Labyrinth

Chapter 6-

Labyrinth- C6

Rough prodding causes me to flip onto my stomach. "Moooooooom. It's summmmmer," I mumble into my arms, which are serving as a pillow for the moment, since mine probably fell onto the floor at some point. The comforter seems to have joined them- my bed feels particular adverse to comfort this morning.

Before I know what's happening, something /bites/ me.

Bites. Like, right next to my jugular vein.

I shoot up, suddenly more alert, and that's about when everything comes crashing down around me, from my election into the maze to meeting Jake to ever other damned this that's happened thus far. A disbelieving glare settles over my face as I stare straight ahead into the multicolored eyes of Jake Ender, the real name of whom I have no real reason to discover.

Oh, and that thing that bit me? It was Jake. And he didn't bite me, he pinched me. Which I used to do to my friends, giving the action the title of 'smurf biting' (so I guess technically he /did/ bite me..?).

"Well, don't you look nice." The self-assured, decisive tone flows like obnoxious teen boy band music from my traveling companion's mouth as his eyes flicker down to my chest.

Still glaring incredulously at him, I hiss, "You, sir, are an asshole." Then I reach for my t-shirt and jerk it frustratedly over my head. "And anyway, I could same the same thing to you."

He glances down at himself, grinning when he sees his shirtless, muscular upper-half. "I already know I look nice. Trust me, I would've asked you first if I'd had any self-esteem issues about it."

"Of course." It seems as though last night's almost-habit of being civil to each other has worn off, leaving only the sarcasm that'd surrounded us since we met in its place. But I guess I shouldn't expect that much. I mean, I've only known the guy for a day.

Grabbing my jeans, I pull them on beneath the fluffy fur blanket the tribe gave me, getting up and stretching. Muting the pissy, easily-enraged voice in me head telling me to smack Jake across his pretty boy face, I take the initiative of bringing up our current location. "So do deaf me and handler you still have a cordial invitation masking possibly-murderous intent to stay with the tribe?"

Jake sighs, his eyes distant. "Yeah. It sucks- I mean, there's food and all, but this tent's for prisoners. We're not really /free/, ya' know?"

I don't bother pointing out that even if we weren't stuck with these guys, we still wouldn't be free, because it isn't worth bringing up again. "Have any acting tips for me? Like, more raspberry mouth-farts or assorted hand gestures?" I inquire, changing the topic.

He shakes his head and gives me a small smirk. "Nope. You're stellar at this. Anyway, I doubt you'd make any more noises imitating bodily functions anyway, whether our survival depended on it or not," he chuckles, leaving me sputtering indignantly as he pulls his white t-shirt over his defined abdominal muscles and makes to head out to the camp.

However, the moment he opens the tent flap, he stops short, and my mismatched eyes widen. Storm Bringer is standing directly outside, only feet away. And he does /not/ look happy.

"You aren't deaf." That's his greeting. It's not a question so much as a statement, and I gulp. The bottomless, dark eyes are locked on me, and his voice is fatally quiet. I didn't even know that was possible.

In the heat of my panic, before I know what I'm doing, I lean over in my seated position and poke Jake's ankle. "Put on some pants."

---

"'Put on some pants'? Really, Shorty?" Jake grumbles for the fiftieth time from his side of the pole we've been tied against. I just sit there in silence, unable- or unwilling, I can't tell anymore- to contemplate an answer.