Summary: The worst storms are those that begin in our breasts.

Have you ever gone to take a leak, only to be met with a crowd of people bigger, stronger and faster than you, piling up atop of you, burying you under a literal avalanche of questions? Yeah, me neither, until just an hour ago. 

Doc Jones finally allowed me to leave the bed. Attempting to leave the room itself would immediately prove to be a bad idea: the moment I open the door, I was greeted by a crowd of media vultures. All of them screeching questions, brandishing their microphone claws and beating me over the head with their camera wings. 

I retreat inside immediately and call for backup, namely Reed and Rosa. 

Rosa can't come, as she's busy on the farm, but Reed came not even half an hour later. He dispersed the crowd with a lot of swearing - and from what I heard, shoving - assisted by Doc Jones' calls for reason and minding the well-being of his patient. The journos mostly dispersed, those left behind being the most desperate. 

“Those people have no shame.” Doc Jones says, entering my sanctuary with Reed. 

“You're telling me, doc.” Reed shakes his head - and his fist - at a DNN reporter peeking into the room. “Rosa told me how it went down previously, but I didn't think it could get that bad.” 

Doc shuts the door in the face of the curious pteranodon bloodsucker, which earns the man a half-hearted insult. 

“What a shitshow.” I set down the guitar. I squeeze hands with Reed and give him a nod and a smirk. 

I point at the TV. The two look at it. 

I've been doing nothing since the morning but watching the news. DNN, Flux News, PNC, everyone is showing this damn security footage. The public demands the head of the monster! Ripley Aaron must fall! The commissioner is finished! 

I should be happy. Vengefully satisfied. After all, Grim Ripley got what was coming for him. Those who sow wind will reap the storm, that kind of shit. Instead, I kind of feel bad for the old man. He's been through so much and now this? I don't know, it is satisfying to see this gambit blow up in his face, but not to this degree. 

Though, I did almost wind up dead because of his scheme. Fuck him. Still, even though I hate him for what he did to Fang, Naser and me, there are still enough pangs of compassion left in me to feel bad for him. A little bit. A microscopic bit. An atom sized grain of compassion. 

He chose this path. Instead of letting someone else take over the case, he went out of his way to fuck with me for something I did not do. I played a part in how it played out, but so did others from Fang’s friend group, and he didn't even bother with them, no. He went straight for me. 

Still, I can't stamp out this grain of compassion. Raptor Jesus, I hope it won't grow. I'd neck myself if I’d start feeling bad for the ol’ Rip at this point. 

“It's a circus.” I shake my head. “They'll have my comment, or they'll have my blood. And I don't think they care which.” 

Doc Jones nods. 

“Yes, this is getting ridiculous. You can't stay holed up here until your relocation.” He glances at Reed, who only shrugs. 

Reed and Rosa know what the good ol' doc is planning for me. No more secrets amongst friends. Stella knows too. She even offered to bring me some manga after I get moved. 

“Just so, you know.” She giggled over the phone. “You don't actually go crazy, from boredom.” 

Stella, you're a weirdo, but a wonderful one. Just please don't bring me Azumanga Daioh or something, or I'll go coo coo crazy within a millisecond. God, I hate manga set in highschools. 

“Call the cops.” Reed proposes. “They owe Anon for the shit they've put him through.” 

Evan opens his mouth to protest, but stops, closes it, rubs his chin, quietly hemms with a series of short nods, and finally looks at him with a relieved expression. 

“You know, Reed, this may…” he rubs his jaw, turning to him. “This may not be a bad idea. VBPD gets a chance to repair their image, while Anon gets protection and a peace of mind.” 

And peace of the body.

“That too.” 

My big mouth betrays me again. I should start carrying a roll of tape in my pocket. A real big roll. 

“Go and do it, mister Evan.” Reed sighs and drags the chair over to the window, where he promptly plops down. 

Doc looks at me, raising one brow in an unspoken question. I nod. He nods back and leaves. 

I'm really glad he hasn't brought up Trish yet. I don't know how I'd handle that conversation. If I could handle it at all. He doesn't seem like the type of guy to hold a grudge, but you never know. He is a professional, but under that, he's still a man. And a father. And I insulted him. 

Real fatherless behavior. 

That roll of tape looks mighty tempting, now that I think of it.  

I look over at Reed. He sits with the chair leaning slightly towards the window sill. He's been staring at the news station vans crowding the parking lot for a good couple of minutes. From the look in his eyes, I can tell that he's thinking very violent thoughts at the moment. 

“Reed?” 

He turns his head. His face is so tense, his expression so hateful and vicious, that I can't help but turn pale. My heart starts doing jumping jacks, while my stomach contracts into the size of a golf ball. 

He notices. He blinks. His expression changes. Anger melts away, replaced by shame. Viciousness dispels, making way for sadness. He sighs and grips his snout, cursing under his breath. 

“I'm sorry, man.” He turns away from the window. “I… I saw this whole security footage on YouSnoot.” He grits his teeth. “Who knew Fang’s dad was such a piece of shit?” 

I swallow. It's hard, since my throat had clenched itself pretty damn tight, so it now has a diameter of a soda straw, but I manage. I grab the guitar. Strum, strum, strum, I play the anxiety away until my heart stops its aerobics. 

“I knew for a long time that he was a cruel sonuvabitch.” I stop strumming for a moment. “You'd understand, if you saw how he treated Naser.” I grit my teeth. “You all thought that kid was so hard under Naomi's thumb because he was a little bitch.”

Reed shrugs. 

“I don't know about that, man. Naomi had him wrapped around her finger super tight.” 

“Nah, man,” I shake my head. “That kid was tough. It's the shit at home that made him so stressed out and nervous.” I sigh. “He did not fucking deserve to die, fuck!” I swing my hand violently, my finger snagging on the string. Without much thinking, I drag it across. Sharp pain and sudden wetness makes me jump. “Ow! Shit!” 

Reed starts. He stares at me as I start sucking my finger. 

“Ghet help pleshe.” I ask him. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah, on it!” He rushes out, while I take my finger out of my mouth.

I quickly wrap it into the sheets. Damn, it's the same finger I've bitten through twice. Little fella must be cursed. Sorry, friend, it won't happen again, I promise.  

It's not badly cut, I think, but it's bleeding profusely. It's a good thing Rosa isn't here. She'd lose her marbles. 

Reed soon returns with a nurse. She patches me up, and takes the sheets to be cleaned. She leaves. Or, at least attempts to. 

She’s pushed inside by the good doctor, who himself had just pushed through the crowd of carrion seekers, all eager to get a photo or a recording of me. Fuck me, this is getting out of hand. We could use a cop or two here. Hell, a whole swat team. Where the hell is security when you need it? 

“Leave, please!” He calls out to the journos attempting to pile into the room. “Mister Anon needs rest!” 

“No interviews!” I put my hands in front of my face as the cameras start clicking in a never ending cascade. “No photos! Get out! Out!” 

