You'll never know the psychopath sitting next to you. You'll never know the murderer sitting next to you. You'll think, "How'd I get here, sitting next to you?"
Chapter Theme Song: 'Heathens' by Twenty One Pilots.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Amelia
My mouth hung loose like a vine branch dangling in the morn, my eyes rounded to barrels as I stared up at Kanan, whose face was masked with a cold-blooded plate, his eyes cruelly dispassionate. His question rang through my ears repeatedly like a broken sound system. Creating distant echoes and frequencies, all piling above each other. Should I just get rid of him?
Should I just get rid of him?
Should I just get rid of him?
...of him, should I just get rid of him?
By now I had lost the ability to breathe and think properly as dread and terror coiled in my gut, fusing into one huge lump of overwhelming anxiety. The room was gradually coming together in the middle, threatening to squeeze us both between the stifling, cold walls of it.
If I hadn't known Kanan, I'd have thought the question to be a joke. A sick, twisted, not-so-funny joke. But I knew him, and I saw how proudly he smiled when he stared down at Jacob Whitaker's battered skull. It was spine-chilling. How one could take a stone and repeatedly strike someone in the head with it.
And then a crack of deep laughter resounded in the room, echoing off the walls and chilling me even further. It was loud, rich, and powerful. I could almost hear the startled crooning and flapping of unsettled birds promptly swapping their locations. He dipped his head, hair stained with shampoo grazing my forehead, shoulders jerking through his convulsions. I blinked my eyes in awe, watching him speechlessly.
Only Kanan would laugh at the most inappropriate timings. I couldn't understand him.
When he brought his head up again, a placid smile was lingering on his flushed lips, and he reached out to take my face in his cold grip. Though he and Khalil were gravely identical, their body temperature would always set them apart. Kanan was always cold, so cold like a lifeless man ...and Khalil, immensely warm.
He rubbed the skin of my cheek with his fingers, and I felt the angst slowly simmering inside of me. It was odd; how someone with such damnable hands could be that gentle too. His features mellowed to a certain softness as he squished my lips together, his eyes twinkling as they settled on my wet mouth.
"Oh, Amie..." He whispered, lifting his gaze back to my eyes. His oceanic pair weren't dark anymore. Icy. Soft. Passionate. But not dark. "I'd set the world on fire for you..."
My mouth separated as he brought his forehead down against mine, smiling. "And watch it burn to ashes just for you..." When he lifted his head again, he patted my cheek.
"Get some rest. I'm done kidding around." He grinned and climbed off the bed, and I watched in bewilderment as he walked out of my room and closed the door behind him.
The room seemed a little brighter now, and the dark mist had cleared up making me able to breathe again.
Kidding around? He had to be...right?
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
I couldn't fall asleep that night. I couldn't tell if it was because of Kanan's humourless question or because of what Giselle had said earlier that day, about Pseudo-incest and all of that. All I knew was that my mind was in so much torment that sleep had abandoned me. My bladder pulsed with the urge to pee, and I peeled Khalil's arm away from my waist and splayed my legs off the bed. My shoulders sagged in exhaustion, my eyes feeling dim and heavy as I stared droopily at the slippers beneath my feet. My brain was asleep, but my body couldn't cooperate. I used the last of my energy to pull myself up and push my feet through the sandals, trudging out of my room lifelessly. The rain was pouring on the outside, loud, heavy splatters against the rooftops, and the lightning would illuminate the house at short intervals. I ambled down the dark hallway like a midnight ghost to get to the nearest bathroom.
