Chapter Ten

*Not edited* Not proofread*

(This is extra long —I don't know whether to say you're welcome, or I'm sorry— and there's a little surprise at the end.)

Chapter 10– I'm not crazy:

The decision to leave school isn't a hard one to make. I know all about the rumours that will soon be circling the corridors of South Raven High, so I decide it's best to not stick around for them.

I have never been one to care about what others think of me; I pay no attention to petty insults and the opinions of people more flawed than me. However, that does not mean I tolerate them. My mind connected the dots between bad mouthing and disrespect... and I am not someone to be disrespected.

If there were people still alive to confirm it, they would.

Pulling up to the familiar, empty spot where I usually park my car, I cut the engine and step out into the cool air. The sky is still clear and the wind still bitter.

As I walk through the woods, my mind wanders back to earlier and my momentary bout of insanity— because that's what it was, a small, short moment where I lost touch of reality and gave in to the voices. It won't happen again. I'm not insane. I don't need to tell Jace, or anyone about this. It's fine, I'm fine.

I'm not crazy.

And that's what I tell myself as I trek through the woods, ignoring the bugs and plants that brush up against my leather-covered arms. I reach the familiar tree that towers over all the rest, or so it seems, and begin climbing its branches. Once I reach the hut that's hidden within the leaves, I slide the large plank of wood covering the entryway to the side and hoist myself up.

It's cold inside the manmade tree hut, but after I put the wood back where it belongs, covering the opening, the draft lessens.

Ignoring the voices and trying to focus on the silence around me —physically— I head over to the mattress pushed up against the wall opposite the entrance, noticing it's covered in new bedding. The old blankets were lightly stained and fading in colour, the cushions were faintly ripped and tearing at the seams. But now, the linen is pure white and the quilts a fresh blue— the colour of the sky. The washed-out, fraying cushions are no longer; instead, in their place, are white cushions in the shape of clouds perched up by the pillows (which although hidden by the duvet, are probably new as well).

I wonder for a few moments why Dakota felt the need for a change, and my mind briefly conjures up a fleeting image of Zoe, making me frown at the bed.

I fucking hope not, that's dirty.

Rather than climbing under the quilt on the mattress, I decide to sit on the beanbag, using the new, thick, fleece blanket folded on top to cover my body. Although I'm used to the cold, I'm not immune to it.

I adjust myself so I'm comfortable, curled up in the warmth the blanket provides, and reach forward to grab one of the books closest to me that sits in a forgotten pile by the beanbag.

I open up the dictionary to a random page with the words all starting with "te" and attempt to pronounce each one as I read from top to bottom, skipping the ones I can't seem to get the hang off after the third attempt. I don't know why I can't seem to get a grasp on the spelling of words despite the many times I read them. My memory has never been the greatest, not since they started the tests on my mind to monitor my mental reactions to the physical pain they inflicted, but I don't seem to have the same problem with numbers. Jace says I'm like a living, breathing calculator, which is physically impossible, but I get the gist of what he means. Words, on the other hand, are a different story.

As the time passes by and the sky begins to lose its shine, I become extremely bored. I don't check my phone once, even when it rings or chimes with an incoming call or a message, because I don't want to deal with whoever it is trying to get ahold of me. Jace must be worried by now; school ended hours ago judging by the colour of the sky, but I can't bring myself to care about all the concerned pacing he's most likely doing right now.

Throwing the book I'm reading on the wooden slabs below me, I lean back on the beanbag and stare up at the gap in the ceiling. The chaos in my mind almost rivals the wind and the rain that seems to start out of nowhere outside the frail walls of the manmade hut. I don't listen to the voices in my head anymore, though, I haven't since I was small. They tell me to do stuff Jace would never approve off, and I'm worried that if I listen to them, be wouldn't stick around for much longer.

I know I'm an independent person and I can do things for myself. I don't need Jace around to help me; I'm more than capable of living alone and doing things for myself— I don't need anybody's help or assistance. However, I don't keep him around for those reasons.

He keeps me grounded— the way Nine used to. He keeps me sane when I feel like I'm going crazy and he makes me realise that I can be normal when I'm surrounded by people I don't fit in with.

I'm not ignorant to my wrongdoings. I know things aren't handled the same way they were back at the facility, and these people, these humans, aren't subjects like me. They act differently. They're more fragile and vulnerable; easier to manipulate, to scare, to hurt— to break. They've been programmed in a way I wasn't, and they've lived a life I didn't. I know this. But for some reason, I can't seem to break habits. I can't help the way I am, but I've been able to tone it down.