Reed, who has been standing quietly by the window up until now, stirs. He gives a long, low, throaty hiss, which cuts through the hubbub of voices like a hot knife through warm butter. 

All freeze, including me, doc and the hapless nurse. The way he tenses up, leans towards the journos and leers at them makes me shiver. That leer and posture is feral - narrowed eyes, bared fangs, tail stiff and puffed up like a dust broom, fists half clenched with his claws partially slid out.

If he's putting on a show, he's one hell of an actor. No. The look in his eyes. He's pissed off. 

“Get out.” He points at the door. “I will count to three.” 

They just stare at him in tense silence. Nobody moves or says anything.  

“Three.” He takes a step forward. 

There's gasping, a singular scream, and within seconds, all the journalists have cleared out of the room. Reed relaxes, grins at me, gives me a thumbs up and beckons at the nurse to leave. 

She does that. Quickly. She almost runs outside. And she's staying at least an arm's length away from him the whole time. He shuts the door behind her and goes to sit in his chair. 

“Some reporters.” He scoffs as he plops down in his seat. “A bit of tooth and claw and they're crapping their pants.” He chuckles. 

There's no sign of anger in him. None. He was just dripping with killer intent and now he's laughing and cracking jokes. Maybe this therapist he mentioned is working wonders on him. 

Whatever the case may be, despite his relaxed appearance, his eyes tell a completely different story. He's still angry, fucking pissed off. No secrets amongst friends, but it will be better to wait for him to calm down first. 

“Have you called the dick-tective yet, doc?” he asks. 

“What happened here?” Evan replies with a question, nodding at me. 

“I cut myself on the guitar string.” I shrug. “It's fine, doc. I don't need stitching.” 

He looks at the guitar. There's a spec of blood on the unfortunate string. He frowns, looks at me, then at my finger. 

“We need to make sure. No now, mind you.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “The force agreed to send two police officers. We will wait for them to arrive before trying to move you across the hospital.” 

I nod. I try to move my finger. Fuck, oh fuck it hurts. I glance over at Reed. He has a slightly odd look in his eyes. It almost looks… hungry. I start. Is this because of the blood? He is a carnivore.

“You hungry, big guy?” I somehow manage not to make my voice crack. 

Reed blinks. His pupils shrink. That weird look disappears. Thank fucking god. 

“Sorry.” He looks away with an awkward chuckle. 

Evan looks at us both. 

“You two take it easy now. I'll be back once the police officers arrive.” He nods at us and walks to the door. “Good day.” 

He leaves. Me and Reed look at one another. Then look away. An awkward, tense silence falls over the room, one neither of us wants or is willing to break. Reed takes out his phone. I do the same, minding my poor, cursed finger. 

I feel a prick of need. The need to shitpost and be a menace online. But I don't give in. The curiosity of how Ripley is going to end up easily overwhelms it. Instead of going onto the certain online forum for the world's angriest irishmen, I peruse the news sites. 

The headlines alone are enough for me to predict his fate. 

Commissioner, or an executioner: what do we know about Ripley Aaron? - asks DNN

Murky beginnings of the Chief of VBPD - Flux News teases

Three weeks of suffering: the story of Anon Y. Mous - step right up step right up, PNC has a story of a lifetime.

The articles only confirm my conviction. Posts on Reddit and Grabbit tell the same story. A hero versus a cruel villain. Good versus evil. Ha, if only it was that simple. 

Reed’s chuckle pulls me back to reality. I look over at him. He's watching some video of himself and Rosa. They are singing some banda songs I think. Or at least trying to. They're mostly laughing, then making futile attempts to catch up. 

They sound so happy. I can't help but smile a little myself. They deserve it. Reed notices me looking and pauses the video. He looks embarrassed: a flush spreads over his cheeks, joined by an awkward smile on his snout. 

“Ah, it's just a stupid little video.” He puts the phone on the window sill. 

“Happiness isn't foolishness.” 

He lifts his eyebrow with a tilt of his head. 

“You’re quoting Banal Fantasy nine now? Really, dude?” He snickers. 

I blush deeply, my head retreating deep between my shoulders. 

“Well it fits.” I mumble out. 

“I guess it does.” He chuckles again and grabs his phone. 

Just as he's about to resume the video, there's commotion outside. We look at the door. We hear the familiar voice of the orange tyrant. 

“¡Largaos de aquí, malditos buitres!” She shouts, her voice reverberating in the hall. “¡Fuera!” Swish. She just swung at someone. “¡Fuera!” 

Reed starts. Then, he relaxes. The threats shouted by that beast of a woman have the weirdest fucking effect on him: he starts blushing, and looking at the door as if there was some heavenly music seeping through, not Rosa's shouting and the frantic scrambling of the panicked journalists. 

There is this dreaminess on his face again. He leans forward, listening intently, jaw in the palm of his hand, his elbow on his knee. 

We lost him. It's even worse than last Friday. It's over. Good luck, Reed. And good on ya. 

Finally, Rosa makes it through the door. She waits until Stella passes through before slamming it with enough force to shake the room. She then turns and casts a long, sweeping glance across the surroundings. She stops. Freezes. Oh fuck, she noticed the blood on the guitar. And my finger. 

Oh shit shit fuck. 

“What did you do to yourself this time?”

Huh. She's calm. I guess the crowd outside tired her out. Huh. Journalists are good for something after all. 

“I uh, cut my finger on the string.” I shrug. “It's fine, Rosa. Don't worry.” 

She shakes her head, her hands already on her hips. She leans forward. 

“Someone has to worry, with how little you take care of yourself, chico .” she wags her finger at me. “I let my eyes off you for a few hours and you're already bleeding.”

I'd rather not think about how she will react to my plan regarding the army. Not now at least. I will have to tell her eventually.

As Rosa berates me, Stella scoots over to the vacant chair by my bedside and sits down. She's carrying a bag on her shoulder and the most curious smile on her face. I pay no attention to that at the moment, focusing instead on the other girl. 

The orange terror finishes her tirade with a grumble and a shake of the head. She turns to Reed. He's met with the widest smile I've seen on her yet and a blush on her cheeks. He chuckles and rubs his head. She comes over, and without asking, sits in his lap. 

“Reed, querido, is everything okay?” she quietly asks him. 

He replies so quietly that I can't hear what he's saying. I wouldn't be able to hear him even if he spoke louder, with Stella clearing her throat so violently. I turn to her. She looks impatient. And she’s turning up her snout, a pout already forming. Seeing me react though, she drops the act and becomes her usual self. 

“Anon, I brought you something to read.” She sets the bag down onto the bed and nods at it with a murmur of encouragement. 

I do take a gander. Huh. It's manga. A lot of it. How did she stuff so many books in this tiny bag without it bursting open? I look at her.

“Stella...” I smile and nod. “Thanks.” 

Soon, the atmosphere in the room is much different. I quietly chat with Stella, separating the books into piles of hell yeah and hell no. Rosa meanwhile sits in Reed's lap, the two whispering to one another. I glance over at them from time to time. Lots of snout nuzzling going on. How shameful, Rosa. Your parents would not approve. 

