growing angry at his nonchalant attitude.
He swiftly cut in and stood farther away, "Medley, you think too much into stupid things. Just drop it, it was just some kissing."
I laughed bitterly and walked closer to him. "Does Daisy know about how you left some marks on my throat? How you silenced me with your mouth?"
His eyes flickered with fire as he lowered his face to mine. "Keep going," he said, silently. "What else did I do to you?"
I gulped, but didn't dare put distance between us. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of backing away.
I shook my head. "Why don't you tell her? If she's so important to you."
"Ah," Liam began, eyes brightening with humor. "You're jealous."
"No," I said, scoffing. "I'm angry at you. For being an asshole, for...making me feel like I'm—."
Liam was so close now, our noses touched. My breath hitched, and my sentence broke.
"Finish that sentence," he whispered. "How do I make you feel?"
I stared into his eyes, and wished for only one thing. "Don't ever kiss me again. Please don't, not unless—."
"Not unless what?"
I took in a breath. "Not unless you fucking mean it."
When I turned to leave, Liam caught my arm. "I'm always going to protect you, Medley," he blurted.
"Just like you protected me from Diego? From yourself?," I asked incredulously, growing irritated.
He pulled back, looking stung. Torn. Bare. Entirely unlike the solid front he always projected.
"I'll just see you Monday, Coleman," I whispered, and got the farthest I could get from the golden-haired boy.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Where the hell did you go yesterday? You just got up and left," Maddie demanded the next morning. I poured orange juice into my glass and took a gulp, then I shrugged.
Her nostrils flared and she curled her fingers into fists. "Were you with Liam, or what?"
I nearly spat out my orange juice as I flashed my eyes at her. "Why would you think that?"
She threw her hands up in exasperation, "I'm taking a shot in the dark here! You're being all pissy and mute this morning, is it because you lost at your club last night? Or were you with—."
"Stop, stop, stop," I stated, setting my orange juice glass aside.
My sister clamped her mouth shut while her eyes urged me to continue.
"I was at the club last night," I confirmed, talking slowly. "And I was not with Liam."
I did go to the club after my interaction with Liam, but I decided it wasn't convenient to tell her that.
She let out a breath, and sat down at the counter beside me. "Why did you leave in the middle of the fight?," she said, forming her words carefully. "Your gambling couldn't wait?"
I sighed, and gave her a pointed look. "It wasn't like that. I just...didn't want to see that mess on the field."
"Who gave you a ride?," was all she asked, silently. The image of the concerned big sister.
"I walked," I said simply. "Then I took the bus."
She pursed her lips. "You're insane, and an asshole."
I huffed out a laugh and poured her a glass of orange juice. "Why is that?," I asked, sliding the glass to her.
"Because you never answer your phone, idiot!," she exclaimed. "I was worried."
"I don't have a phone anymore, remember?," I pointed out.
She rolled her eyes, but silently drank her orange juice. Maddie looked exhausted, slouched with blotchy eyes. I reached my hand out, and tentatively placed it on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, irritatedly.
"Don't worry about me, Mads, I'll always be okay."
She turned to me and loosed a breath. Her dark eyes resembled mine, which was terrifying, because she was supposed to be the one who had everything together. We weren't both meant to look deranged.
"When I'm gone next year, there's going to be no one to look after you, Miles," she said, her eyes were sincere.
Then her expression changed, "Unless I stay here, just until mo—"
"Absolutely not," I said, grabbing her hand. "I can take care of myself, Maddie. You can't stay here, you need to live, truly live."
Suddenly, she pulled me into a hug. Held me tight, so tight, I nearly wheezed. "I don't want to know the specifics of how you lost your phone, or what sort of men you deal with at that club or yours, or even where that rotten club is," she said into my shoulder. "But, just promise me you'll always be one step ahead. Promise me you won't die doing the mysterious things you always seem to be up to."