But only because of Jace.

If it weren't for him, I don't know where I'd be right now, although only two options are the most likely; dead or back at the facility. He's helped, despite the many times I told him not to, and I am somewhat glad he's been around— even when he wasn't.

Sometimes I sit and wonder what things would be like had I done something differently. I wonder if I didn't somehow end up at the facility, would I be who I am today? If I hadn't found Jace, would I have managed to escape on my own? If I hadn't been such a hotheaded, impulsive, crazy freak, would Nine have survived longer than she did? Or would they have killed her anyway? If she was  alive, would I still be so hateful and angry towards everyone? Or would I be back at home with the dad and the mum she said were coming for us?

I never really get to the answer of my questions, because I never know what the answer would be. I genuinely don't know, and I don't really like to think about it because it makes me feel sick. And not the kind of sick I get on the Ferris wheel, or with Dakota. But the kind of sick that makes my stomach churn uncomfortably and my chest to ache and close in on itself.

But, when I do let myself imagine for a just a few seconds, the voices become mute, like they sit and think about the rhetorical questions, as well. As fucked up as they are, as much as they're only a figment of my crazy imagination, I think they feel sick, too.

Sometimes, I think they miss Nine as much as I do.

___

I must've fallen asleep some time after putting that boring book down because when my eyes fly open some time later, it's pitch black outside and the rain is falling heavier than I've heard it.

At first, I think that's the thing that wakes me up. I'm an extremely light sleeper and even the buzz of a fly could disturb my sleep. But as I go to stretch out my legs, I hear a crunch of a twig over the pounding of the harsh weather and my body goes rigid. And then there's another crunch.

And another...

And then silence.

I come to a stand and silently move towards the wooden plank that blocks the entrance without the wood beneath me creaking. One of the first things I did after Dakota showed me this place was memorise every last inch of it. I gently rest my back against the wall and keep my eyes trained on the blocked opening, straining my ears to hear the faint sound of someone scaling the branches of the tree.

My heart pounds with adrenaline, and while I'm aware the intruder could be Dakota, there's always a chance it isn't.

I wait until they're at the top of the tree and flex my fingers. My toes wiggle in excitement and I curse the childlike behaviour my body displays without my permission.

As the wooden plank is moved to the side, I don't even notice the tattooed hands that rest on the floor to pull themselves inside. Instead, before the tall figure can even straighten themselves up, I already have them pinned them to the floor with their arm bent painfully behind their back.

We fall to the floor with a thud, my legs on either side of the muscular frame.

The body beneath me grunts and moves their head to the side, their cheek pressed against the floor. They don't bother to struggle as I hold them down, but they do let out a hoarse laugh.

My eyebrows furrow and I soon realise that the blonde head of hair belongs to Dakota. Even though his laugh sounds a little choked, I could recognise it anywhere.

Despite this, I don't let him go just yet.

"I expected this," he airily tells me with a chuckle. "Didn't think a little body like yours could take me down though," he laughs again, louder this time but still breathless. "Do you mind?"

I frown as he tries to turn his head to look at me, but I angrily shove it back down and he laughs some more. "How many times do I have to tell you not to walk around so obliviously?" I grunt in annoyance.

Dakota sighs, and without warning, rips his arm out of my grip and turns himself around so he's laying on his back. He smiles up at me lazily as his eyes run all over my face and the parts of my body he can see from this angle, almost like he's checking me over— for what, I don't know. He does it every time he see's me.

"Not many people are a danger to me in this town," he pauses as his eyes meet mine. "Other than you."

I snort obnoxiously. "Get off your high horse."

His mouth stretches into a smile; a genuine one. Slowly, his hands creep up to my legs and rest there. I don't bother telling him to move them, I'm beginning to get used to his touch. "Looks like you're the one on a horse at the moment." My eyebrows furrow as I try to decipher the meaning of his words, but I come up blank. I don't get it. My head tilts as I stare down at him in confusion, and he laughs quietly to himself, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "I think it's adorable how oblivious you are."

My jaw ticks as I stare down at him with a sarcastic look on my face. "Don't say I never warned you," I move to get him off, deciding he's been pinned down long enough.

"I'll remember your words of wisdom when I'm laying in a pool of my own blood," he beams at me, causing me to roll my eyes.

I don't bother to question him further as I stare down at him still laying on the floor as I sit up straight. He gazes up at me with a pensive look.

Moments go by in a peaceful silence as I subconsciously commit every feature of his face to memory for what must be the hundredth time.

He has an interesting face.

