Ch. 28 - The Anger, The Fear

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~A/N~ Just to reintroduce you guys again, this is Trey, everyone! He is played by an actor named Titus Makin Jr. Enjoy the update :)

Just a little farther.

My burning limbs surged forward as I continued around the track on my evening run. I'd been running for a little over 35 minutes, and by now even with my steady pacing I was definitely feeling it.

Running times had gotten considerably better for me over time, as I had made sure to make jogs a regular throughout my regiment. God knows it wasn't easy, I only really managed a successful run early in the morning, or in the late evening, two times of day where I would much rather be snuggled up between the sheets. Thankfully, I finally saw things paying off. My average had shaved down to a little over seven minutes per mile, and as much as I hated to admit it, Dean deserved part of the credit for that.

For someone who so clearly disregarded the rules of the society around him, he was surprisingly disciplined when he felt he needed to be. So whenever he detected any hit of laziness or procrastination from me, he'd weed it out right then and there. Come hell or high water, if I started a set it needed to be finished with perfect form. If I paused for a breather and lingered a few seconds too long or slacked on proper positioning, he would have me do it again.

Quite a few of those instances always earned him a pleasant number of hateful glares and threats of disembowelment, which he returned with warnings of his own, saying he'd give me a twice as difficult set later on if I didn't shut up. It may have seemed harsh, but I came to realize provoking me was actually strategic for him. He knew how to get a rise out of me, and when my body felt like giving up, he knew just how to light the spark again and have me powering through with a fire in my veins. Just like that, we fed off of each others energy.

But that was over now.

Regardless of the aches and pains, I was now walking the path on my own.

"Come on, come on!", I hissed to myself after I nearly tripped as my foot caught on the ground, a clear sign of exhaustion causing my limps to drag. The high energy indie rock pounding through my earbuds was proving ineffective against the straining of my muscles. Even the ground felt shaky beneath me. I willed my legs to move faster. The familiar feeling of light headed nausea washed over me and it quickly became apparent how badly my body wanted to stop. But, I could do this. I had to. My gaze was unsteady as I fought my utmost hardest to stay focused on the end of the circular track about 100 feet away from me. Just a little farther, I thought to myself as pushed with my last burst of energy.

With a sharp pain growing up my side and an eagerness to collapse, my feet pounded against the payment as they finally reached the track's beginning. Wobbly legs finally gave out and I dropped to my hands and knees onto the blacktop, not even bothering to pick up my earphones as they fell out when I rolled over onto my back. I could barely hear anything over the drumming of blood through my ears, my lungs greedily inhaled as much oxygen as they could with every breath. I closed my eyes, slowing evening my breathing, allowing myself to relax in a moment of peace.

A blazing sunset enveloped the sky above me, gently casting golden rays from the sun against the back of whisp-like clouds. They brightened with color, appearing fiery orange, to contrast against the sky's ombre of orange and muted blue. My second favorite kind of sunset, just behind the times when the sky would take on a rainbow of blue, pink, and magenta. Neither happened too often, so I always savored these evenings when they did occur.

Things always get worse before they get better, I thought to myself for probably the fiftieth time. It had become somewhat of a mantra for me over this past month. Despite my determination to continue, I couldn't escape the feeling that I was somehow in a rut. That, without a teacher, my skills were lacking. I could do as much as I wanted on my own, spend hours on the Internet looking for methods and improvement tips if needed. But the fact of the matter was, even with all that, I was still so new to this, bright eyed and baby-faced. I wasn't sure what direction to take myself or what little corrections made a big difference. I still find myself feeling lost whenever I look at the mass sea of grueling and inventive machines cluttering the rooms of any gym I walked into.

Truthfully, I've never actually even watched a full fight before. At least, not the way I needed to. Never studied them, never learned anything. All I ever saw were fists flying wildly in anger or fist thrown with the intent to draw blood for the amusement of others. Just cover the vital parts, was all I ever thought. I never saw it as strategy, just more violence to cringe at. Even at the gym....sure, big terrifying men were always sparring in rings somewhere, but I spent more time avoiding their predatory gazes than observing what their bodies were doing.