I flicked the lights on, closed the door, and hooked my fingers in the waistband of my underwear. I sat on the seat with half-closed eyes, head limped, legs twisted. This needed to hurry up, and I needed to fall asleep. When I was through, I quickly washed my hands, switched the lights off, and left the bathroom. As I made my way down the hallway, someone was coming up the underlit staircase. The squelching of wet boots and rippling fabric drifted above the rain, and I stopped in my tracks, watching as the silhouette carefully climbed the stairs. Irrationally, I thought of Jacob, and the haunting notion of his soulless frame lingering outside of our doors, seeking justice for his unrest soul. Whomever it was was wearing a black raincoat, their head covered with the hood. The lightning that illuminated the house temporarily showed that it was wet, thin bulbs of droplets sliding off the fabric. As they came off the top stair, I waited for them to see me while not really wanting them to. However, they didn't even glance in my direction and only reached for the handle of Kanan's door. Another flash of light appeared, brightening the hallway. Blood. Their coat had something red on it. I stiffened as Kanan entered his room and shut the door behind him.
I stood rigidly in my spot, clutching the hem of my white nightie in terror. Where was he coming from? Why did he have blood on him? The horrid recollection of what he had earlier asked coasted across my head again. Should I just get rid of him?
My lungs constricted. "No, Khalil..." My legs lurched forward, taking me toward my bedroom as adrenaline pumped through my veins like water rushing through a pipe. What if? I thrust the room door open. "Khalil..."
There he was. Still alive. Still sleeping soundly on his side of the bed, mouth sealed close, head in his palm. My shoulder dropped in relief, and I swallowed the anxiety. He was alright. He was fine...
I edged forward and climbed beside him in bed, putting my body under the sheets, and feeling as he snuggled in closer to my back, making me warm. I closed my eyes and sighed through my lips. But I was still going mad thinking about the blood I saw on Kanan's coat.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
"Amelia, we have to leave now." Khalil sauntered into the kitchen as I tried to slug down the hot tea. My tongue burned terribly and I flinched, scowling at him as he grinned inhumanely.
"We are waiting for you outside, scorched-tongue girl." He smirked cutely over his shoulders, and my face burned warm as he grabbed a pouch of Capri-Sun and strolled back out of the kitchen. I emptied the rest of the green liquid into the sink and washed my hands.
I grabbed my bag from the chair and stepped out of the house to see no sign of Jon and just the boys sitting on their motorcycles. I had started my driving lessons a week back, but I had a long way to go before I could sit around the wheels and entrust myself with my life. Driving wasn't difficult, but I felt like my brain was so uninterested that it was automatically putting up a barrier to the lessons. My driving instructor was an old man who was patient and kind. I was lucky to have someone like that, as I knew I wasn't the most conformative.
Mr. Kai had given the triplets permission to ride their bikes, so for the past week we'd been riding the bikes to school. On the first day, I was a bit scared and clung to Khalil the whole journey, crushing his ribs and squeezing my eyes shut until we got there. One of the only good things about it was that I got to inhale his calming scent and feel the fresh breeze against my face as it danced through my clothes and hair. It gave a sense of freedom and peace, and another good thing was that I couldn't see Jacob while I felt this way. Perhaps it was because I kept my eyes closed and couldn't see the world before me. I always chose to ride with Khalil because, well, Kanan was a speeder and a drifter, he'd try to do stunts—letting go of the handles, lifting the front wheel mid-air. He was too spontaneous. Keegan...well, he'd already silently told me he had prefered travelling alone. He didn't outrightly say that, but if you knew Keegan, you knew he didn't like company.
"They are having a party behind the train tracks on Friday," Kanan mentioned, sliding down his phone as he straddled the metal machine.
Khalil took off my helmet from the seat and passed it to me while he strapped his on. "Hallie and those other drug heads are probably gonna be there."
"And so will Lily." Kanan peered up with a smirk, and I pushed my helmet on to ignore the discomfort. I climbed on behind Khalil, weaving my arms around his waist.
He revved his bike. "I really don't care about her."
"Mm. Because you have Giselle?" Kanan glanced at me after he said that, and I was glad the helmet was hiding the unease on my face.
"Giselle and I are nothing." He reversed then sped out of the drive, and I squeezed him tightly.