His blue eyes are unlike any I've ever seen before; the exact same colour as the sky. His nose is strong, like his jaw and his cheekbones. His blonde hair always seems to end up a mess despite him styling it in the mornings, but it suits him just fine. His lips are pouty but not overly so.

He's... strange looking.

"Everyone was worried about you," he speaks up gently, breaking the silence. My eyes stop roaming and focus on his. "We've all been looking for you for ages. This was the last place I thought you would've come. But I'm glad you did."

My eyebrows crease at his words. "Why?"

He ignores me. "What happened earlier? Zeke told me you just freaked out in the middle of history and then left."

The fact that he blatantly skipped passed my question like I never even asked really grates at my nerves, but it's his own question that I focus my annoyance on.

"Zeke's a liar," I bluntly tell him as I stand up and brush myself off.

Dakota shakes his head as he gets off the floor as well. "Zeke rarely lies," he informs as he wipes his hands together. "And he would never make up lies about you," he tells me pointedly, like I should be grateful or something. "Plus, Zeke isn't the only one saying it."

"Well fuck everyone else, too. What do I care what they're saying about me?" I ask rhetorically, crossing my arms over my chest. He shoots a look at my hands that I haven't bothered to clean. "It's no one's business."

"I'm just trying to help you, Kody."

I want to tell him that he can't help. He physically can't help because it's a mental problem. I want to tell him to stop fucking offering me his assistance because I don't need it. I don't want it. I want to tell him to leave me alone, to stop talking to me altogether, to stop forcing this friendship, but I don't.

So instead, I just settle on telling him what I tell everybody that tries to 'help' me.

"You can't."

But Dakota doesn't seem to like that and immediately rejects my rejection. "If you'd just le—." I don't even bother to listen to him, nor do I pretend to. Instead, I turn around and pull the large piece of wood to re-cover the opening where the rain is pouring through as well as the freezing wind. "You're not even paying attention to what I have to say."

"Caught on to that, did you?" I ask boredly, raising an eyebrow as I look at Dakota over my shoulder, causing him to roll his eyes. He huffs quietly as he sits down on the mattress, kicking his shoes off to reveal a pair of mismatched socks. One green, one blue. "Why are you wearing odd socks?" I question without thinking. It's been a pet peeve of mine ever since I found out what socks were.

He looks down at his feet and wiggles his toes, though I think the action is a subconscious one. His eyebrows furrow in what I can only assume is confusion as he stares down at his feet, like he hadn't realise he'd been wearing different coloured socks all day. "Oh," he simply mutters out as he avoids my eyes and shrugs. "I didn't know."

As I turn to face him fully, I shove my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket. "What's with the new bed sheets and stuff?" I change the subject, seeing as for some reason, the one about his socks made him uncomfortable. Is he embarrassed about wearing an odd pair?

He looks down at the quilts and brushes his fingers against them distractedly. "Huh? Oh. I don't know. The old ones were dirty and ripped so I decided to change them," he informs  nonchalantly. "And I didn't want you sitting on a dirty bed, so I changed the mattress, too."

I successfully stop my eyes from widening in surprise. He bought new bed sheets for me? Why?

"I got some other shit, as well. But I didn't have time to bring it all over, so..." he trails off before stopping completely, leaning back against the wood as his hair falls down his forehead.

I don't have anything to say to that, so I stay silent, awkwardly standing in the middle of the tree-house as I crack my knuckles from the warmth of my pockets. Dakota looks at me as if to ask me why I'm not sitting, and I mentally ask myself the same question.

Just sit the fuck down.

My own thought is clear in my mind. The words aren't tangled with those of the voices, and the phrase echos in my head like my skull is an empty cave.

I wonder for a moment why my mind isn't chaotically loud for the first time today, but when my eyes sweep over Dakota's relaxed frame as he busies himself with blowing a strand of hair back and forth across his forehead, I get my answer.

Again, I know the voices aren't real; they're in my head and a figment of my imagination. But they somehow have different thoughts and opinions to me, like they're their own person. But that's crazy right? They're not people, they're voices... Yet, they seem to like Dakota. His presence calms them in a way other people can't. When he speaks they listen quietly, with no retort or insulting comment.

And maybe that's why I stick around. Maybe that's why I don't care about his touch or the way he stares at me. Maybe that's why I agreed to the tutoring, to accepting to help him without his knowledge. Because he makes the voices silent and when I'm with him, around him, I'm not worried about my own thoughts, I'm not hearing voices aside my own in my head, I'm not feeling the random touches on my body. While he's near, close enough for me to smell his apple-y scent and the lingering off aftershave on his clean clothes, I feel more normal than I ever have.

