"Honey, turn that down," Veronica told Jem when I had walked down for breakfast.
"But I wanna listen!" Jem said. I looked over and saw the news on. Jeremy couldn't stand the news, so I knew it had to be some story about the Proliator. While part of me wanted to deny his social existence with me, I wondered what happened last night.
"Our very own super hero, The Proliator, seems to have an Achilles' heel," the anchor started. Oh no. "Although he captured and delivered a murderer and Mob member that escaped prison a few days ago, minutes later, a lady called 911 reporting the vigilante for injuries."
They switched cameras and a new anchor woman was on the screen with a very plump, but friendly-looking lady.
"I saw him on the ground in pain. I walked over to see if he was alright and noticed he didn't have his gloves on so I saw his hands cut up. He looked up to me and there was blood running down his face. I didn't even know he bled!...But then when I turned for a second and he was gone," the lady described. Tied in knots, my stomach wanted to compress itself all because of the scrutinizing guilt I had. I wanted to run right up to my room and yell out the window for Proliator to return to me, but I knew he wouldn't. One, because he said he wouldn't and he was clearly a man of promise. Two, because he surely hated me now. The other reason? Well, the other reason he wouldn't come back was because he could by dead by now.
His danger only made me value all that he did for me. I didn't know if he was still alive or not (I pray that he is), but I honored his words and comfort more than ever. That's why I planned to tell Hayden exactly what I thought should happen between us, even though he had sent me a text last night/early this morning saying that he was sorry and he was being a persistent asshole. I couldn't deny that.
When I hopped out of Sebastian's car at school, I prepared to walk to the gym area, hoping I got there right as football practice ended. However, I found out from a few trampy girls that it ended in fifteen more minutes. I started walking back to the school building, deciding Hayden could wait until passing period or lunch, and then I saw someone familiar sitting under the bleachers.
I couldn't pass him. He was covered with the steel foundation of the bleachers, but he looked to be sleeping. I bit my lip and decided to walk over to him. No matter how mean he was to me in public, I figured it was to keep his reputation—like the Proliator claimed. And with all that happened between us on Saturday, I could only show him courtesy and kill him with kindness.
When I ducked under the last bar near him, I got a better look at his sleeping body. His face was neutral, but there was a ticking in his jaw. Suddenly, his eyes flashed open and he glared up at me. Maybe this wasn't the best time to bother him...
"Morning," he grumbled. That's when I knew something was definitely wrong. His voice was cracked...and he was being nice to me (yes, things were so bad that a simple greeting was considered "nice") within a few yards of society. I crouched down beside him.
"What's wrong?" I asked, giving off pure concern for him. His eyes were a deep hazel, but he wasn't looking at me like he'd lunge to kill. The shades in his eyes altered and then his demeanor changed.
"Nothing. I'm fine," he said well enough for anyone else to believe.
"Oh..." I mumbled, giving him a puzzled and yet unconvinced look. He only nodded once, fatigue taking him over for a brief second before he stood. "So what are you doing here?"
"Taking pictures of the football team," he answered before turning around, placing the lens to his camera through the cracks in the bleachers and snapping a picture of the huddle. He turned back to me. "By the time I got a chance to use my phone yesterday, it was way too late to text you if you wanted to come."
"Why are you taking new pictures?" I asked him.
"I'm not," he denied with a shrug. He removed the camera strap from his neck and placed it around me. "You are."
Something was definitely wrong with Dastan Vega. I still gave him my puzzled look as he thought he was amusing for giving me his camera once more. I did as he had and secured the position of the camera in the right position to take a picture, but there was nothing other than a breaking and shortly-interrupted scrimmage line.
"So how'd your date go last night?" Dastan suddenly asked me from behind. I lowered the camera and turned to him.
"Hayden didn't tell you?" I asked. His eyes widened by only a fraction, but then returned to normal size as if he caught his questioning before it happened. However, I'm sure no one notices that stuff about him, but me.
