*Not edited* Not proofread*
Chapter 25— You lost me at 'I care about you':
"So, Spanish?"
His blonde hair falls into his piercing blue eyes like it always does, but he makes no move to brush it away, as usual. He sits on the mattress, his back against the wall, with his large tattooed arms crossed over his clothed chest. His legs are laid out straight in front of him, one crossed over the other, the blankets bunched up at his shins.
"Mexican, actually," I correct as I sit in front of him, next to his feet, my own legs crossed. I'm leaning over with a blue pen in my hand, the black one had ran out hours prior, now doodling on the white lined paper rather than tainting it with complicated words.
"But you speak Spanish."
I lick my dry lips and put the pen down, an irritated exhale escaping my throat as I straighten my back and peer up at him. "Yes, but I'm Mexican," I grit in annoyance at repeating myself. I think the conversation is over then. I think he's about to leave it at that, but he doesn't. When he asks me why I don't speak my native language often, I freeze for a moment. "Because I'm in America," I tell him nonchalantly. "I don't know anyone who speaks Spanish, and even if I did I probably wouldn't talk to them."
Dakota takes my response with little reluctance. Why wouldn't he believe me, anyway? My answer is logical, there's no reason to think I was lying, despite it not being the whole truth. There are many reasons I choose not to acknowledge the language I had grown up speaking, but all because I have no one to speak it with is not on the top of the list.
Another beat of silence passes around us, no longer uncomfortable like it had been the very first few times we had found ourselves engulfed in it. I don't mind this kind of silence— it's surprisingly calming.
Dakota stares above my head, looking through the gap in the treehouse that serves as a tiny window. There's not much to look at, only the tops of a few tree's and perhaps a handful of acorns and the odd birds nest. However, I don't think he's gazing at the limited view, but rather lost in his own thoughts like he normally seems to be.
I watch as his irritating, ugly smile overtakes his frown; it's the small but genuine kind. "Do you always do that when you think I'm not looking? Stare at me?"
With his words, I find he's right. I do stare at him a little too much when he's busy doing something else. He shouldn't flatter himself like he's doing, though. The only reason I find myself observing him more than the average human is because I don't fucking understand him. I've had this habit of staring at the object of my confusion until I figure it out since I can remember. It normally happens quite quickly; the missing piece to the metaphorical puzzle always seems to come easy to me. But it's different with Dakota.
And I fucking hate it. Despise it. Loathe it as much as I do him. It's so fucking infuriating and it makes me want to hurt him even more than I already do.
I shrug my shoulders and adjust my position so I'm sitting beside him, but not too close in case I accidentally murder him on purpose. "I don't get you," I tell him truthfully, not too sure about what exactly it is I'm doing. Did I want to get him? I suppose to some extent I do. It will cause me physical pain to actually have a proper conversation with him, to have to listen to what he has to say and pretend I give a fuck, but it would benefit me to know who Dakota really is.
"And what is it you don't get?" He asks gruffly, his voice smooth, however, his question peaks my anger. I just fucking told him, didn't I? Seeing my jaw tick, he rephrases his question. "I mean, what about me specifically do you not get? You need to elaborate more, Kodes."
I grind my molars together as I focus on the faint sound of the fading rain. "I know what I need to do, Kota," I bite lightly. "I just— I don't know how to explain it. I don't get you."
The blonde notices my frustration rising, I can tell by the way he watches me cautiously. I try to calm myself down because killing Dakota wouldn't be the smartest idea, although right about now it seems like a good one. "Okay, alright, it doesn't matter." He moves so he sits on his knees opposite me, his hand resting on my shoulder. "You don't have to explain it."
I'm not sure why he's acting as if I'm a wounded animal, but it only makes me even more fucking annoyed. I was fine, I just needed to talk myself out of breaking his nose, or better yet— damaging his spinal cord. I don't need to be coddled. He's only making it worse.
"I swear to everything that's holy if you don't fucking move I'm going to kick you out this goddamn tree," I threaten as I clench my fists to stop from doing it. I want to hurt him so bad it's almost overwhelming. Why is he in my space?
He holds his hands up in surrender and moves so he's at my side, though he gives me much more space. "Sorry, I'm not used to comforting people so..." he looks me over, his lip pulled between his teeth as he appears to be thinking of a word to finish his sentence. "You," he finally says.
The fuck is that meant to mean?
"I mean, I don't comfort people often, but when I do it's usually Lilah and, well, you two are completely different people, obviously." He's rambling and it's annoying me. "You clearly don't like physical contact, which I'm not surprised by really, but Lilah does, so I'm used to—."