"Are you going to sit down anytime soon?" Dakota raises an eyebrow as he questions me in his deep, gruff voice, his words well-spoken and pronounced as always. He pats the space beside him and I hesitantly take his offer into consideration before making my own decision to sit down on the mattress, my body angled to face him. He fights the smile that twitches as his lips and keeps his face schooled into his usual detached expression.

"Seen Lilah recently?" He asks as I show no interest in starting a conversation, especially one about 'strawberry shortcake'. I shake my head. I haven't seen her since Jace made me visit her the other day. "She should be out by tomorrow." I shrug my shoulders uncaringly, though my interest is peaked as he carries on sharing the information of her improving state.

Being self-aware means I know what a rude fuck I can be. I know I'm selfish and aggressive and unpleasant. I know I'm one of the worst kinds of human in this world, but I don't wish death on Lilah— not truly. I may have threatened her in the past, I may want to rip her fucking eyes out of her sockets most of the time, and I may be harsh on the girl, but when I saw her lying there on the ground, unconscious and barely breathing, I panicked for the first time in years.

She may not be my friend. She may not even be an acquaintance. Hell, the only thing she actually is, is the bane of my fucking existence. But her resemblance to Nine, the frail girl in the cell opposite mine, the girl with the kind smile and a hopeful heart, is undeniable.

I never got to see Nine after they killed her— of course. The facility weren't the kind of people to be empathetic, to show kindness. They didn't let me say goodbye, or to tell her how sorry I was. Because I was. I'd never apologised for anything in my life, I never planned to. But I was sorry in that moment. I was sorry that she wasn't strong enough; I was sorry that she couldn't handle it like she wanted to; I was sorry that I hadn't been there when she was most likely bleeding out in a dark room, alone and scared. But I was mostly sorry because I had let her believe different. I had let her believe her parents were going to find her; I had let her believe she was going to be okay; I had let her believe that she was going to live.

So maybe it was Lilah's lifeless body that lay on the floor that made me freeze momentarily as my mind wondered, is that how Nine looked? Maybe it was at that moment that I realised Lilah was exactly like my fellow subject. Made me realise that, perhaps I didn't want the same fate for Lilah as Nine had met.

I don't like Lilah, but I also don't want her to end up dead, alone and scared— like Nine.

"—so are we ever going to talk about it?"

It takes me a moment to realise Dakota's chatter had led us onto a different topic, though I'm not sure which one. Looking over at him with a cocked eyebrow, I hum in confusion. "The uh—," he clears his throat uncomfortably, despite the fact that he's the one that addressed whatever this subject is. "You know..."

I shake my head. "I'm not a fucking mind reader, Kota." He frowns and looks away, muttering something under his breath. I don't hear him and I tell him so, demanding him to speak up and stop mumbling. He speaks up slightly but still not loud enough for me to pick up on his words. "For fucks sake, talk up will you!" I snap finally.

"The kiss!" He blurts out. "Are we ever going to talk about the kiss."

Momentarily stunned, my mouths open and closes. "I— We already did. There's nothing else to talk about."

He shakes his head. "No, I mean really talk about it," he stresses, his face still passive.

My stomach drops and churns with unease at the memory that I genuinely tried extremely fucking hard to suppress. It was a huge mistake on my part, clearly, and was never intentional. It had been a momentary lapse in judgement and I was obviously deluded. It had only lasted a few unbearable seconds, so I doubted it had even counted as a... kiss.

My body shudders and cringes at the mere thought.

"We both agreed it never happened," I say, moving a way from him slightly. He notices and frowns. "So there's nothing to talk about."

"When did we agree this?" He counters, his tone mocking. I shoot him a glare and he raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"In the woods, right before we found Lilah." Dakota grimaces at the mention of that night. "You didn't get time to agree, so I decided for you."

He snorts, "So, if you're saying you can make decisions for me, then I can make decision for you—."

I immediately deny, "'No, that's not how it works."

"— So therefore I decide that you actually do want to talk about it," he smiled triumphantly. "So, will it be happening again? If so, should I clear my schedule?" He jokes playfully, trying to lighten the mood and make it easier on me.

I scoff, "Oh, so you're a funny man now?" My eyes roll. "We're not talking about anything. It was a mistake and it will never, ever, be happening again. Ever. ¿Está claro?"

"Was it that bad?" He jokes, though he looks a little put off but what I'd said.