Short comings and inexperience are biting me in the butt, and impatience with it all is killing me inside.

I rubbed my hands over my face then through my roots before huffing aloud. This was why I needed my little mantra. Forcing myself to be positive is the only thing keeping me afloat at the moment.

After watching clouds long enough for fatigue not to cause the world to tip when I rose to my feet, I made my way home. I fought vigorously to get my keys into the small lock of my front door while crossing my leggings tightly. Why didn't I just drive, again? The park may have been close, but the walk home felt longer than I preferred. Now all the water I drank was begging for an exit. After a rushed trip to the bathroom and a warm shower after, I curled up on the downstairs sofa with a pile of homework I've been putting off. Specifically the pre-calculus chunk of it.

I was tugging at the roots of my hair, losing my mind over a monstrous equation when I finally decided to give up. Tomorrow was Sunday, maybe I'd find my way to Faye's house and weasel her dad into helping me. He was a college professor and was always happy to get the chance to teach, much to Faye's dismay since she hated learning. I was just contemplating turning on the television when dull thuds and the creaking of heavy footsteps on my porch reached my ears. Guess who's home from work, I groaned mentally to myself as I gathered my books together and began the assent up the steps that would lead to the comforting walls of my room. I was nearly at the top step when the door bell rang. My brows knit together in curiosity.

Not Jack, then.

Maybe the mailman? This late? No. Faye possibly? Also no, she usually texts me beforehand. The bell rings a second time, the loud dinging resonating throughout the house. I leave my textbooks on the steps and decide to just answer the door like a normal human being would.

My hand was hovering over the knob just as I decided to check my door's peep hole first. If it's one of Jack disgusting friends, I'm not answering it. I don't care how angry he gets at me if he finds out. Rising onto my toes, I peek through the tiny glass hole.

And in an instant, a blacked pit opens up beneath me, sucking away all emotions and leaving a cold chill in my spine.

My imagination...that has to be it. I must be mistaken....or hallucinating.

Maybe I'm asleep.

Leaning my forehead against the cold wooden surface, I take a deep breath, blink, and slowly look back through the awaiting peep hole. A strong sensation of dread fills my stomach, nearly making me want to vomit.

Behind the two inch thickness of this door is a person I never thought I'd see anywhere near my house.

Mace...

Ever so casually smoking a cigarette on my porch.

Mace, as in that creep from the gym. Mace, as in the guy Dean very adamantly warned me to steer clear of. Mace, who very clearly reminded me of a recoiled cobra ready to inject venom into its prey. And now he's here...

At. My. Front. Door.

A flurry of questions immediately race through my mind, as I back away from my door slowly. A weighty knock comes from the other side. His almost silky smooth voice finally speaks.

"Old man, you in there?" The door bell rings a third time and more knocking follows. "Come on ol' Jackie boy!" He chimes in amusement. Without seeing him, that voice nearly sounds friendly. The sound, though somewhat muffled from behind the door, almost comes off as jovial, but I have seen him. I have met him. And the instincts in my gut sense that dark intent delicatley vailed behind the words. He gradually increases in his intensity, going from polite knocking to clamouring pounds on the old door several times. After five minutes that felt like forever, he appears to give up.

More muffled sentences reach my ears as I realize he's now on the phone.

"Yeah, no one was home, or at least they ain't answering. Does he want me to find this guy at his job?" He is silent for a moment and I press my ear to door in hopes of being able to hear clearer. "A'ight. Does he care how I do it?"

Whose "he"?

Mace briefly chuckles as if he's found yet another thing funny. "I'll get creative then...", he finishes of. From there I assume the call ends. No sound comes from the other side of the door for several seconds, long enough for me to gather the confidence to glance back in the peep hole in hopes that he's left. I run my hands up the cool surface just about to peek through when a harsh bang! tears through the center of the door, nearly making me scream.