Heh. They remind me of myself and Fang, of the few times we shared such tender moments. Good for them. I hope they'll be happy. 

When the doc enters, the two lovebirds are watching that video Reed was watching earlier. Seeing Evan, Rosa gives a soft squeak and jumps off Reed's laps, crimson red from embarrassment. Doc only gives her a curt nod, then turns to me. 

“Come, Anon.” He ignores the piles of manga on my bed and beckons to me. “We need to check if you haven't cut your tendon.” 

“Is it important?” I nod at Stella, then walk over to him. 

“Do you want to be able to play that guitar of yours?” He nods at it. 

Oh shit, true. 

He opens the door. Instead of the expected crowd of the tormentors sent by their carrion overlords, there's peace and quiet. And a pair of cops, standing at my door with the meanest looks on their faces they could muster. A human on my right, and on my left…

“Holy shit, you here, Li?” 

The sinraptor starts. Then grumbles.  

“Officer Li.”

“You didn't mind me dropping the title when I asked about the wifey.” I grin at him. “Good to see a familiar face.” 

He grimaces when I mention one of the convos we had on my way back from the station, but then nods. His face relaxes. He looks at doc, then at me. 

“Can you escort us?” Evan nods at me.  

“That's what we're here for.” He pushes himself away from the wall. “Paul, watch the door.” 

The stocky, mellow looking man with the oddest mustache I've ever seen, nods. 

“Got it.”

We go. When we round the corner, I am met with a camera to the face and a microphone to the mouth. Here she is, the adamant DNN reporter, who got to kiss the doorknob earlier. 

“I'm Tracy Johnson. with the Dino News Network, I only have a couple questions concerning-” 

Li quickly moves in front of me and covers the camera lens with his hand. I peek from behind him. The cameraman jerks back, trying to get his equipment out of Li’s grasp, but to no avail. The journalist looks up at the sinraptor, annoyance and anger mingling on her face. Her wings twitch. Her hand clenches on the shaft of the microphone. Haha, eat shit. 

“And who are you?” She asks. 

“Look at the uniform.” He lets go of the camera as the camera guy is mid-jerk, which makes the guy stumble and almost fall over. “Leave. Mister Mous has no comment to make on the latest developments.” 

“Are you here to provide protection for Mister Mous?” She asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“The least we could do for him.” Li narrows his eyes. “Now leave, please.” 

Her eyes shoot wide open. Oh shit, this is it. That's what she’s been waiting for. 

She looks over at the camera guy, who gives her a thumbs up. Goddammit, we'll be on the news. Sorry, Li, didn't want to rope you into this that way. 

She turns away from us and beckons the cameraman to come over. Li grabs my shoulder. We follow Doc Jones. I can feel the watchful eye of the camera on my back as we leave these two behind. I catch her talking into the microphone. 

“With the new chief appointed by the Volcaldera Bluffs mayor, the VBPD has already seen major improvements in their conduct.”

We round another corner. I can still hear her talking.  

“As you just saw, a police officer has been assigned to look out for the well-being of Anon Mous, the hero in the tragedy that had befallen Volcano High. A stark contrast to the treatment offered to him by the former chief of Volcaldera Bluffs police, Ripley Aaron.” 

My hand clenches into a fist, almost at its own. Volcano High tragedy. Fang. Fuck I haven't thought of her in days. I was enjoying myself, while she… no. No, calm down. There is nothing you can do for her right now. Calm breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. 

Man, I wish I still had my pills. 

We arrive at the treatment room without encountering more vultures on our way. Thank Raptor Jesus for that. 

I do need stitches. I get local anesthesia, so it doesn't hurt. It's interesting, in a morbid way, watching yourself being put together while you feel nothing of it. It feels weird, as if you were watching a medical documentary, with you as the main star. I, being the weirdo that I am, of course watch carefully. 

Shame that I left my phone in my room. This would make one hell of a photo. 

Li observes the procedure with the same hungry look Reed had when he watched me getting patched up. I don't like it. 

Damn carnivores. I need to distract him before he gets hungry and decides to have a snack. I open my mouth, set on striking up a conversation, but he beats me to it. 

“We have a temporary commissioner. As you heard.”

“Yeah…” I cock my brow. “Who?” 

“Eric Stockton.” He waves his hand. “Assistant Chief. You never met him.” 

I nod a few times. Well, I almost expected ol' Glenn to take Rip's place. Eh, I'm not in the mood for getting into cophouse politics.

“How's Miss’ Blue doing so far?” 

“Missus.” He corrects me. “She's doing… well, I think? I don't know much.” he shrugs. “Boys at the station say that things have finally started moving forward.” He grimaces. “She's uptight and by-the-book, you wouldn't believe it.” 

It’s good to have someone with a cool head and an unclouded perspective handling this mess. This shit will be over quicker, and that's good for everyone concerned. 

 

***

 

A few days go by. Rosa, Reed and Stella come and go, while I busy myself with getting a better grip on Fang's song. I need to come up with a title. Monochromatic Brilliance? She does look like a black and white cartoon character, so it'd fit. Fuck, I don't know. I'll need to think about it. 

One evening, after a day-long solo jam session, Doc Jones comes into my room. I look up from a manga I'm reading. Seeing him, I set it down and sit up. 

“Good evening, doc. What's up?” 

“Your principal, Mister Spears, wants to see you.” He informs me. 

I nearly jump in place. Holy shit, the caveman took his sweet ass time. It's been like, what, almost two weeks - counting my blackout - since I gave him the letter? 

“Yes, yes, please.” I nod enthusiastically. 

He leaves. Soon after, Spears enters. He greets me with a nod, closes the door and walks up to my bed. After inspecting the chairs with a quick, sweeping glance, he finds them lacking: he grimaces and decides to keep standing. 

“Good evening, Anon.” He gives me a small smile. “I hope you're feeling better.” 

“I am, thank you Spears, sir.” I drum on my thigh with my fingers. “So, uh, the letter…?” 

“Fang read it.” he pauses. 

It's a long pause. Very long. Excruciatingly long. So long in fact, that my drumming stops and instead, my fingers start gripping the sheets. I press my lips together until they form a thin line. 

Beep Beep Beep Beep

Yep, I'm anxious. Who wouldn't be? What the hell is he waiting for? Speak, goddammit!

“They were angry…” 

Fuck. No, no, no!

“Until I explained your reasons. I also told them about your scheme.” 

Oh. Oh fuck yes! 

“They were surprised by your idea, but they approve of it.” 

Yeah! YEAH! 

“They also gave me this.” 

An envelope. I take it with hands trembling and cold sweat wetting the hospital gown. I stare at it for a long, long, long moment, my eyes wide open and burning from not blinking. Will it disappear if I blink? I don't want to find out. My stomach hurts, my heart slams out a steady, fast, strong rhythm. Do I want to open it? Do I want to know what's inside?

