Chapter Four

By the time I'd properly come to my senses, I realized that maybe I'd crossed a line. Maybe instead of actually helping I'd become a hindrance to everyone involved. What more could have been solved by me throwing my weight about for the sake of wanting a fight.

Of course the fight had finally ended. Not so much with a bang, but rather with a whimper.

Miss Dreyfus, my sociology teacher had stepped out at some point. Really, I didn't know how long I'd been fighting for when she came along. It could have been anywhere between a few seconds to a few hours. The fact that the sky had not darkened completely yet seemed to say to me that maybe it hadn't been to long.

It was apparently enough time for me to give Luis Hernandez a bloody nose, and for Owen Guerrero to be aching on the floor, howling in pain. The third member of their trifecta of douche behavior had bolted the instant things turned south. I could feel my hands pulsating, raw with the energy and the anger that flowed through them. I knew if I looked down, I would find that my own hands were bloody, bruised, and red as all hell. There was a part of me that seemed positive that I'd taken more than a few hits to the head.

Nothing really came back at first. The truth was that one moment I was walking home, and the next I was seated in a chair, with the smaller boy sitting across from me. Luis and Owen sat at the other end of the hallway, probably cursing me out. Focus was hard to maintain right now. I sat for a few more moments, honestly feeling a little bit numb to the whole thing.

Always be kind.

They were simple words, and I couldn't even follow through with them. My head bowed in the shame that soon came rushing in like waves. I'd let her down. All she wanted was the best for me, and I couldn't keep it in. I couldn't contain the fire in me that wanted to leak out; to burst out and lash out at everything that stood in my way.

"You're an idiot you know." The voice was low and drowned out by the hint of insecurity. It took a moment for me to realize that it had come from the boy sitting in front of me. Hair seemed to cover most of his face, making it almost impossible to see his face. Of course this was hardly helped by the way he had his face turned down against the world. Everything about his body pointed to the ground, never daring to lift itself an inch higher.

"You should have just stayed out of it," he spoke again, this time a little more stern. It took a moment for him to come off as anything other than soft-spoken. "I could have handled them myself."

His short stature seemed to slink further into his chair. Arms clasped together as his head precariously balanced on top. Despite this, his eyes seemed more interested in the linoleum beneath out feet.

Folding my arms across my chest, I flooded into the back of my own seat. Unlike him, I wore these cuts and bruises like a badge of honor. Regardless of how my mother would see this, it was the best thing I could do now. What point was there in life when you started to regret the things that you couldn't take back. All you could do was roll with the punches and hope that it didn't happen again.

I think the worst part about this kid though was how he had so much venom behind his words in spite of what I just did. He acted like I'd just done him some great disservice.

My eyes flickered back towards the other boys for a moment as they were called into an office. Before they went inside, both shot the meanest looks they could give. If this was what the kid had to deal with every day, then I was truly trying my best to be help to him.

"I'm sure lying in the fetal position was all part of your big plan then," I remarked, heels digging into the floor slightly. My eyebrows were furrowed, ready to tap into this restless pool of anger. I'd done my best to keep it at bay for so long for the sake of those around me. For my friends, and for my family. But now here was this kid throwing back my assistance as if I was trash. Well who was he to say anything.

I couldn't exactly see his face, but the way his entire body shifted was enough to tell me that he was more than a little shaken by this whole experience. His leg jutted like nothing I've ever seen, forcing the rest of his body to be rocked by the shockwaves. Dark hair bounced all around his face, exposing hardly more than trails of red against his tanned skin.

The other boy scoffed. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes burning into mine. "Don't pretend that you know shit about me, because you don't." There was a brief pause. Honestly, I was just a little shocked. Like before, dark lines seemed to cross over his lashes, making them more predominant. "Don't pretend that you did that for me, because we both know you just did it for yourself."

"Now who's pretending they know shit about who?" my voice came in an instant. Eyebrows cocked as my arms folded themselves in tighter than before. Even from this distance, it was hard to see past anything. All these walls he'd obviously built up felt eerily familiar. Was this what I had been doing for the past few months?

"Oh please," he managed, his tone not daring to raise itself. "You're an ex-jock looking for a way to bring some sort of validation into his life."

I laughed. He did not.

"I didn't think anyone could get something so wrong." There was truth and lies to that. Sure, he had an idea of what I'd been going through. But the honest to god truth was that it ran far deeper than me looking for some ego-trip.

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Whatever dude."

"Yeah, way to be a dismissive asshole," he said, dropping his head to looking back down at the floor.