He rode along the freezing main road, the scent of the nearby sea and wet weed wafting through my nose. There weren't many cars on the street at that time of the morning, and the distance to Sade Rose Academy wasn't a long one. My nose burned from the cold as I sucked in an icy breath, burying my face in Khalil's warm jacket. In a flash, a loud purring engine wooshed past us as Kanan went ahead, glancing behind him with a challenging smirk in his eyes. I heard Khalil revved his engine and straightened his back, and I shook my head.
"No, don't race him, please," I said above the wind. I was already scared as is; I didn't want to be in the middle of a bike game. Lately, Kanan would challenge Khalil for the simplest of things, who can do this the fastest, who can do that the fastest, who can do the most work-outs in a full day, and I just couldn't stop thinking about his question. Should I just get rid of him? I felt worried whenever they would challenge each other.
Khalil didn't hear me and turned his face to the side.
"Amelia, you okay?"
"Yes, don't race him!"
He didn't respond to me but he kept at his normal speed even as Keegan rode past him. He must have been annoyed that I made his morning so boring. But I was only protecting him. I was protecting both of them.
As we got to school and climbed off the bikes, Hallie was there in the blink of an eye. It was as though she had some radar that went off whenever the triplets were near. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she had some tracking device implanted on them.
"Woah. I just can't get over how hot you guys look on these bikes." Her breath reeked of cigarettes, and I saw Khalil scrunched his nose a bit. Her hand was on his arm in an instant, rubbing him down.
"Heard about the party on Friday?"
"You guys should be there, yeah?" Rose grinned, chewing something around. "Especially you, quiet boy." She bit her lip at Keegan, who only stared at her, bored.
He dragged his helmet off and climbed off his bike, while Ava was bending her lips and eyeing the machines.
"Amelia, you have Math first, yeah?" Hallie suddenly looped her arm through mine, and Kanan peered down at the action. "Let's go to class together, shall we?"
She pulled me away with them, toward the school, and through the hall, and I looked back through the transparent double doors to see Khalil shaking his head in what seemed like annoyance.
As we settled down in Math class, Hallie grinned and propped her head on her palm. "So, tell me, what are your brothers like at home?"
"Yes! Tell us." Ava squealed, squeakily dragging a chair against the flooring as heads of annoyance shot in her direction.
"Guys! They found another boy dead behind the train tracks!" A boy announced as he ran into the class with his cellphone. Rose flew up and lurched up to the front of the room, pushing through the clustering kids and snatching the device from the boy's hand. Eyes of detest followed her as she came back to sit in the seat in front of me.
Her face transformed in disgust and before I could comprehend, the cellphone was being shoved into our faces.
"Ew, look at this."
A boy with what looked like burgundy hair was lying on a dark bed of leaves with a cut-out belly.
I grimaced and looked away from the gore, vomit bubbling up my throat.
"Jesus, Rose! Bugger off with that disgusting shit, you dumb fuck!" Hallie angrily cursed, and my hands started to tremble, cold sweat breaking out all over my body.
"How is his hair burgundy?" Ava asked ignorantly.
"His hair isn't Burgundy, are you daft? It's blood. He's blonde." The boy snatched the phone from Rose's fingers. "I had Saturday classes with him in ninth grade."
"Yo, yo! Don't talk to my girl that way, mate. Come here, baby." Jack wrapped his arms around Ava and everyone around me now looked blurry and hazy and muddled. I was losing touch with reality, with myself. Was I still in this classroom? Then Jacob appeared on a chair across the room, on my left. No, no...
"Oh, orphan girl." One of his feet was propped on the desk. "Don't act like you've never seen a dead boy before. Should I show you again?" He snapped his fingers, and instantly, blood began to dribble down his forehead, his head now beaten open again. "Ring a bell?"
I flew up, the chair creaking loudly against the tiles, causing Hallie and her friends to peer up at me.
"You okay?" Rose frowned.
"Of course-fucking-not." Hallie rolled her eyes. "You just showed her a dead boy."
