xChapter 14x
Friday, February 15, 2003
3:06 A.M.
Mumford Household, Marcus's Room
Images of Carey plague my mind. Nightmarish pictures of her body disintegrating before I can tell her how I feel about her. My body is hot and sweaty, even though it's the middle of February. I toss the blankets off my body and flip over on my stomach, shoving my face into the pillow. Please, brain, just let me sleep in peace.
But what is a boy to do?
Twelve days since the last letter from her. Day in and day out situations that could keep her from responding have reeled through my mind. Currently, I'm debating that she either fell into a pit of piranhas or my last letter got lost in the mail. Though I'm pretty sure I did see her on Monday... Nix the piranhas.
But say my letter got lost in the mail. It's times like this (I check the clock and see that its three in the morning--ugh) that I have to question whether or not certain measures are necessary, or rather socially acceptable.
Stalking is out. Tried that one once already. Never again.
Next is following up. Well, maybe in the grand scheme of the socially accepted activities ladder, sending another letter isn't quite on the rung right below stalking, but it's all I have to work with.
So I have a mental illness. And this mental illness is an inability to function until I have the idea that's floating around in my head executed. So, at this point in time, sleep is not an option. I must write that letter. Throwing the blankets off of my body, I scoot over the the edge of my bed and reach as far as my arm will let me without actually getting up. I grasp blindly in the dark for a pencil and my spiral notebook off my desk, and flick on my bedside lamp before putting pencil to paper.
Dear Carey,
Not quite sure if you got my last letter. If you did, just disregard what I'm about to say, but basically...
x x x x x
Friday, February 15, 2003
7:58 A.M.
King's College School, Front Corridor
Everywhere, bodies shuffle like pre-programmed robots to their homeroom classes. As I pass by, all of the faces have the same bored and tired expressions. Mine probably looks just the same.
"So, Marcus," Ben says beside me as we walk to English. "You know what would be really cool?"
"What?" I ask while picking lint off of my trousers.
"If we started a ba--"
"HEY MUMFORD!" a voice calls behind me. Both Ben and I stop in our tracks and turn our heads to the voice. At the end other the hallway I spy Maxwell Potts, sauntering our way. The prick himself. He has a smirk on his lips but in his eyes lies nothing but pure malice.
"Potts," I respond indifferently, even though I have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"Marcus..." Ben says in a low voice beside me. His tone is warning.
As the boy approaches, the smirk drops from his face and his expression is purly hateful. "Fond of my girlfriend, Valerie, are we?" he growls.
"Col-I mean Valerie?" the name feels weird coming out of my mouth. "She's my fr-"
"Shut the fuck up," Maxwell snaps. "I saw you with her." He steps so close to my face I can smell his hot breath, making my nose curl up in disgust. And I swear his left beady eye is twitching.
What come next, though, I don't expect at all.
Maxwell grabs a fistful of my wool sweater and yanks my body towards his. "You're going to pay," is all I hear before another fist collides with my stomach.
He let's go of me and I hunch over from the pain of the blow. Glancing up at my attacker, I am suddenly struck with extreme disgust. All I want is away from this foul creature. Out of the corner of my eye I see fists clenching so tight the knuckles are nearly blue.
Ben starts advancing toward Maxwell, prepared for another fight to come down. Maxwell has a smirk on his face that makes me want to puke. If Ben does this, this not only makes me look like I can't fight my own battles, but gives Maxwell the satisfaction of knowing that he won.
I can't let that happen.
I walk after Ben, pain shooting through my core with every step. Before they meet, I reach for the back of Ben's jacket and start dragging him along, away from the fight.
"What the hell, Marcus!" Ben shouts at me. "We can't just walk away!"
"Oh, yes we can," I grumble back.
"Potts. Lovett. Mumford."
I turn to see the figure of a man standing, arms crossed over his wide chest, his perma-frown sunken deeper into his face.
"My office. Now."
{A/N}
SORRYNOTSORRY
If you haven't read my "Thoughts and general feels on Mumford & Sons fanfiction" (Mumford fanfics say whaaaa?) please do. Note installment 5.
Also, I said I would put up the thing for my new Ted fic "Don't Fade Away" when I posted the 15th chapter of Holland Road, but then I put it up early. And for a good reason.
THIS STORY NOW HAS 1000 READS!!!!!jamslmzjapamkqpaldjhajxlapwjrutv(9 XD XD XD I KNEW THIS CHAPTER WOULDN'T BE DONE IN TIME BUT I WANTED TO DO SOMETHING ELSE SO I PUT THAT UP I HOPE THATS OKAY!
IM SO HAPPY
SO SO
SO
HAPPY
Thank you so so so SO so SOOOO much for reading! I love youuuuuu ;)