"Will you shut the fuck up?" I snap as he continues to mumble his nonsense. I don't give a fuck why he thought it was a good idea to "comfort" me, all that matters is that he doesn't fucking do it again. And why, oh why is he talking so fucking much? Does he not realise it's annoying?
He clears his throat, and the sheepish expression he once had is now replaced by his usual, blank one. "Sorry," he rasps out.
I close my eyes and exhale— again with the fucking apologies.
It's already been decided, this session has gone to shit, and it's all Dakota's fault.
____
Stars were never something I had liked. Not really. They're small and bright and they seem to make people happy— I don't like them. I never really understood why some people are so fucking fascinated by them, either. To me they're insignificant, to others they're the most precious thing in the entire fucking world— I don't like it. But tonight, all I can seem to do as I lay flat against the roof of my rented house is stare up at them as I'm sure many other people all over the world were doing.
Well.... maybe that fascinated me a little; how we're all looking up at the same sky, no matter who or where we are. But it also gives me a small twinge of anxiety. They're probably staring up at the same sky, as well.
It always makes me shiver with disgust and make my stomach churn with so much hate.
They'll find me some day no doubt.
I know that. I had known it since the very first moment I was able to leave. Or perhaps I'm using that term too loosely— it was more of an escape than anything else. However, no matter what way it was to be looked at, it never changes the fact I know my time being somewhat normal is limited. I've made plans, ones I would like to carry out, but in the back of my mind I know that it's just wishful thinking, something to keep my mind off the reality of my situation, I suppose.
I'm not scared, not really. Not at all, actually. I surpassed that stage a long time ago. Fear is fucking stupid and I see absolutely no point in being scared. What good does it do? Being afraid to me is like overthinking— people shouldn't fucking do it. It's stupid and a waste of time. It gets you nowhere. Helps no one. But these every day humans seem to do a lot of pointless things, I've realised.
So no, I'm not afraid of being caught, nor am I scared of going back to the way things once were. I don't particularly want it to happen. Actually, I'm extremely fucking against it, if I'm being completely honest. I hadn't spent months conjuring up a plan that could have most likely gotten Jace and I both killed and then spent two fucking days carrying out said plan just to get caught again. No, that would fucking piss me off.
I'm not scared, I'm anxious, and that isn't even for myself. It's for Jace. I owe that fucking idiot my whole life and then some for the shit he's done for me and would more than likely continue to do. It's for that reason I somewhat trust him. No, we would never be friends, just the mere thought is sickening, but he's something to me I suppose, and I don't want anything too bad to happen to him— which it would if they were to ever find me.
Not only would Jace's life be on the line if that were to happen, but Lilah and her band of merry idiots would probably suffer a few consequences as well as. I don't like them. I mean, my hate for them isn't as strong as it once was, but I don't like them. Lilah's annoying. Zeke's annoying. Landon's annoying. Gray's annoying. And Dakota is—.
...calling?
That can't be right, he doesn't have my number, much like I don't have his, I think to myself as I look down at the buzzing cell in my hand. The only reason I even know it's the annoying blonde calling me, is because Lilah had thought it was necessary that I had all of their numbers saved in case of an emergency and had written them all down on a piece of paper that I had glanced at one time for less than two seconds before scrunching it up and throwing it away. My memory has never been the best, no better than the next persons I suppose, but when it comes to numbers they're forever engraved in my mind.
I pick up the phone and stare at it for a while. That's definitely his number, I remember.
I debate ignoring it, and for a while I do. However, he just keeps fucking calling. I almost throw my phone off the damn roof, but refrain from doing so. I have enough money to buy a new one, Jace gives me a set amount of money every time I move, and considering I move frequently, I never run out. But I don't exactly want to waste it pointlessly, that isn't something I do often— or ever, really.
"You better be fucking dying, Dakota," I growl as soon as I accept his sixth call.
"What happened to Kota?" He's teasing me and I don't appreciate it in the fucking slightest. I hadn't meant to give him a nickname, it just came out. 'Kota' slips off the tongue easier than 'Dakota' does, and it just sort of flew out without my permission.
I inhale deeply as I put the touch screen device between my piercing-clad ear and my shoulder as I slide down the narrow bit of roof at the left side of my window. "I'm hanging up now."
"No wait," his tone loses the playful edge and becomes more serious, back to the way I'm used to. "I just called to—."
"Shit," I hiss out in surprise as the palm of my hand scrapes against a sharp piece of broken brick. The cut runs diagonally from my pinky finger to my thenar, the blood pouring down my wrist almost instantly.
Dakota shuffles on the other end of the line. "Kodes, are you okay? What happened?"