I laughed, then I gave her back a reassuring rub. "I promise."
There was a tug at my heart, calling me a liar.
••••••••••••••••••••
The sun had taken its rest long ago, it was now nine o' clock at night. Normally, on a Sunday night, I would be gambling at the club, but no force in the world could push me off the couch. I was bundled in blankets with a roaring headache and an even worse leaking nose.
Leaking nose; what a funny choice of words.
My limbs felt sluggish while my whole body screamed in heat. Fever. I couldn't of been bothered to find my balance to check my temperature. I let the television offer me medicine instead.
I shivered beneath the blankets, but when I heard the rattle of keys at the front door, I immediately became alarmed.
No, no, no. I couldn't even stand, how could I be expected to fight if Carl somehow—
"Mom?," I croaked, then sniffled.
My mother came through the front door with grocery bags in her hands, it didn't look like her. Not at all. Her hair looked freshly washed and cut, creating a jubilant bounce. The color was a light brown now, youthful. She even had bangs. As I surveyed the rest of her, I noticed she wore proper shoes now, with pants tailored to her figure along with a yellow blouse that set an upbeat aura around her.
My sickness seemed to quiet for just a moment, to observe. To absorb.
"Dear, you look horrible," she said softly, setting down the grocery bags. "Let me feel you."
She placed the back of her hand to my forehead, then my cheek. Her eyes were worried, and—bright. She was almost unrecognizable.
"You have a fever, Miles," she said, lightly. "Let me grab you a warm cloth, did you eat anything today?"
"Mom," I voiced, raising myself from the couch.
She shook her head, and pushed me back down. "Shh, I'll bring you some soup. I just bought some, they even had basil tomato."
"Mom," I said again.
"And I also think we have some ibuprofen left in the cabinet. The cashier at the pharmacy said that ibuprofen isn't great for colds, but it should be fi—."
A wetness damped my cheeks, and I wiped. And wiped and wiped. Until the tears came too fast for me to relieve them all.
My mother looked as if her heart was being shredded to pieces. "Miles, it's okay," she said tentatively, then she embraced me.
I held her close, wishing to never awake from this dream. "Is this real?," I asked, not able to contain my sob.
She sniffed and I felt the tears running down her face too. She didn't dare let me go. "My boy, this is real. I will never forgive myself—." Her voice cracked, and broke off.
She continued, "You will never know just how much I am in debt to you. How much I love you. When you told me the other night—about your sufferings—I couldn't look the other way anymore. I need to be your mother, Miles. I want to be, because you're my baby."
My sufferings.
Shit—so she did remember. Not good.
"Mom," I whispered into her hair, still quivering in her arms. "Are we going to be okay?"
She kissed my sweat-matted hair, and soothed my back with the rub of her hand. "I think we will, but you're going to have to...bear with me. Can you do that, while I re-learn what it means to be a mother? Because, Miles, I haven't been a very good one for a very long time. What kind of a mother makes her son gam—."
"Mom, you can't say that," I interjected, pulling away. "That was my choice. And I don't mind doing it some more, at least until you find your rhythm again."
She shook her head and smiled, teary eyed. "Gambling is the source of your problems, son. Sleepless nights, interactions with the worst caliber of men, burn out. I think it's time you stop."
So, perhaps she didn't remember everything about that night I divulged the details about Carl's man-hunt for me.
I shrugged limply. "You're not wrong, but I'd like to get rid of this ridiculous cold before we start making decisions."
My mother chuckled, her jubilant hair bounced lightly. "I like seeing you grumpy."
I gave her a dark look, then nestled within my blankets. "Mom?"
"Hmm," she hummed, stroking my hair.
"I think I like boys," I mumbled, sleep slowly dragging me into its lair.
I didn't get to see her reaction because my eye lids finally shut, but I could've bet my beating heart that she muttered an "I know, son."
One fact that I was certain of was the kiss she placed on my forehead.