I look at Spears. He nods at the envelope with his hand. 

With hands trembling so much, that I can barely hold the envelope, I tear it open. There's something inside besides the expected letter. I shake it out onto my hand. 

It's Fang’s necklace. 

The emotions that flood me upon seeing this ugly-ass, crappy piece of jewelry defy description. 

Pain. Happiness. Sadness. Despair. Those are but the few, and they meld together so quickly, swirling and mingling in my chest so violently, that within seconds, I can't tell them apart. 

All I can tell is that I'm squeezing the pendant in my hand, tightly, hard, so hard that the edges are cutting into my skin. 

I'm sobbing through clenched teeth, shaking, choking back sobs. My vision is blurred from the tears, dribbling down my cheeks in thick streams. The tears are hot. They feel like molten metal when they fall onto my chest, still drenched in cold sweat. Each such droplet makes me twitch slightly, and produce a fresh sob.

How long was I weeping for my sweet sweet girl? I have no idea. After the tears run out, and I calm down enough to wipe them away, I look up. Spears had moved from my bedside to the window, where he stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He turns from the window to me. 

“The letter, Anon.” He nods at the envelope. “Read it.” 

“I don't know if I'll be able to, sir.” I reply, glancing at the pendant. The mere sight of it is enough to make me tremble and sniffle. 

“They want you to read it. Do it for them.” He turns back towards the window. 

Do it for her. He's right. Man the fuck up. Don't be a pussy. 

I gently set the pendant down onto the sheets and take the letter out. It's hardly legible, as it's blotched with tears, and many parts have been angrily crossed out. 

 

Dweeb,

I hope you'll feel better when this note reaches you. 

The principal told me about what dad did and let me tell you: he can go fuck himself and die for all I care. He's always been a dickhead, but this crosses the fucking line. I think I'll kill him the next time I see him.

The prison sucks, which is a surprise to no one. The food is shit, and so is the company, but I had some time to calm down and think. 

Remember when I called you? The guards keep talking. Nobody tells me anything, but I'm almost sure I killed more people than just Naomi. And I think I hurt many more. Next time you see Naser, tell him that I'm sorry, okay? He may tell you to fuck off, which, okay,  understandable. I did fucking shoot him. Still, please tell him I'm sorry. 

I love you, dweeb. No matter what happens, you will always be in my heart. 

Your Sweet Tooth 

 

I'm going to fucking cry again, I think. Yep, here it comes. 

Fuck. Didn't know eyes could hold so much water.  

After what feels like eternity, I settle down. I'm squeezing the letter, my eyes swollen and hurting. My face is drenched in hot tears and cold sweat. I set the letter down onto the bedside table and grab the pendant. 

I kiss it. Then I put it on. A tiny crumb of her, a reminder of her love and warmth. I fucking love you, Fang. Whatever happens, wherever I will end up in life, I will always fucking love you. 

“Thank you, sir.” I wipe my eyes with my forearm. 

He nods, still watching the panorama of the city. There's a hint of tension in that stone face, a hint of rigidity. Who knows how much my reaction moved him. He's unreadable. 

“Spears, sir?” 

He murmurs something. He's listening. 

“What will happen to the school?” 

He rolls his shoulders. 

“I don't know. Great changes, that is certain.” 

Wait, he doesn't know? Isn't he the fucking principal?

“I will be submitting my resignation tomorrow.” 

I twitch. That goddamn mouth of mine-

Wait, WHAT. 

“A re-resignation?” I stammer out. “Wh-why?” 

He finally turns to me. His hands still clasped behind his back, he sighs and shakes his head with a sad grimace. 

“I have failed as a principal.” he clenches his fist before his face. “I failed as a caretaker of my students. I need to take responsibility, Anon.” 

“You didn't-” 

“I didn't do enough, Anon.” He interrupts me. “For you, for Fang, Naser, Naomi and others.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. 

“So this is a goodbye?” 

He shakes his head and puts his glasses back on. 

“I will not be leaving Volcaldera, if that's what you're implying. We will meet again.”

He comes over. We shake hands. 

“Goodnight, Anon. And good luck in your future prospects.” 

“Good luck, Spears, sir. And thank you.” 

I watch him leave. Thanks, caveman. You aren't such a bad guy, all things considered. 

I delicately fold up the letter and hide it under the get well soon card. Then, I turn on my side, and tightly gripping the amulet in my hand, stare at the window until I fall asleep. 

I dream of Fang. Of better days. And of the future that will never be.

 

***

 

I am awakened by the sounds of crying. Not weeping like I came to expect from Rosa, but stifled, choked back crying. Wait. That voice… No way. No fucking way. She's here again?!

I open my eyes. Then look at her. Who the fuck let her in? 

“Trish, do you have any idea what time-” I freeze. 

She's holding Fang's letter. That little, purple, salad tossing, nub-horned, bitch of a trigga is holding the I got from Fang. She's reading it. She is reading MY LETTER. Meant for MY EYES ONLY. The fucking nerve on that bitch! I will deliver the ass kicking you deserve, you pint sized trigga-

Wait. She's crying. Like, actually crying. Not wailing in wild panic like she was on the day of the shooting, she's sobbing over the letter. 

Oh fuck, now that I look at it, Fang reused the paper I wrote the letter on. Fuck, that means she read both mine and Fang’s letters. No, no, NO! 

But, the tears of the trigga are enough to hold my rage back. For now, at least. 

“Give it back.” I demand. “Do you hear me, you stupid bitch?”

She looks up from the letter. Her hands clench around the piece of paper. I tense up and hop off the bed. I leer, I leer at her, already turning pale with anger. 

“If you fucking tear it it to pieces you bipolar piece of shit, I will…” I clench my hands in front of me. She glowers at me, then looks back at the letter. 

I want to say that I will snap her scrawny neck, her dad be damned. But I can't force my mouth to work. Work, work goddammit! You wanted a verbal whipping last time, salad gobbler? I will show you a whipping you won't fucking forget! 

She slowly gets up from her chair and, sniffling and mumbling incomprehensibly, she walks up to me. She extends her hand. I swipe the letter out of her grasp, then carefully straighten the paper out and look over my shoulder. 

“Are you fucking done?” I growl. “Who the fuck let you in here again?” I stuff the letter under my pillow. If Rosa found it… dear Lord, I'd rather not think how she'd react. 

Trish just stands there, looking longingly at where I put the letter. I turn to her. She looks at me. Her eyes land on Fang's necklace. This produces a fresh sob, which shakes her whole body. I just stand there. Still. As still as a statue, as a stone. She is not my friend. I will not console that bitch, she does not deserve it. 

“See what your idea led up to?” I say in a quiet, trembling voice. “Do you. Fucking. Understand. Now?” I stab the air with my finger with each word. 

She just keeps crying. Her eyes, full of tears, dart from my face, to the necklace, then back to my face. She's mumbling again, wetly and quickly. She's reaching out, as if wanting to touch the necklace. To feel the crumb of Fang’s presence. 