I roll my eyes as I press my hand to the white shirt I'm wearing, the blood red print leaving a mark that I doubt I'm going to be able to get out. "Nothing, I'm fine, just tell me why you called so I can hang up." I open the window with my free hand and carefully climb inside as to not injure myself anymore tonight. I can't hear what Dakota's doing, all that's coherent is some shuffling sounds and the occasional bump. It isn't until I'm safely inside and the window's been shut until I prompt him again. "Well?"
He clears his throat before speaking. "Sorry, my leg got stuck in my jeans."
I huff, rolling eyes at the idiocy. How does one get their leg stuck in a pair of straight jeans? "Just hurry up."
"Are you okay?" He asks nonchalantly. "I mean, earlier you were a bit..." he trails off, apparently not feeling the need to finish his sentence, probably assuming I already know what he's referring to.
I do.
I sit myself on my bed after grabbing the disinfectant and a gauze from the cabinet in my bathroom. I put Dakota on speaker phone as I tend to the cut on my hand. "I'm fine, Dakota, I already said this," I bite my lip as I wrap the thin, white fabric around my palm, focusing. It's still bleeding a lot, but I'm not in the mood to be playing nurse with myself, so my shit-excuse of a bandage will have to suffice for now.
My bed is warm as I slide inside the blankets, disregarding the tainted shirt and swapping it for the one that I had worn the previous night and was messily screwed up at the end of my bed. I should probably put it in the wash at some point; in fact, I have a growing pile of dirty clothes in the corner of my bathroom that needs to be taken care of. But not now. Definitely not now.
"Kody? Are you there?"
"You lost me at 'I care about you'," I tell him as I zone back into the conversation after shutting him out when he started to mutter bullshit about his concern for me.
I know he's getting pissed off, I can practically feel it through the phone. "Stop fucking doing that, Kody. I'm serious."
I huff, feeling my own anger rising but being too tired to act on it to the extent I should have. "You've only been aware of my existence for a few weeks, Dakota. Give it a fucking rest already," I grit out in a mumble as my eyes close. "You and Lilah need to learn to stop fucking trying to force me into liking you, it's not going to happen. I couldn't give any less of a fuck about any of you than I already do."
Dakota lets out a humourless laugh. "You can say that all you want, Kody, but you still came running when you thought Lilah was in trouble, and you still let her stay at your house the night when you thought she had nowhere else to go. You came with us to the ring and offered me a place to stay because you didn't want me walking home at night, even though I'm a grown fucking man," the last sentence comes out a little too defensively, probably taking a hit to his ego. "You may not know what the concept of caring is, Kody, and I'm sorry that you're— what? Seventeen, eighteen, and find it impossible to believe someone's actually looking out for you and does worry about you, but the things you do prove that you care even when your words don't."
I silently wait for it to be over as I move myself to a more comfortable position. "Are you done? Because it's almost one o'clock in the morning and some of us have plans to go to sleep at some point." I brush him off easily, not caring if I offend him. He's talking shit and even he, himself, knows it. I don't care about any of them. Not wanting something bad to happen to them and possibly preventing it doesn't mean I actually give a fuck. It just means I'm fulfilling my role of being an average, every day human with some form of decency.
But clearly that's a mistake.
Look where it fucking got me.
"Whatever, Kodes, deny it all you want. It doesn't change the fact that I called to check up on you to make sure you was okay," he pauses. "So are you?"
"For the love of Satan, Dakota," I grab the phone, taking it off loudspeaker and pressing it angrily to my ear. "I've told you this twice already, I'm fine!"
He exhales audibly, "Okay," he speaks softly, his voice still hard and rough, however. "What happened back there anyway?"
I shrug even if he can't see me, my expression bored. If I humour him, then hopefully this conversion won't have to last much longer. "Your presence alone has the power to make me want to slaughter an entire village, Dakota."
A low chuckle comes from the other end of the line. "Thanks." I can almost picture him rolling his light blue eyes with that infuriating, ugly half smile tugging at his lips. "Does it happen often? The mood swings I mean?"
It wasn't a fucking mood swing, I want to point out. I've already told him he was the cause of my anger, it doesn't just come out of the blue... but I don't tell him that. I just want this phone call to end.
"Sometimes," I find myself telling him truthfully. "I get wound up easily. I don't like being asked questions I can't answer, it just... frustrates me." It's true. When he'd asked me what it was about him that I didn't seem to get, I couldn't answer, I couldn't explain it. I just... don't get him, that's all there is to it. I couldn't be any more specific than that, and the fact he had asked me to give more detail on the matter frustrated me. I don't use words to "express myself" as Jace would say, I use actions— anger being the most common.
For what seems like a long moment it's quiet until he says,"Thank you. Sleep well, Kodes," and then the line goes dead, leaving me to wonder how fucking long he's been calling me Kodes for?