Kill or Tell

.x.

I spend the entire eight hours of school waiting for Freddie to either collapse in a dead faint or have an emotional breakdown of some sort — I mean, he's just found out that his brother was murdered sometime last night! He hasn't even spoken in any of our classes, nor has he made any attempt to engage in any sort of interaction with any human being in this school — I say this because he did start bear hugging Mr. Higgins's rabbit.

Somehow, however, he makes it halfway home before anything happens.

We're passing by the semi overgrown field that separates Cassidy's neighborhood from the next when Freddie starts full on laughing, his whole body quaking with the strength of his chortles. I blink at him, shocked.

"Freddie?" I reach out, hesitating a bit before lightly touching his jumping shoulders. Without warning, he jolts forward, doubling over in hysterical mirth and leaving me with my hand hovering in midair.

I take a step back, bewilderment morphing my features.

"What — Why are you laughing?"

Freddie heaves, gasping for air as tears bubble over his eyelids and take off down his rosy cheeks. The open mouth grin that splits his face seems almost maniacal.

"Freddie!"

He lifts a shaking arm, waving off in the direction of the field as he clutches at his stomach, the unhinged smile unwavering.

I look away from his spasming body, then, and look out over the empty field. I don't see anything, and then...

I crack a small smile as I catch sight of a lonely football that's half buried in the dirt and sparse grass. Of course, Freddie's probably just thinking of Dicky — the football player.

By no means has Dicky ever been a star — not in academics, not in athletics, not in... well... anything. Thing is, he's always acted like the star.

Maybe he ticked someone off, and that's why he got shot.

My smile drops, then, as I look at the solitary football in its almost-grave. Maybe Dicky was a... a jerk. Maybe he was a bully who'd driven a young boy to kill himself.

But that doesn't mean I shouldn't feel bad about his untimely death.

Turning my gaze back down to Freddie, I'm half surprised to see him curled up on the side walk, still giggling.

"H-he's probably—" Freddie snorts, "—not even dead!"

Alarmed, I move closer. "Freddie..."

"Probably faking this shit for attention." Freddie's snickers begin to fade as he regains control of himself. "Stupid asshole."

"LANGUAGE, Mr. Dresser!"

A frown darkens his face. "Fucking egoistic—"

"FREDDIE!" I kneel down beside my boyfriend, put off by the vulgar language. He looks me straight in the eyes — his gaze pleading, pleading for me to agree with him. I sigh, shaking my head. "Freddie, your — he's dead. Okay? He's dead and gone and you need to realize that."

My heart nearly stops as I watch emotions clash in Freddie's eyes. His face stills — his mouth set in a thin line. He gets to his feet, shaking as he stands. He averts his eyes, looking at the football — the lonely, buried football.

And he flips it off.

"Freddie, was that—" necessary, I wanted to say, but an uncharacteristically threatening glare from Freddie steals the air right out of my lungs. I back away, regretting the action as a splintered look of hurt crosses Freddie's face, but I don't approach my volatile beau.

Instead, I watch as he spins on his heel and strides away with a defeated, brooding hunch in his shoulders.

[A/N: Sappy chapter, I know. Forgive me? This was pertinent to the plot. So were the others. Hehe.

Comment, vote, or not. That's okay too.

Feedback is, however, appreciated, and constructive criticism is appreciated as well. :)]