No, a voice whispers in the back of my mind, so quietly that I don't know if it is one of the voices or if it's my own subconscious. Although that seems highly unlikely, so I doubt it.

Dakota realises I'm not going to answer his question and this seems to lift his spirits a little, thought it's hard to tell by his facial expressions that he masks so well. "I don't see the problem. You like me, I like you. What's the big deal?"

"Who says I like you?" I question in disgust, my face scrunched to match my tone.

"Sorry, I'll rephrase," he apologises without seeming apologetic at all. "You hate me, I hate you. What's the big deal?"

My jaw clenches and I look away, not bothering to warrant his idiotic question with an answer. Getting up from the mattress, I shake my head and turn around, sky-blue eyes meeting rain-cloud-grey ones. "I need to get back. Jace is probably waiting," I inform him simply, blatantly ignoring his question as I turn away from the pointed look that he sends me, trying to keep my raising frustration from showing too much.

He doesn't say anything as he watches me leave.

Heart pounding painfully fast in anger as I scale down the tree and jump down the last couple of feet, I clench and I clench my fists as my feet tread through the wet mud. The voices return as soon as Dakota is out of my line of sight, and they scream and yell over the loud noise of the wind and rain.

My headache returns and I feel uneasy again.

He just doesn't get it.

What's the problem? His voice repeats itself in my mind and no matter how hard I tell myself not to, I decide to listen to the response the voices offer.

Too fucked up.

Too abnormal.

Too different.

Too broken.

I shake away the thoughts as I near my car, tuning them out once I've had enough. Slamming the car door, I let out an angry huff and with my fucked up hand, I punch the steering wheel in annoyance because the voices are back and taunting— now much worse than before because someone had to go and piss me off with their consistent ignorance.

I fucking hate Dakota Black.

___

"Where the fuck have you been, R.A? I've been looking around for you everywhere. Do you think I got you a phone just so you could watch it ring? No! I got you the damn phone so you could fucking answer it when I call!" As soon as I'm through the front door, I'm greeted by an angered Jace.

I don't bother to comment, though, as I barge straight past him and take the stairs two at a time, holding on to the banister as I go. Jace continues to shout up to me, his voice fading the closer I get to my room.

Once I'm inside, I slam my door closed and lock it. But that doesn't stop my housemate from continuously pounding his fist against it, demanding me to open up and let him in.

I don't.

"R.A, open the door," Jace sighs, his tone softer now. I ignore him as I lay on my bed, facing the plain, boring ceiling. "The school rang," he tells me after a few moments of utter silence. "And did you know you missed your anger management class this afternoon?"

My face scrunches, I forgot about that.

"I told you I wasn't going to that fucking class. So I didn't miss anything," I retort as I angrily clench my fists that lay at my sides. "Can you fuck off now?"

"Stop being so disrespectful," he scolds, his tone firm. "Open the door, I need to talk to you."

"You're doing fine talking to me how you are now. So you can stay out there."

"You don't have to be so rude to him, you know?"

I freeze at the voice that rings in my ears. It's different from the usual ones. More childlike, more soft, more familiar. My whole body tenses upon hearing it.

More real.

Slowly, my head turns towards my open windows, the breeze making the black, open curtains blow harshly. But what catches my attention is the small, hazel-eyed, red headed girl that sits on my windowsill, her small, bruised, scarred legs swinging childishly; her feet bare.

My heart skips a beat but makes up for it with the next one that seems to double. The air catches in my lungs at the sight of her pale face and sunken cheeks. Her chapped lips are dotted with small, almost unnoticeable specs of blood, her eyes small and lifeless. Her hair is disheveled and terribly knotted, a few patches looking thinner than others. The small hands that grip the side next to her are boney and littered with dirt.

I clench my jaw and curse my mind for playing such sick jokes on me as the small girl raises the corner of her lips in a smile.

"Hey, Harlow. I've missed you."

___

Author's Note

First and foremost go check out Devils Disciple's by Emhazz7 & themovingturtle on their joint account EmilyAndKaylee .

They didn't ask for this, but I read it and I really enjoyed it and I wanted to recommend it to my readers because I think you'll enjoy it, too!

___

So I wasn't going to post this, because I'm really not sure on it. However, you all need to remember that this is just the first draft. The plot and characters will never change, but obviously a lot of things will have to be edited (either taken out or added in) after it's finished. At the moment there are probably a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies that will later be fixed, but at the moment, this is all just the first attempt. So please keep that in mind when I publish a chapter that is a little.... off.

But anyway, what did you guys think?