Acid burned my chest and bile frothed up on my tongue, forcing me to gag. I clutched my mouth to keep it down as I quickly passed by Hallie, running out of the classroom, and dodging figures in the hallway to get to the nearest bathroom. I shoved open the cell door, and toppled over the toilet, throwing up all of my insides until I could finally breathe again.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Kanan
My cell phone dinged with a message, and I smiled at a passing girl who was suggestively wetting her lips as I reached for it.
Kanan McKay- Your Club has been changed from Environmental Club to: Art Club/Blue Marade Floor/Room 04
What the flying fu—
Art Club? Really?
When I first came to Sade Rose Academy, I had high hopes for the school, believe me. I loved the colour of the uniform, red and grey, and the school was ancient and dark, but they needed to do something about this whole Club Meet thing. It was unnecessary, altogether.
My old man was clearly trying to exorcise me. Why didn't he just rope me to a bed and get a priest to hold his holy cross above my forehead? If they were lucky they would get the chance to talk to my infamous demons. I'd probably roll my eyes over and jabber incoherent gibberish in some broken Hebrew language while shaking with foam oozing from my mouth.
That was a joke. There were no demons. Just me, myself, and I, though perhaps they could still be classified as my demons, only we got along quite fine.
It was no secret that Ms. Mathe was the one who'd called him up, suggesting I got into art and craft despite the fact that it wasn't my expertise. She thought it'd be a good way to 'handle' my emotions. That was a wrong diagnosis. I could handle my emotions well, so well that I 'worry' myself sometimes. I allowed nothing to infuriate me, and if something did, all I had to do was get rid of it, and tada, life was beautiful. I was alright, I was content, I was happy. No one, absolutely, no one could get me unnerved.
I opened my locker to shove my resources in. Among the stack of books, the ID card with blood smeared over the face of it stood out to me. The portrait's blonde hair was now a dark auburn, features distorted and fuzzy from the stains. My teeth clenched as my jaw ticked. I forgot to take it home.
"Hi."
I swung my head around to see a girl grinning, eyes glistening with interest. I slammed my locker shut as a smirk cruised across my face. "Yes?" I leaned my side against the metal box, watching as she shifted on her heels.
"I haven't seen you since that time in the aisle."
Shite, what time were we talking about?
I narrowed my eyes. "What time?"
Shock crossed her features and she brought a hand up to her throat, visualizing as she said, "you held my neck, remember?"
"Oh." My eyelids rose, amusement tickling my lips. My eyes dipped to her pale, skinny neck. "I remember you."
"Yeah." She grinned. "I still feel like you owe me something."
"And what's that?" I hoisted my bag on my shoulder, naturally watching and studying every small gesture of hers.
"You promised to...kill me, remember?" She closed the space between us, and my grin stretched wide as I looked away.
"I don't think you'd want that..."
"I would." She cocked her head, biting her bottom lip. "I'd love to know how it'd feel to be murdered by you..."
I laughed, putting my back against my locker. "I like going for the heads."
"What?" She squinted her eyes with a grin on her face.
"I said," I edged off the locker and inched closer to her. "You have a pretty head, and I like going for heads."
"What does that mean?"
I shrugged. "It means...stay away from me. You're too pretty to be killed."
She smirked and stuffed her hands in her jacket. "Is that a compliment?"
"I'd take it as one." I smiled and shouldered around her, walking away.
Now time to find that art club. Hey, I was not completely a gone case, I'd drawn a few times in the past. One of my most 'sought-after' art pieces at the age of seven was the reason my parents had me starting therapy (not needed, by the way). It was of my family sitting around our dining table, and a bearded man in a raincoat holding a knife to my father's neck. I even made a little sequel for it where my father's head laid bloody on the ground and my mother was covered in blood, eyes tore wide, mouth opened in terror. It was so vivid, and I loved it, but they were convinced something was off with me. Again, I was fine. Always would be fine. Life was wonderful.