"He said that it seemed alright, but he feels terrible," he notified. He feels...terrible? Good. I nodded and turned to take another picture, but I couldn't find the will to actually press the shutter and take it. I turned around and found a picture that was worth taking. Dastan stood inches away from me, gazing over me as if studying my existence. I wanted my breath to be held, only because he had said he didn't want to get rid of that, but...I couldn't because I felt comfortable with him right now. "So?"
Oh, right. I hadn't given him an actual answer.
"It's complicated," I muttered. His eyes started to shift and glow into light amber.
"Want to know what I think? You should wait until Hayden loses his inflated ego and appreciates you for real," Dastan whispered, making me really think about his words. He was actually giving me advice for once.
"What do you mean?"
He playfully rolled his eyes.
"When beautiful girls move here, the first instinct for guys is to see who can get her first," he started. "It's clear who is winning that, but you shouldn't be with him only to be his prize. You should be with him when you feel like he's going to be genuine. And even then, if he's genuine and you don't actually like him, you're not obligated to be with him."
"He was genuine up until last night," I blurted. Shit. I shouldn't have said that. Dastan searched my face, probably for any remorse after I had said that, but he wouldn't find any. We were in a two-sided silent conversation and my lips parted, slightly, to say something, but I failed to do so because I was captivated with his eyes. They weren't dark and powerful, nor gold and piercing. They were a changing hazel that was working its way up. And for a split second, I remembered the Proliator.
"I have family and a...colleague that attends your school," he had informed.
What if one was Dastan? No. It couldn't be.
As soon as I started to think and consider Dastan for some optical comparison, I heard the football players' cleats exit the field and patter against the asphalt as they crossed to the locker room. Dastan took a step away from me and started to look around, sheepishly-like a little kid getting busted for something. His vision even fell to the ground and I knew he was no confident, popular, "It" boy he portrayed. He wasn't even this humble on Saturday, unless he made some compliment that later made the conversation awkward.
Suddenly, as he sighed and I had taken a small step towards him to ask him again what was wrong, he looked to his left and my gaze followed. I assumed Hayden would be standing there, shaking his head disapprovingly, but I was wrong. It was Mickie.
I stepped away from Dastan before she could even make a snarky comment. But, surprisingly, all she did was glare between me and Dastan. Her glittered lips were pressed together when her eyes locked on Dastan, who now stood swaying like a child whose body language read "I know I did something that I shouldn't have." However, his face didn't portray that he felt anything but innocent by it. Seconds later, she walked off.
"What was that about?" I asked.
"Nothing," Dastan so clearly lied. "She's just being a jealous bitch."
"You and her are almost as complicated as much as you and me are" I snorted humorously but Dastan only looked at me like he was offended.
"And how are 'you and me'?" he asked. I could hear the quotations in his voice.
"You're kidding right?" I hoped. He stared at me, plainly. "We're only friends and pleasant with each other—well, you—when no one is around. Other than that, I'm nothing to you."
When I called him out for it, his mouthed popped open to produce a small "o" and he didn't know what to say. By now, the honey color was escaping his irises and it was being replaced by the dark onyx color. They filled faster, the more people walked around the stadium. And I knew it wouldn't be good for me.
"You're not nothing to me," he hissed, taking a step near me. Now I held my breath. His eyes proved that he was back to himself. He leaned down by my ear. "You're just another girl that I'll have to push away."
Even better.
He straightened up and then gave me one glance which let me see the honey colored slash through his eyes. That only made me think his words meant one thing, but the interpretation was something else.
***
Hayden wasn't at school today, which Dastan failed to tell me until I desperately walked to his tension-filled table at lunch to ask. I had seen he and Mickie snap at each other all day, and when you'd think he'd slap a retort to my face, all he did was answer me with a dark tone. No insult. No "now leave us alone" afterward. All he had said was "Hayden's not coming to school today."
So I returned home, deciding whether or not I wanted to deal with him through the phone or not.