No. You do not deserve it. 

I step back. Her hand freezes, the look of pain on her face intensifying. Then, her arm slumps. She turns away from me. 

Man, this is… no. NO. No fucking compassion for her. She caused it. She might as well have taken up the gun herself and killed Naser, Naomi and the others. Be cold. Stone cold. Ice cold. Give her a taste of her own medicine. 

Then what is this… this fucking… this fucking pit in my stomach? Why do I feel so bad? Why is my heart beating so fast? Why? WHY? I fucking hate her, and yet… NO. NO, NO, FUCKING NO! Get a hold of yourself, fucking idiot!  

Oh, how I wish this tiny voice spoke up now. Little guy has the best advice. But, my mind is silent. Save for the whirlwind of my own thoughts. 

Trish takes a stumbling step. She sways, as if she's drunk. Then another. And another. 

Should I let her leave? Her dad would have some serious questions if he came across her in such a state. But did I cause it? She read the fucking letter. I did not put it in her hand. She ruined the prom concert. I did not make her do it. 

I may have pushed Fang over the precipice, but all she's been doing has been pushing my sweet girl right up to the very edge. 

I didn't do enough .

Words of that fucking caveman start echoing in my head, louder and louder as I watch Trish stumble towards the door. She's slouching and hugging herself.

 

I didn't do enough

 

I didn't do enough 

 

I didn't do enough  

 

God. FUCKING. DAMMIT

 

“Trish, wait.” 

She stops. Then, she slowly, very slowly turns towards me. She's trembling. Her cheeks are wet, her hoodie is wet, even her sleeves are soaked. There's a question in her eyes. And a plea. I beckon to her to come over. 

She walks back. 

“You may be the worst fucking person I have ever met, including those pieces of shit at my old school.” I put my hands on her shoulders. 

She cowers upon hearing those words. 

“But if Fang is important to you, then you will not fucking run off on her again, got it?”

I hesitate for a moment. She looks so sad. So pathetic. So much not like her usual, confident self. I can't fucking stand it. Well, Rosa's method of calming others down hadn't failed me yet. It worked on Stella, it worked on Reed, it may work on the trigga. 

I pull her into a tight hug. Initially, she tenses up and freezes like a startled little critter. Then, she tries to yank herself away from me, beating on my chest with her fists. Gradually, she calms down, and just slumps against me, trembling, silent. 

“Now, let it all out.” I pat her back. “It will help.” 

She cries. Oh, how she cries. My chest is soaked within moments. My whole body vibrates from the force of her sobs as she weeps into my chest.  

The way she hugs is completely different from Reed's, or Stella's. Well, Stella didn't exactly hug me. I just held her close as she cried.

Trish though… she clings to me, pretty damn hard. Not as hard as Rosa, but still, enough to make my ribs hurt. There's desperation, need for comfort and closeness in that hug. The way she grips my back, the way she gives me a couple bruises with how hard she's pushing her head against my chest. It's a miracle she doesn't skewer me with those tiny horns of hers. Was she really that lonely all this time? Probably. One of her friends is in prison because of her, and the other cut all contact. 

It takes a while. Finally, she's calm enough to look up at me. 

“You feeling better now?” 

She nods. 

“Good.” I nod back at her. “Hey!” 

She's weighing Fang’s amulet in her palm. The look in her eyes… longing, wistful, needful. I want to swat her hand away, but I check myself. She won't take it from me, something tells me. Yep. There she goes. 

She pulls away from me. 

“Th-thanks…” she mumbles under her breath. 

“I still don't fucking like you.” I tell her. 

She steps back, ready to cry again. I shake my head and raise my hand. Nope. I'm not invalidating what just happened. Just making things clear between us two.

I wait for her to calm down before I continue.

“But you love… loved Fang. So I guess you know how I feel. Maybe we can start over.” I extend my hand to her. 

She looks at my hand, then at me. 

“What do you mean?” She wipes the remainder of her tears with her sleeve. 

“I mean, we put those five months of retardation behind us and start acting like normal people. Well, as normal as we can, given the circumstances.” I keep my hand extended. 

She tilts her head to the side, an unsure expression plain on her face.

“We both need help.” I keep talking. “And you can't deal with this shit alone. I tried that, look where it got me.” I make a wide swipe with my arm, encompassing the whole room with it. “Let's help each other. So we can help Fang.”

She hesitates. She looks at my hand again, then back at me. Finally, after a moment of hesitation clearly visible on her face, she nods. 

We shake hands. 

At this moment, the door opens. 

“Hey, Anon, I thought I'd come in before scho-” Reed pauses and freezes. 

I intercept before the rage contorting his face finds its target. I shove Trish behind me, shielding her with my body. Don't fucking make me regret this, you salad tosser. 

“What. Is. SHE. DOING. HERE.” Reed demands, stepping into the room and shutting the door. He starts to slowly walk towards me.

“She came to visit me.” I tell him. “And if you as much as lay a finger on her, I-”

“Oh, so you two are friends now, huh?!” He throws his arms up. “Good to know! After what I've shown you! After what I've told you! Fucking unbelievable!”  

He turns on his heel and is about to stomp out of the room, when I grab his shoulder. He freezes again. There it is. This growl. Hm, yes, my skin is crawling alright. And his tail is standing up again. Yep, here's that flicking of the tail. 

“Fucking let me go, dude.” Reed’s voice is calm, but there's a note in it that makes my heart stop for a second. “Fucking let me go or it will take a whole team of surgeons to sow you back together.” 

“Reed-” 

He hisses. Trish stumbles on her words and falls silent. 

“Kill me, if you want.” I say. Why am I so calm? “I am not fucking letting you go.” 

He growls and looks over his shoulder. 

“You’re lucky that Rosa gives so much shit about you.” He says, his voice quiet, calm and trembling. “She won't after she learns that you've been seeing this backstabbing piece of shit behind our backs.” 

I don't know why, but him mentioning Rosa makes my fucking blood boil. Who the fuck does he think he is, passing judgement in her name? Who the fuck made him the judge, jury and executioner? 

“Rosa didn't drop me and you, even though we both fucked up just as hard as Trish.” I tell him, my voice is cool and collected. “I kept fucking up the whole semester, and she still cares, she still wants to be friends.” I pause for breath. “What makes you think things will be different with Trish?”

I hear the purple goblin stir behind me. She's looking at me now, I think. I can feel her eyes on my back. I don't give a shit.

“Have you even told Rosa what she did?” I narrow my eyes at Reed.

That gives him a pause. He deflates, slightly. The look on his face shifts, gaining a tinge of embarrassment. Oh shit. Oh fuck, he didn't tell her. 

“So much for no secrets amongst friends.” I mutter.

“Shut up.” He growls. He shakes my hand off and swivels in place to face me. “Shut the fuck up!” 

He's angry. But I am calm. How? Maybe it's Fang's pendant, lending me a portion of her strength. 