I found a stool in the middle row and dropped my bag on the desk in front of me. A girl at the front of the room turned her face in my direction, smiling and waving her fingers.
I smiled and brought my eyes to the window next to my head, adjusting the blinds so some of the light stayed out. Then suddenly a dose of sweet perfume flooded my senses as the same girl motioned to sit on the stool next to me, however, all too soon a hand yanked her head of dark hair, pushing her away from the spot as a brunette sat in the place instead.
Amusement tugged at my lips and I folded them, crossing my arms. "What is this?" I chuckled out, and she grinned as the girl on the floor stood up, straightened her skirt, and occupied the stool on the left side of me. She pushed her long hair over her shoulders and shot me a smile, and I shook my head.
"What's this club like, ladies? They aren't gonna force me to stand at the front of the class and present my drawings or anything like that, right? Because my art skills suck."
Brown-hair giggled squeakily. "Sometimes. It depends on if we have a show-and-tell."
Black-hair propped her elbows on the desk, leaning into me. "More than likely, he will want you to draw on the first day to see what you've got. Welcome to our club, Kanan. It's an honour to have you among us."
"Oh, how it's an honour to be here." I dramatically held my chest, and they laughed.
My grin settled into a smile when a familiar figure entered the classroom. Ashton, Amelia's tutee for the...um, uh, something-program. So, he was into art and craft, mm. He did have quite weird hands. There was something about his handshake that aroused my interest. I couldn't put my finger on it, perhaps because it wasn't something that could be physically pointed out. It was more of an energy, an aura. I watched as he sat on a stool at the front and unzipped his bag.
"Girls."
"Yes." They replied in sync, and I jerked my head.
"Who's that boy?"
"Who?" Their eyes frantically darted around the classroom, a race of who spotted him first.
"The kid with the glasses." I made it easier, gripping the brunette's nape and pointing. Her mouth formed an 'o,' and Black-hair spoke up.
"She has no idea. I think his name is Ashton."
"I know, but like...what is he like? Have any of you ever spoken to him?"
"No." The girl on my left shook her head. "He's in like what, ninth grade, we are in eleventh grade, we aren't really familiar with the lower classmen."
"Okay." I crossed my arm, watching him as he untangled a white apron.
I blew my lips out, the wind blowing the ends of my hair up. It landed back against my forehead as I swayed my head to the brunette. "Do we have to wear an apron too?"
Her lips formed a smile. "Yes."
"Ugh." I pouted my lips and threw my head back. "Do you know if they have...black aprons? White annoys me."
Black-hair laughed, but it wasn't a joke.
"I don't think they do. I am sure you look nice in any shade." She interlaced her fingers beneath her chin
"Mm. I mostly prefer blood-red."
"You must look so hot in it," Brunette said, eyes laced with lust. I squinted my eyes and brought my face close to hers, whispering,
"You have no idea."
She blushed, and Black-hair frowned openly on my right. I chuckled.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
What was I drawing? I wasn't even sure. I just dipped my brush in black paint and threw random splatters on the white canvas. I needed to get rid of all the white, I hated the shade more than anything.
"Uh, so much better." I grinned at the now black canvas, stepping back and peering over at Brunette's painting of a night sky. I bent my lips and nodded, impressed. I turned my head to Dark-hair and she was shading the face of an old man. She turned her eyes to me, grinning, and I jerked her a thumbs up.
"Brilliant, ladies, brilliant."
"I like yours too." Brunette beamed. "It's so...so...dark."
I laughed. "Isn't it? All the white needed to go..." I whispered it to myself, but the girls were too close under my mouth not to make it out.
"What's your deal with white?" Brunette chuckled.
I shrugged. "Too...pure."
"Ah, you like dirty things?" Dark-hair grinned, using the end of the paintbrush to stroke the skin of her neck, and Brown-hair rolled her eyes.