I jump back and cover both hands over my mouth, letting fear wash over me in silence.

"That outta leave a message...", Mace sighs happily to himself. My legs feel like butter as his retreating footsteps fade away, the engine of a truck starts up before slowly pulling out the driveway.

I remain frozen to my spot in the center of the room, heart still punching it's way through my chest. Another minute ticks by and only then do I realize the shakiness of my knees as they give out under me and I collapse to the floor, blankly staring ahead. All until a certain thought arises.

What message?

Swallowing the fear from what I may encounter, I rise to my feet and slowly step towards the door. It patiently waits to be opened to reveal whatever is on the other side. Looking at the knob, I suddenly feel as if it will scald my hand should I touch it.

Come on, Patience. Suck it up!

I close my eyes and in one movement, rip the door open. When open my eyes....that dread inside, turns into another chill that reaches my spine again. I'm suddenly very grateful of my decision not to open this door before.

Mace is no longer just a creep to me.

No. He has now ascended to a malicious -very dangerous- threat on my personal watchlist.

My eyes are absolutely glued to the foreign object lodged into the outerside of my front door. A knife. My arms hang loosely at my sides as I stare in awe and absolute terror at the menacing, black, seven-inch military blade lodged into the flaky white paint of the front door to the house that has contained my personal Hell for the past two years.

I can't help but reach up and lightly touch it's leather handle, then lightly run my finger close to the smoother side of the blade. I immediately recoil back when I apply a bit too much pressure causing it to make a small paper-cut like slit in my fingertip.

My eyes trace over a note, just now noticing how its pinned to the door by Mace's knife. Clearly written in all caps are two simple words.

ONE WEEK.

»»----- - -----««

"....you know what I mean, Patience?"

"Hmm." The plastic fork in my hand combs absently over a pile of mashed potatoes sitting in the corner of my lunch tray. The past two days have been horrible.

After Mace's visit, I hadn't known what to do. I debated for twenty minutes whether to pull that thing out the door or just leave it. I'd finally chose the latter, and decided to stay far out of Jack's way. Coming home to a message like that waiting for you....well, I knew I would be too close to active volcano for comfort. However much the debt owed was, my uncle definitely didn't have it. And because of that, I left the house completely. Just before his usual time to come home, I drove myself off to the park and snuggled into my back seat with a current novel I was reading. Let the idiot foolish enough to get in bed with a loan shark find the mess he created on his own, he didn't need to know I was there when it happened. Two hours and thirty pages later, I finally allowed myself to walk back through the front door, only to find the dining room table flipped over and my uncle was nowhere to be seen.

The following day put me on eggshells and I hated it. I woke up early, did my chores, made little noise, barely looked at him, and for the most part stayed confinded to my room. I felt like a ghost in my own house. When I finally went couldn't take the suffocation anymore, I had to muster up the boldness to ask if I could go to Faye's. Some grumbling insults resulted from it, but none the less, I got permission and her house became my refuge for the remaider of the day.

My eyes lift up when a manicured fingernail softly jabs my cheek, pulling me out of this mess of thoughts I seem to keep getting sucked into today. A pair of chestnut eyes peer at me from across the lunch table.

"You weren't even listening just now, were you?" Soft eyebrows knit together as a look of concern overtakes Faye's face. I give her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry."

She purses her lips, a sure sign she is not pleased. "What's up with you? Your heads been floating all day."

"I'm fine...", is my only response. I shrug my shoulders and give her a more convincing smile, hoping to play things off. Her eyes narrow before looking down at my barely touched plate. She points her straw at me.

"No, you are not. You've been playing with your mashed potatoes for the past ten minutes."

"So?"

"You love mashed potatoes."

I take a forkful of the gravy soaked potatoes and shove them into my mouth. Slowy pulling the utensil out, my eyebrows raise as if to ask if she's satisfied. Faye leans back on the bench, crossing her arms expectantly.

"Fine", I eventually concede with a sigh. My mouth suddenly feels dry. "Its just....family problems, Faye. Nothing new."

