Over the Edge

Ch.15-Fragile Times

~Rhys~

I stared at Emma out of the corner of my eye. We were at Vittorio's working on homework. She insisted we spend more time together, as if just by doing that we could advance on the project. So far we had learned shit about each other-besides our favorite movies and colors and crap-but she seemed to think it was working. Though, at the moment, she didn't seem too presently in the moment.

It was pretty much a given the math work in front of me wouldn't get done. Emma was doodling in the margins of her paper. I sighed and slammed my hand on the table. She jumped to attention, eyes locking with mine. But they were twitchy, unsteady. There was a dark look in them, too.

"You okay?" I asked warily, carefully searching her face.

"Peachy," she mumbled, eyes drifting back to her paper. She didn't look peachy. She looked like she got hit by a minivan and then backed over by a semi.

"Have you-"

"Yes, Rhys, I've been taking my pills," she snapped, and then as if to accent her words her pencil cracked in her grip. "Dammit."

"Right, right. Is there something you're not telling me?"

She jabbed the jagged edge of the pencil at the tabletop, face scrunched up in a look of immense irritation. "No. Of course not. Why would you care?"

I didn't live around girls, and I didn't make it a habit to frequently hang around them, but I also didn't miss seventh grade family life education class. "Are you on your period?" I blurted out.

Her eyes widened and her face flushed tomato red. Her entire body stilled. "Why the hell would you ask something like that?"

Alright. I felt like a stupid asshole. Again. "You just seem decidedly bitchy right now."

She clenched her fist. "No, Rhys, I'm not on my-you don't just ask a girl that! Don't you know anything?"

"Apparently not," I grumbled, returning my gaze to my homework. Note to self: when Emma is in strange mood, keep mouth shut.

I continued watching her, unable to focus with her fidgety hands. I had seen people like her before. Except they were drug addicts who had gone a little too long without a fix. As far as I knew, Emma wasn't a drug addict . . .

Was she?

"You don't do heroine, do you?" I asked.

She frowned. "What's with all the weird questions? Do I look like a user?"

I shook my head. "Not particularly. So you don't do anything else, either?"

"No!"

"Whoa . . . Jeez . . . Sorry."

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing in frustration. Her knee started bobbing up and down. Maybe she accidentally ran by some dope on the street? I wasn't sure but she was kind of freaking me out. "How's your homework?"

"Not started. How's yours?"

"Doodled upon."

"We've gotten far."

"So it seems." She twirled the broken pencil between her fingers. "Have you ever been scared, Rhys?"

I jerked back, surprised by her question. Maybe this was her initiating a more in depth conversation for our project. "Um, I don't know."

She gave me a droll look. "I'm serious. You can shove down that dumbass masculine 'nothing scares me' persona, too. All you guys have it."

I thought on her answer as I pretended not to be offended. Scared? I couldn't think of a time when I had been scared . . .