"In fact, I do," I said, and she reddened, opening her mouth but something had already caught my attention.
Ashton's drawing across the room. My smile vanished slowly as I eyed the painting he stood in front of.
It was of a forest scenery, green all around with an old burnt barrel on the left side of the lot. He had exceptional art skills, but it was the familiarity of the piece that stood out to me. I knew that place. I knew it very well.
••
Flashback.
I drove up the usual track and climbed off my motorcycle, sap crushing under my shoes as I gathered some damp weed and covered my bike from the eyes of onlookers. I inhaled the woody smell of the air and raked a hand through my hair. The forest behind the main road's train track was my safe haven, my office, my sanctuary, my kingdom. I did a lot here, saw a lot here, experienced a lot here. My soul was engraved in every limb of this place. I remembered the last soul I snatched here, eyes rounded and pleading, knees bent at my feet with blood gushing from the crown of his head. I could feel the bumpy weapon in my grip, cold and stained with his and other bloods before him.
The stone was washed then, lying innocently under the loyal tree that bore the secrets of nightfall. I could still smell the raw blood, it rose higher after the rain which was why I loved visiting my haven fresh after the evening showers. And now that my old man had given us the permission to ride these bikes, I was more free than ever before.
One. Two. Three. Birds soared away as I took the first step toward my beloved tree, crooning and flapping and escaping the scene as though the devil himself was walking on earth in flesh and blood. I laughed to myself. It had got to be a joke. Little did they know that they just didn't cut it for me, not there, not then. It'd be better if they were humans, who'd done me wrong somehow. "Think back," I'd often say to them, "don't remember this face? What did you do to me?" And if I felt nice, maybe I'd remind them. "Can't remember? Let me remind you. Maybe you gave me too much of an attitude, maybe you were annoying, maybe you were just a little too arrogant."
But reminders would cost way more, because then they'd have had to pay for my time, and the reminiscences would often infuriate—wrong word, amuse me further and then I'd have to double up the consequences.
"I've missed you..." I whispered, squatting to reach for my companion, but then the sound of ruffling leaves distracted me. I stood up, squinting my eyes as I kept still. I heard a groan, and I quietly stepped on dried leaves to get to where it came from. On the open lot, a body laid on the ground lifelessly, someone in a black hoodie (a boy; I could tell) with a cap on their head sat over them, stabbing them in the stomach repeatedly. The victim was dead by then, eyes open the same way he took his last breath, blood splashing up at each plunge of the weapon.
My eyebrow rose. How dare he even use my spot—
This person clearly couldn't find somewhere else to do his deed. I was offended.
Suddenly, the thin-built person stopped his onslaughts and paused. His head motioned to turn around when I pushed my body behind a thick clump of bush. I blew my cheeks out. He was a knife guy, I was a stone guy, but I was interested in his means of execution. I'd never been a fan of knives and guns when it came to extinction, I liked using what the earth offered, but he made it look so intriguing.
Pastor Morgan said we were born from the earth, and to the earth we shall return. I liked keeping with the ritual.
I peeked through the fat lettuce of leaves to see the body being dragged away, dead leaves stained with blood moving along with it. As the boy's Nike sneakers faded behind trunks of trees, I stepped out of my hiding place. I pushed my hands into my pockets and sighed.
"He's sloppy."
I walked over to the open lot and squatted, looking up and down the tracks before taking up the ID card he left behind. It was of a blonde kid with a serious countenance. I twisted my lips.
I wondered if he left his 'trophy' behind by accident. With people like this, they'd always take home some form of 'gift,' something that belonged to their victims— an asset for each person they'd murdered. Or perhaps leaving it behind was his trophy? There are some who love when their crimes are spoken about.
I breathed out and stood up again, flipping the ID card over. "Looks like you've got yourself a roommate, Kanan."
Flashback Ends
••
My gaze travelled down to his black Nike sneakers, and my mouth tilted up to one side. Ah. Found ya.'
