The Goth and His Psycho.

The Goth and His Psycho: [Chapter Eight]

  “What?” Alex squawked, his voice rising higher than should have been possible for a boy. 

  “Not so bad.” she mumbled, but Alex could almost hear her gritting her teeth “Just in the leg. Only stings” 

  “Oh my god” Alex breathed, running a rough hand over his face, he could feel sweat on his forehead. “Where are you?” he demanded. 

  “Woods” she got out. 

  “Yeah, where Bree?” he snapped, his voice quivering. 

  “Speak to me like that and you wont know” she snarled, and Alex grimaced at the tone of her voice, even if he couldn’t see her he knew she was probably glaring viciously. 

  “Okay, okay I’m sorry” he backtracked quickly, and tried again “Where in the woods are you? I’ll come and help” he told her, slowly and carefully.

  “I’m not far from yours” she said, voice still tight, Alex pulled in a sharp breath “I was going to come to you, but my leg hurt too much, I think the bullet is lodged in some muscle” she gave an irritated sigh, not at Alex though, Alex thought it was probably directed towards the bullet in her skin. 

  “Are you on a path?” he asked, trying to map it out in his head. There was a fence in his back garden and it lead out into the woods, he knew that if he walked out the left of his garden he’d find a well used path into the forest, often a short cut to the local shops and even the school. 

  “Yeah,” she wheezed, and she choked off to have a coughing fit. Alex waited, hopping anxiously from foot to foot, hoping it wasn’t hurting her too bad. 

  “The path near your house, about a mile up it.” she gasped when the coughing had subsided. 

  “I’ll be there soon okay?” he got out as he ran up the stairs again, falling into his bedroom and yanking his bag onto his back. 

  “You-… you don’t have to come” she stuttered.   

  “Yes, I do” Alex growled, his voice forceful, there was a pause on the other end “I’ll be there soon, I promise Bree” he said, voice earnest. Then he hung up, and was out the back door within two minutes. 

  He crashed out of his back fence, and jogged for about a minute until he came to an opening in the line of trees. When he found it, he paused for just a second. 

  This was a good idea, right? He pondered.

  Bree was dangerous, and if he was found helping her he’d go to jail for about a hundred years, not to mention his mother… If Bree didn’t kill Alex then she would. Surely though, this was the right thing. Bree needed help, she wasn’t a monster or an animal, she wasn’t as bad as rapists and abusers and murderers. She’d wanted only to protect herself, and she’d paid the price for killing them.Hadn’t she?

  She was never crazy, she’d never had all those terrible mental illnesses when she was a child, she’d only gained them after she’d killed them… after she’d been thrown into Crickly. 

  Alex steeled himself, shook his head and ploughed through the foliage, of course he was doing the right thing. Bree would do it for him, or at least, she would have, when they were younger, maybe if it had been him in Crickly, maybe Bree would be doing the same thing. He hoped anyway. 

  He walked quickly, working up a sweat as he stomped over mounds of rotten leaves and dodging sludgy mud muddles that left his converse with a fine sheen of brown grossness. 

  He realised then he really did hate the wilderness, he preferred his room, where the most dangerous thing was the prospect of tripping over clothes strewn on the floor. He didn’t like the tall lumbering trees that loomed over him and blocked out the weak sunlight, he hated the long reaching branches that always seemed to snag his clothes even though he tried to move out the way. He detested the horrible ground that would sink beneath his feet; the floor was supposed to be solid for fuck sake.