“We agreed to forget about her,” he grabs his temple with his fingertips, then swings his hand away. “And what do you do?” He points at me. “You go behind my back and turn all buddy-buddy with her!” he clenches his hand into a fist. 

I grit my teeth. I wanted to talk it out. You told her to fuck off. Someone's misremembering shit here, and it ain't me. 

“We didn't agree to shit.” I lean towards him slightly, my brows furrowed. “I wanted to hear her out.” 

“Then hug it out, talk it out, go fuck yourselves and goodbye, friends .” He spits out the last word with a forward jerk of his head. He points at me, stabbing the air with his claw. “You better not show your face around town, or I swear, I-” 

Trish grabs his wrist. I blink. When did she?...

He freezes. Then slowly, very, very slowly, he turns his head to her. The two stand still, staring at each other in silence for a couple of seconds. 

One is tensed up, his claw still pointing at me, his eyes wild, his pupils shrunk down to the size of pinheads. The other looks up, tense also, but much calmer, looking somewhat determined. 

“He didn't invite me here.” She says. “If you want to kick someone's ass, kick mine. If you want to murder someone, kill me.” She's not exactly calm, but her voice is firm.

Reed scoffs and shakes her hand off.

“Well would you look at that!” He puts his hand on his hip, tilting his head with a sardonic smile. “How very fucking benevolent of you, Trish!” he claps quickly a few times. 

She lets her arm fall by her side and continues, as calm and determined as before.  

“I don't have much left to live for anyway. I love Fang, Reed. You have no idea how much.”

Reed's eyes widen. Only for a moment though. They quickly narrow and fill with vitriol and malice. He turns to her fully, glowering at her with his teeth half-bared. 

“What do I have to show for it?” Trish continues, full of bitterness. “They're in prison, because of me. They killed people, because of me. I made them this way, well, me and the skinnie over there.” She nods at me. “But the blame is mostly mine.”

Reed raises his arm. Claws out, hand half clenched. Trish watches it with indifference, I with silent horror. 

His arm falls. 

By his side. 

Tears well up in his eyes. Tears of pain and rage. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, each time letting out a syllable, but the emotions gripping him are too much to let him speak. I watch him struggle like this, feeling my stomach clench harder and harder with each of his failed attempts at starting a sentence. 

“I hate-” he finally overpowers the feelings that got him in their clutches. “I hate you.” He mumbles out. “You are,” he leans forward. “The worst person,” he leans further, slowly shaking his head. “I have met in my life.” their snouts are almost touching.  

Trish only stands there, looking at him. Reed glares at her for a moment, then straightens his back, gripping his brow.

“How could you do this to Fang?” He grits his teeth. “We were friends, for fuck's sake.” His voice is trembling, wet, his tone desperate. “Why?” 

He lets go of his face and grinds the tip of his snout in his fist for a moment. He tenses up, as if about to scream. Instead, he almost whispers. 

“Why?...”  

“I wanted them for myself.” Trish says. 

Reed takes a step back. I do too. Well, I can't say I didn't expect this reason, but nor did I expect her to actually admit it. Reed’s shock lasts but a millisecond: a step forward and he's back at his former spot, staring down at Trish with unadulterated disbelief. 

“So you tore them down?” He quietly asks “Is that the whole reason?” 

Trish nods. She's trembling. From fear? Anger? Sadness, anguish, guilt? I don't fucking know. Probably all those at once. 

“I thought that maybe,” she swallows loudly. “If I made them stop liking Anon, they'd dump him.” She nods at me. “But that backfired. Then-” 

“Then then then then.” Reed mocks her, tilting his head back and forth. “We fucking know what happened then, you selfish piece of shit.” He inhales slowly through his nostrils and turns to me. “And you still want to be friends with this bitch?” 

Do I want to be friends with her? Good question. 

“No. She has a lot of work to do before I'll even start considering it.” I glare at her. She returns the look, almost meekly. “But we can't fucking leave her alone with all this.” 

He shrugs. He looks sad. And spent. 

“Why not?” He scoffs. “After what she pulled?” He points at her with an open hand. “She burned bridges with you, me, everyone!” 

“Wallowing in misery will not help her.” I tell him. “And it seems that's all she's been doing since we spoke the last time.” 

“What the fuck do I care what happens to her?” Reed shrugs, stealing a glance at her. “She didn't seem to give a shit what happened to me, you, anyone! Even Fang! Nice fucking show of love, make your friend's band's return a disaster and then run off like a little bitch!” 

Trish recoils at those words. She turns away from us, gripping her snout. Truth hurts, doesn't it? 

“We must be better, Reed. Better than her.” 

He growls. 

“Why? What for?” He finally acknowledges Trish with a nod. “She doesn't deserve consolation. She doesn't deserve shit. ” he jerks his head forward. 

“For Fang.” 

That makes him stop. Then, slowly deflate. He slumps into the chair, his head hanging low. Then, he wheezes in a bitter fit of laughter, his hands holding down his knee. It's dancing up and down, really violently. 

“Fang forgave her.” I tell him. “Remember what she said?” 

“Fine.” He sits up straight, at once. His back is straight as a guitar string. “I fucking forgive you, Trish.” he sways his hand and jumps to his feet. “Are you happy now, oh benevolent one?” he spreads his arms, bowing ever so slightly. 

I watch him go to the door. Before he reaches it, he stops with a violent start, as if hit with a sudden realization. He whips his head around to face me. 

“We're still friends, right?” There's a sudden note of anxiety and uncertainty in his voice. “You don't think I was serious, right?”

Fuck, it's good to have you back, man.

“It’s fine, Reed.” I give a thumbs up. “People say stupid shit when they're angry.”

And now I know what you meant that day at Rosa's. 

“Alright.” He sighs. He then looks at Trish. “I… I will need time to think it over, Anon.” He swallows, anger gone completely.

He stands like this, hand on the doorknob, looking at me. Then, as if remembering what he originally came here for, he starts talking.

“You know, I'm going to a therapist after school today.” He chuckles, unsurely. “Mom and dad finally found a good specialist.” he hangs his head for a second, then lifts it back up. “At least, they say he's good.” 

“That's great!” I nod at him with a smile. “Will you text me how it went?” 

He nods. 

“I will. Bye, Anon.” 

He leaves. I turn to Trish. She's been watching our exchange in complete silence and stillness. 

“Give me your number.” I pull my phone out. “I'll give you mine.” 

She blinks. 

“Are you deaf?” I frown and point at the bulge in her hoodie's pocket. “Your phone number, now.” 

She fumbles to get her phone out of her pocket. We exchange numbers. 

“Now, wipe your face and fix your hair.” I nearly order her. She does what I ask her. “There we go. Can't do shit about your hoodie though.” I look her over. “Go. You'll be late for school. I'll call you when I call you. Do not call me first, get it?” 

She gives a slow, stiff nod. She grabs her bag, opens her mouth, hesitates, then closes it and shakes her head. Then, she opens her mouth again. 

“You're not such a bad guy, Anon.” 

“I have my moments.” I sit on the bed. “Now leave, please.” 