"Give me a minute, ladies."
"My goodness." I slid my hands in my pockets, as the boy turned around, staring at me through his thin-rimmed glasses. Chills. He could even give me chills. "That looks splendid. Tell me you're a professional."
He cut his eyes away from me and back to the brush he was sliding along the piece, filling up the white areas of the leaves.
"I like it. It looks real."
Ashton eyed me from the corner of his eyes.
"I think I've even been there before..." I tapped my chin, noting how his strokes slowed down and his eyes glided again to the side. A reaction. My statement gave a reaction.
"Not that I have been there, it just makes you feel that way, you know?"
He didn't answer, and I smiled, snapping my fingers and pointing at it. "You're talented, kid. Keep it up. You'd make even a professional bend to their knees."
Indirect. That was indirect. And I felt like he picked up on it, judging by the way he turned his face to regard me. His eyes told a million stories, of himself and perhaps the stories of other people. I am a bear, so I knew what happened when you poked one. So, I took a step back, smirked at him before walking away.
So, that was his trophy? Drawing. And here I thought he would've collected hair or nails instead...but who knows?
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
My brothers and Amelia were still in their Clubs when I left mine. I'd already sent them a message to meet me at the front of the school where the bikes were.
On my way to my locker, I stopped in my tracks and gazed down the scanty hallway. Amelia now had Poetry club, and I felt the urge to check up on her.
I adored my adopted sister. The adoration and endearment I harboured for her were way past human understanding. No one who walks the earth would ever understand it.
Not even my brothers.
I stood at the wall of her classroom, watching as she sat in the middle row, writing in a notebook as her Poetry instructor wrote on the board. Kids were whispering and chatting around her, but she only stayed in her little bubble, pencil moving between tiny fingers. I smiled and walked away, even more content now that she was alright.
I snatched open my locker and fetched my helmet, tucking it under my arm, then paused when I saw the ID card again. I rolled my tongue on the plates of my teeth then grabbed it and dropped it into my bag. I made my way to the doors of the school, passing Hallie and Rose who shot me pink, demented grins. They looked knackered and smelled of weed.
I shook my head as I pushed the doors open and stepped out into the evening air, the wind blowing my hair around. A man was hunching around my bike, hands poised on his waist as he nodded his head approvingly. A smile of amusement danced across my lips as I approached. "What is this..." I muttered to myself, tilting my head.
The man glanced up and saw me, stepping away but still absorbingly scanning the machine. I unclipped my helmet, gawking at him. "Hi?"
"Woah, I am gobsmacked. The 2018 best model of Jawa, powered by 293 cc engine, a torque of 27.02 nm...this is frigging posh, mate."
I bit my lip, entertained by his knowledge of my bike. "Like it?"
"Yeah, it's amazing, woah." He ran his hand over the metal and I shook my head, smiling.
"I'm here to pick up my son, actually, not sure if you know him, he's uh..." His eyes drifted off behind me and he raised his hand. My brows rose in alert as I whipped my head around, spotting Ashton standing on the threshold to the school's building.
"Ashton, let's go, boy!"
He stood hesitantly, staring at me from across the pavement. He looked to the left of him, his shoulders rising as he stepped off the platform, walking over to us.
I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the man. "That's your son?"
"Yes, know him?" He pushed the ends of his multi-coloured shirt back to shove his hands in his pockets, revealing his white wife-beater and a knife snuggled between his brown belt. I eyed it. "He isn't very talkative, I am surprised you know him." The man laughed and stroked the back of his head.
Ashton came to stand by his side, eyes dead and void as he fixed me with a glare. Bloody hell, this kid was creepy.
"We share the same art club." I smiled with a tipped chin, gazing at Ashton. "He's very talented..." I climbed on the bike, straddling it and watching as the kid's expression didn't falter one bit. He reminded me of Keegan, only he was more mysterious and terrifying, in my opinion. I feared nothing, nothing under the sun, but this boy made my blood cold. He wasn't normal. It takes one to know one, they said.