Not a lie. Jack has succeeded in finding yet another way to endanger me.

I'm absently looking out one of the many large windows at the far end of the cafeteria when I feel my friend's palm cover one of my hands. "Your uncle again?" The warmth and comfort I find in her chocolate eyes makes me feel guilty to the core.

"Yeah, we are just having some...", I look away as the guilt eats another inch deeper in my heart. "Some money problems."

Faye shakes her head at me, and smiles kindly with a sympathetic tilt of her head. "Pae, having money problems isn't anything to be ashamed of. You remember how hard it was on my family when dad lost his job last year."

At this very moment, I feel like the most disgusting person in the world. Here my best friend is trying to comfort me with her own personal experience, and I don't even have the decency to tell her what the real problem is.

"I know. It's just a lot. He's not the easiest person to live with, especially when he's stressed." Another gloss over the truth.

Faye's next words terrify me.

"He's not still bullying you is he?" My head snaps to hers.

"What?"

"You know, being all strict and controlling. I know your mom would be pissed if she found out about that."

I have to grip onto the bench underneath me to keep my emotions at bay.

I slowly shake my head, and force the most genuine smile I can, all while gripping the bench so hard I can feel my nails chip. "No," is all I can manage without breaking the facade.

A happy sigh of relief escapes Faye. "That's good! I thought I was going to have to march Kelly with me to your house and have her pimp slap him." She suddenly pulls out her phone and begins reading something.

Horrible images flash through my head at the thought of the consequences of an idea like Faye's ever happening.

I can feel my smile cracking. I have to leave. Have to get away.

"Uh, Faye, I just remembered I left something in my last class. I'll see you later, okay?" I barely wait for a response, which I hardly receive since Faye is now engrossed in her phone screen, a strange look covering her features. I can't process it though, I simply grab my stuff and find my way out of the cafeteria doors, praying for some distance to breathe. Maybe if I move far enough away the guilt won't reach me.

I walk aimlessly in the hallways until I eventually come across a large windowsill between two cement columns in the hall. Dropping my stuff to the ground I snuggle into it, hugging my legs to my chest and resting the side of my head against the glass.

For the first time in a while I feel hot tears threaten to fall.

Do not cry. The guilty don't deserve to cry.

I don't know how long I sat there. But the thoughts that accompanied me went from self-loathing to...dark.

I was so angry. So my thoughts became angry.

Thoughts like how much I hated Jack.

Thoughts like how weak I was for letting myself always get pushed around by people.

Thoughts like how I wouldn't do anything if Mace broke into our house on orders from his loan shark and killed Jack with that very same military knife that was now kept in the garage.

Thoughts like how I might help him.

The final one was enough to shock me out of it. What am I thinking?!

I was just removing myself from the windowsill when I hear a loud commotion somewhere else in the hall.

An enraged male roar and loud metallic banging reached my ears enough to make me jump. I searched all directions of my empty hall in confusion. When the banging's intensity grew I couldn't stop myself from seeking out it's source. With curiosity at my heels, I left my stuff behind and inched down the hall towards the ruckus. A separate male voice called out.

"Come on, man! Calm down!"

My eyes widened as I rounded a corner to witness a completely unexpected scene. Every last nerve ending in my body lit up as the sight of none other than Dean was displayed before me.

And....he was livid.

All I could do was blink. The word "wild" suddenly came to mind.

Then, crazed.

Then, out of his freaking mind.

That usually beautifully attractive face was now red with fury. Pulsing veins protruded from his neck and temple and those normally icy and calculating eyes were now widened and glazed over as he roared again with a rage that seemed impossible to contain.

I guess I know what the banging was, I numbly thought to myself.

The boy was repeatedly driving his fist into the locker nearest to him at an almost breakneck speed, and to my terror, his fist was creating a dent so bad the lock on the metal door would soon become useless.

A tall boy about the same height as Dean was pacing around him, keeping his distance but trying hopelessly to calm him down. His efforts were proving futile as

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