Arrogance was fuel right now. It was the one thing that prevented me from backing down. Getting the last word in was of vital importance, even if it meant keeping the conversation going. Dad always said this was my problem; that I couldn't let anyone else win. Of course he had said this knowing full well that this was one of the few traits I had inherited from him. It was this prominent display of manhood that often made us butt heads at every turn.

"You know the least you could do is say thanks." Perhaps any other set of words would have been better, but in my head, in that moment, those just felt like the right words to say.

He scoffed at me. I knew he didn't owe me anything. I'd carelessly rushed in because of my own reasons. I'd lost my temper, and probably would have regardless to what was going down that day. The only plus was that I'd managed to put my anger towards something slightly useful.

I could practically feel him roll his eyes at me from underneath his fringe. Everything about the kid suggested he wanted to hide, but there was still that urgency to fight in him. The way he snapped, and prickled at the smallest thing suggested maybe there was more to this story. It was like that one law of nature; fight or flight. Everything in his presence suggested flight, but there was a fire behind him that told me he wasn't done fighting just yet. There was still a point that he had to prove to someone.

No one who took a beating that relentlessly was man of fight though. It just seemed to go against the word in all of its entirety. Someone who used their fight instinct wouldn't have balled themselves up like a coward. They wouldn't have waited out the attack like it was the norm.

Little did I realize just how scarcely I knew about the world, or rather the people that inhabited it.

There was a stillness, in which neither of us really said anything. A few minutes passed before the boy actually spoke again. "Look dude," he said, eyes burning with intensity. "I don't need anyone looking out for me." His face seemed to resemble a look mixed with equal parts anger, disgust, and sadness. It made me wonder for a moment. All of these things on his face seemed natural, as if they were the most normal thing in the world. "It's always been me, myself, and I. I don't need your help, got it?" Strained and cracked, his voice hit my ears with half the weight and significance that he probably wanted to convey. There was a second where the frown had wiped itself from my face, instead leaving me numb where my lips had dared to curl down.

"And how's that working out for you?" my snarky reply followed.

So maybe poking the bear with a stick wasn't the best idea. Then again, I never claimed to be the hero of this story.

It was almost instantly clear that he didn't make light of these issues all too often. His eyes locked with mines once more, unmoving and somewhat restless. The more I looked into his eyes, the more I couldn't help but get distracted by all the flash and show he was drawing to them. It was like some symbolic magic act that only he knew the answer too.

"Poorly," he remarked with a broken smile, bowing his head down for a split second. "But that doesn't give you the right to fight my battles."

I shrugged my shoulders, heavy with my own spirits. "It's hardly a fair fight when it's three on one." I considered the thought for a moment longer. "Of course that's not really saying much when I managed to take two of them down a peg or two."

He did that internal laugh thing. Like where you smile, and your nostrils betray your need to let something out. His eyes tried looking away, but I caught them once more, looking slightly more sad and pensive than they had looked a second ago. My frown returned with growing concern for the kid.

"Xavier Sutton," I expressed, holding out one of my raw and reddened hands towards him.

It took him a moment to register me, and even then he seemed a little more reluctant to accept the situation. His brow cocked as he stared at me for a moment longer, observing me as if I were a threat. There was part of me that wondered if this was what he actually did with everyone he met.

"Garth Vega," he finally spoke, not daring to shake my hand. Normally I'd have found it rude, but there was something different about Garth. It wasn't that he didn't want to shake my hand, but that he was hesitant to trust a handshake.

Reeling my hand back, I smiled enough. It was one of those fake ones to try and put forward that I had no bad feelings towards his rejection, even if I did. There was no doubt in my mind that he seen straight through that in an instant.

He followed through with an expression that seemed to suggest 'sorry.' It was either that or he had just let one rip.

"Sooo Garth," I started, wondering on how best to present my question, "What's with the make-up."

Sharply he looked down and away, probably wishing that the world would swallow him whole. His smile (which was contrived) forced itself down into a frown. Knees instantly collided with each other as his head ducked lower down to the floor.

There was probably something to it, but I wasn't going to get it from him right now.

I sighed to myself for a moment, leaning back in my chair. Dad would probably round the corner at any moment, so now was not the opportunity to try and mince words around. If it really was a big deal, then I would leave it at that. But there was something about him that sort of made me want to press the issue.

It was only when I truly decided not too, that he brought his head up.

"It's..." He paused for a moment, trying to compose himself. "It's to give them a reason... an excuse."

And now I was just as confused as before.