"Yeah. That's my boy. Ashton!" He exaggerated, using his fingers to 'playfully' shove the kid in the side of his head. I observed how Ashton remained unaffected.
"Can we go now?" He spoke, voice calm and smooth. Another quality that reminded me of Keegan, only his voice was more boyish than my brother's.
"I'll see you around. Love the ride." The man nodded to the bike before walking away, subtly nudging Ashton in his back as if to say, 'walk'. I watched vigilantly as they moved to the other side of the parking lot.
"Who was that?"
I turned my head around to see Khalil, Keegan, and Amie strolling over to us. My face lit up at the sight of her.
"Was that Ashton, Kanan?" She asked, her voice just as tiny as her. God, I love her so much. So, so much. So much that if someone who looked just like her did me wrong, I'd have punished them so nicely. I reached out to tether her into my embrace, wrapping my arms around her small frame and eyeing Khalil from over her shoulders. His eyes caught mine but he averted his gaze in a heartbeat. However, the heavy rolling of his Adam's apple didn't miss my perception. I smiled outwardly.
"It was." I broke away as I twisted my face around to see Ashton and his father staring in our direction. Amelia waved a hand, and his father waved back with a wide grin while Ashton only opened the old pickup truck and climbed in, shutting the door.
"I don't really fancy his dad..." she muttered.
I chewed on my lip thoughtfully. "Mm. You guys go ahead first, I am going to stop off somewhere."
"Where?" Amelia had suspicion engraved in her voice, and I smiled. I could discern that she was thinking about that night she saw me in that bloody raincoat. That was such a cock-up on my part.
"Nowhere really, Amie." I lifted my shoulders. "Just going for a ride." She didn't need to worry. No life was being taken that day...at least, I hoped.
"Oh..." She appeared pensive, and I stroked her head and leaned forwards.
"I'll be good."
"Just because we have bikes now doesn't mean you should go wandering off, Kanan," Khalil spoke up bitterly, and sometimes I wish he'd just be unresponsive like Keegan. Little did he know that I snuck out more times than his hands could count. I'd been sneaking out even before Amie came into the picture.
I could hear the purring of Ashton's father's old truck as it retreated out of the yard. "Don't worry about me," I said, fitting my helmet on my head. "I'll be home before the sun goes down."
"If our father's home, I am not covering for you," Khalil mentioned, and I put two fingers up, knowing he would.
Amie was still watching me, looking sad, and I pouted. "Oh, Amie. Don't look so sad, I'll be fine. See you at six."
She crossed her arms, and I laughed. So cute.
I sped out of the school campus and onto the adjacent street, trying not to stay too close to the truck but not too far either. They turned onto the main street and I followed relatively near behind, the wind carrying with it the smell of pollen and fresh fish from the town's nearby market. They passed the train track in front of my 'secret place' and turned into an avenue. I waited until they curved the corner before following in that direction.
As I broke the curve of the lane they'd gone through, I saw the truck parked in front of a torn-down fence. I got off my bike and footed the narrow road between colourful walls to get to the house. I stopped at the cluster of bushes by the sidewalk, observing as they stood on the broken-down patio. Ashton's father was talking, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Ashton didn't seem to give a fuck either, and it must have infuriated the man because he suddenly removed a hand from his pocket and struck him across the face. The kid blanked off somewhere behind him as the man shoved him in the forehead before throwing the door open and going inside the house, yelling something in a voice much deeper than what I was introduced to.
Ashton rolled his neck and cast his gaze to the rusty shovel lying in the muddy yard. My lips twitched in a smile. He stared at it for one second, two, three, four, before he opened the door to his house and went inside.
I exhaled and straightened my spine, pushing my hands into my pockets while I shook my head. "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. No wonder the kid is fucked up."
~
"It looks like you might be one of us." — Twenty One Pilots (Heathen)
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