She goes. I grab the guitar. Then, I start strumming. 

It's a couple of hours before the vultures return, making it somewhat difficult for the nurse to come in and check my bandages. From the sounds outside, it seems that they have switched their attention from me to the pair of cops guarding my room. From what I saw on TV, it is quite a sight. I feel almost like a governor, or a president. 

I set the guitar down for a bit and click the TV on. I don't feel like changing channels, satisfied with its ambience filling the silence. It's DNN.

“The least we could do for him.” Li tells me from the TV screen. 

I look up. Man, Li is a monster. That reporter's head barely reaches his chest. She has to look up quite high to look him in the face. The footage is cut off, replaced by the DNN studio. More talking heads. 

I sit with my hands resting on the guitar, brooding over what happened in the morning. Trish read the letter. She knows what I'm planning. Knowing her crafty shittiness, she may try to mess with my plans. How would she do it though? I don't know. She's awfully crafty. She did manage to dig up my past, even though I kept a tight lip about it. 

You still don't trust her?

No, conscience. Where the hell have you been all day? 

Fair, given what she had done twice already. - the tiny voice in my head ignores this question I have for myself. - You best keep tight tabs on her then.

Yeah, good luck with that. What, should I use Rosa to keep up with what she's up to? I won't use my friend for shit like that! 

You'll have to do it yourself then. - my mind proposes. 

Yes, after we've seen how Reed reacted to simply seeing her in the same room as me, I bet he will be just ecstatic knowing that I'm hanging out with her. Great idea, conscience!

Rosa may be able to soften him up. - the voice argues. 

She's a treasure, not a miracle worker. 

Give her a chance. - it pleads with me. 

Reed will have to tell her about what Trish pulled first. See if she can forgive her, like she forgave us. And no, I will not do it for him, behind his back. I did enough shitty, retarded things. 

Then you'll just have to wait. - I can almost see it shrug. - No other way.

Thanks for nothing. Great fucking advice: sit with your thumb up your ass.

The voice is silent. I guess even my own conscience grows tired of my shit sometimes. Fair enough. I grab the guitar. I put my fingers to the strings, and then, I pause. Fang's pendant… I fish it out from under the hospital pajamas and look at it carefully.

Yes, it's a fancy guitar pick. Fang did buy it at that museum of music, didn't she? Would she mind me using it to play the song? Fuck, I don't know. I don't want to damage it. 

But, on the other hand, it is her pendant. A piece of her. And she loved playing, and creating music. Maybe, maybe I should try… Fang wouldn't mind. It is her song, her soul, bare for me to see. Yes. Yes. It's alright. This pick will be perfect for it. 

I take the pendant off and unclamp the link. I pull the pick off the cheap string and grip it with my fingers. 

It fits my fingers perfectly. Huh. Let's do it.

First, I do need to learn how to use it though. 

A couple YouSnoot tutorials and two hours later, I am ready. 

The first strum comes out sounding like shit. My first time using a pick instead of my fingers, so no wonder. The second sounds better. Gradually, I improve. I am not playing anything in particular, just strumming randomly, trying to get a feel for it. 

It's not that hard actually. Guess those jam sessions with Fang really helped me improve. I smile to myself as I play, thinking of those couple of weeks I spent in her room, doing nothing but jam out with her. I was happy, she was happy. Nothing mattered, but us and the music. The happiest month of my life. 

If only I knew it was calm before the storm.

I miss a note. No. No. Focus! Focus on the good shit, not the bad. Don't focus on what happened after. 

Focus on her. On her smile. On that gleam in her eyes as she played her heart out. Focus on the warmth she made you feel. On how happy you were with her, how happy she was with you. 

The door opens. I snap out of my daydream. I shove it all - Fang, her smile, and the music - in the back of my mind. I look up from the guitar. 

It's Trish. She stops, seeing me play. 

“You just can't get enough of me, huh?” I smirk. “What's up?” 

“Rosa told me to meet her here.” 

I cock my brow. Rosa? What, this is a meeting room now? 

“Reed gave her your number?”

She shrugs. 

She shuts the door and sits on the chair by the window, dropping her bag on the floor. She sits there for a time, stealing a glance at me here and there. She narrows her eyes after noticing what I'm using to play. 

“Is that…” 

“Yes.” I nod. 

“Why are you…” 

“Because it feels right.” I glance at her. “It’s Fang's. She loves music. It just feels right to use it that way, instead of it dangling from my neck.” 

She frowns, but says nothing. After a time, she turns to me. 

“So, what are you playing?” 

“Nothing in particular.” I shrug. “Just practicing.” I smirk. “I do know one song.” 

That piques her interest. She leans forward slightly, sticking her head out. She's squinting at me again.  

“What song?” 

I press down on the strings with my finger to silence the notes. 

“Wouldn't you want to know.” 

“Obviously, I wouldn't ask otherwise.” 

I shrug. Might as well tell. No harm in that. 

“It's a song Fang taught me.” I look her in the eyes and nod, seeing them widen in surprise. “Yes, Fang taught me a song. It doesn't have a title.” 

She looks away, then back at me, then at the guitar, and finally, at me again. There's a plea in her eyes. An unspoken request. She's fiddling with the string of her hoodie, absent-mindedly, nervously. 

The fucking nerve of that one. 

“I will not play it for you.” I tell her before she even opens her mouth.

“Why?” 

“It's mine and Fang's. Ours only. And our friends’.” I begin to strum again. Fast, random, chaotic melody. She winces when she hears it. Good. Squirm for me, you little leech.

“But…” 

I interrupt her with a nasty, loud strum. 

“No. Stop asking.” 

She clenches her fist. I do not fucking care how she feels about it. She already overstepped the line. She should be grateful I didn't hurl her head first through the fucking window for reading Fang’s letter. 

“I talked with the principal.” 

An ex principal at this point. Does she know? 

“I asked him about you. He told me what you want to do.” 

I pause. Not because of what she just told me. I never asked Spears to make some big secret out of my plans, so it’s not that. No. What makes me stop is the look she gives me. Not the look of satisfaction with the pause she gave me, but… of accusation? She doesn't look mad, but she does look disappointed. 

“You told me not to run off on Fang, and now?” She frowns. This look doesn't leave her face, even as she's getting angry it only gains a sliver of spiciness. “You damn hypocrite.” 

I scoff and put the guitar down. 

“Fang knows what I'm planning. Spears told her.” 

“Them.”

“She,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Approves of my idea. If you weren't such a shitty friend, she would have told you.” 

She narrows her eyes at me, tears welling up in their corners. Should I not have said that last part? Probably. But she needs to get it through her thick skull already, that she isn't, nor was, a saint. 

“Any reason for doing this?” 

“Spears hadn't told you?” 

She shakes her head, leering at me with her arms crossed under her voluminous bosom. There's a look of expectancy on her face. As if I was obliged to fucking tell her! That's rich! Fuck it, may as well tell her the first two. Reed knows all three, Rosa knows the first two. 

So I tell her. That seems to satisfy her, but not fully: she keeps glaring at me, even leers a little with a nasty scowl. There's still that expectancy in her eyes, which pisses me the fuck off. You bitch, you think I'll tell you? 

I grip the head of the guitar and drag the longer edge of the pick across the strings, producing an ear-splitting, creaking sound. She covers her ear holes and grimaces, but says nothing. And she keeps fucking staring at me. 

The door clicks open. It's Rosa. 

Judging by the distinct lack of shouting and the sounds of a brawl that should accompany her entry, it seems like the vultures have left in search of a fresh trail. I wonder if they went after Reed. Doubt it. After his family then. No, his father is a lawyer.  Rosa's? I don't think so. Ahh, who cares, they're gone for now. 

“An-on, we need to have a talk!” She shuts the door. 

“Yeah, what Trish did-” 

She interrupts me with a loud growl and a violent shake of the head. She then stomps forward, face tensed up with a myriad of emotions mingling on it - none of them pleasant. She stops by the bed, acknowledges Trish with a nod, then turns to me. 

“I know what Fang… ” she grips the railing at the foot of the bed upon speaking that name. It creaks. “I know what that…” she inhales sharply, closes her eyes and reopens them. “ That person did to you.” 

I blink. Then I tilt my head, confused. What is she… oh. OH SHIT. 

The voicemail. The god damn, sons-a-bitchin motherfucking voicemail. Reed, why the fuck didn't you delete it? How the fuck did Rosa find out about it? Why the hell did you let her listen to it in full?

“Rosa, if you don't calm down, I will call for Doc Jones and he will have you escorted out.” I point at her with a trembling finger. 

She blinks. She lets go of the railing, turns away and just grips the beaky part of her snout. She's trembling, quietly digesting the rage that's boiling inside her. I can still hear her mumble. 

“Asesinaré a esa puta si alguna vez la veo...” She starts walking in circles, still gripping her snout. “Hacerle algo así a ese estúpido…” Her tail is swishing like a huge, spiky broom. “Pagarás por esto, Fang…”

“What are you mumbling over there?” I demand. “Something about Fang?” 

Trish speaks up:

“I think she's saying that she's going to kill them or something.” 

Rosa stops. Then, she rounds up on Trish. 

“¡Cállate!” 

“You fucking said what, excuse me?” 

I am calm, I am calm, I am calm. 

“You're expecting me to be calm after Fang…” she throws her arms up, her face turning red. “After she did what she did?” 

Trish looks at me, then at Rosa. There's a look of surprise and confusion on her face, growing with each word Rosa says. Or rather, growls out through gritted teeth. 

“What the hell did Fang do?” She asks, sounding worried. 

“Nothing!” I shout. 

“She used him!” Rosa shouts after me. She goes rigid for a second, her whole body going stiff. Save for her arms, which she throws forward a few times in a pointing gesture. “You… you know!” 

Trish turns pale. 

“Oh… OH…”

“Yes.” Rosa says over her. “She sent a voicemail to Reed, where she admits it! That whore-” 

 

BANG

 

I keep my fist pressed against the side of the guitar body. Rosa stops with her mouth open. She closes it. Then, she and Trish look at me, both scared shitless by the leer that sprouted up on my face. I'm pale. My face is cold and tingly.

“You better choose your words carefully.” I say very, very slowly. “Because if you ever, ” I point at Rosa. “EVER talk about Fang like this again, you will regret it.” 

Rosa stares at me, wide-eyed. She's gripping her rosary. I gently set the guitar down. 

“I forgave her.” I say in a much calmer tone of voice.  

She just stares at me. It lasts a long moment. 

“She wasn't thinking right.” I continue. “I wasn't thinking right. Forgive her, please.” I beg her. “She didn't know what she was doing. She loves me, I love her. Forgive her, Rosa.”  

She slowly, very slowly turns around and then, to the surprise of me and Trish, drops to her knees. She puts her hands together and hangs her head low. 

“Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu Nombre…” her voice quiets down into a whisper. 

She stays like this for some time. Not moving, not stirring, as still as a rock. Passionately whispering prayers, all in Spanish. I do catch Fang a couple of times. It gives me a start, but I don't say anything.

Trish is as silent as me. Her eyes are darting from Rosa to me, from me to Rosa. She's confused, lost, angry and sad. Fuck. If that's how things will be during my stay here, I will never leave the crazy house once they chuck me in there. 

Finally, Rosa stirs. She slowly gets up. Then turns to me. She's calm now. 

“I'm sorry for what I said, An-on.” She leans on the railing. 

“Even the worst sins can be forgiven, right?” I mutter bitterly. “Raptor Jesus did forgive the guys who crucified him, didn't he?” I grab the guitar and start to absent-mindedly strum it. 

She sighs and nods. There are still pangs of anger in her voice. Not much, but still noticeable. It will take much, much more for her to forgive Fang than a single prayer session. 

She sighs again, slowly shakes her head and looks over at Trish. 

“Pobre chica, perdida y confusa…” 

Trish stirs. The compassion in Rosa's voice is enough to bring tears out of her eyes. She looks up at the ankylosaur, like a child looks up to a mother. Rosa walks over, sits next to her and looks her in the eyes. 

“Everything will be alright, Trisha.” She grabs her hand “As long as you live, you can make amends.” 

Trish chuckles, very bitterly and very wetly. She wipes away the tears, almost angrily. As if she was ashamed of showing weakness in front of the two of us. 

“I highly doubt Fang, or Reed will be as forgiving as you are. And, after what Fang did to Anon-” 

“He forgave her.” Rosa delicately interrupts her. “You too should, if you still count her as your friend.” 

Trish grips Rosa's hand.

“Yes.” She swallows. “Yes, you're right.” She steals a glance at me. “You've changed, skinnie.” 

I shrug. I only half-listened to what they were saying, busying myself with the guitar. I guess this place is now a prayer room, a therapy room, and a cry booth. Fuck, when will this damn day end? 

“Baby steps.” I mumble. 

She nods. Then looks at Rosa. 

“You can't run from what you have done, Trisha.” She tells her. “You need to face it. That's how you will move on.” She pulls her into a gentle hug. “Your papá is a doctor, no?” 

Trish freezes when she's pulled into a hug, but then, with a shaky sigh, she returns it. 

“Yes.” 

“Then ask him for help. We can support you, Anon and I, but that will not be enough, I'm afraid.” 

Trish blinks. Then grimaces, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

“And Reed?” She mumbles under her breath. 

Rosa sighs. It's a long, sad sigh, which makes Trish twitch as if it was a lash of a whip. 

“He…” Rosa hesitates. “He needs time, Trisha.” She pulls away from the other girl. She pats her cheek. “Be patient. Time heals all wounds.” 

I look over at the two. They're whispering now, their voices too quiet for me to know what they're saying. 

I smirk. There may be some truth in what you're saying, Rosa. Who knows, maybe this shitshow will have a happy ending after all.