The Shearing

Eleven

As much as I love Oakley, I don't want to betray the only family I have left aside from her—Oliver. But should the situation force me to take a side between the two, my fear would be because I must choose the one who bears my blood, and I must leave the other one behind. I can never do that to either of them.

Farhan may have taken mastery of this realm; she may know all the best, if not impeccable, options to get both what we desperately ache for, but I can't sacrifice anyone along the way, not for anyone whom I barely even know, and most certainly not when it's someone as close to me as a family.

Despite Farhan's promising plan of taking me directly to where my sister could be, I can't lend her the whole of my trust, not when she's already lied her way taking me back here in the apartment. Judging the way she regard Oliver, I know something's up. What I know about this realm could just be the mere peek of a much bigger picture concealed within their palms. Something I'm not meant to know. Not yet at least.

Farhan isn't telling me something.

"Oliver, wouldn't let that happen," I mutter, my teeth mashing up as it grits, and my sullen glare flits to Farhan.

"Oh, but I can," she states unaffectedly, her eyes barely blink as it bear up to me impassively.

"Farhan, I am not going without Oliver," I state in knitted teeth; obduracy in my eyes ablaze, not bothering to avert my look from her flytrap gaze.

Oliver has always been a brother to me; he's the closest to a parent I have for three years since he stumbled upon our doorstep in a stormy night ragged and battered. With all the recent happenings that fate keeps on shoving down our throats, I know I'd need him by my side, not just for the reason that he's the maturest person I could run into, but also because I know I'd barely last an hour out there on the horrid streets without his abilities, considering it's not only the gangs of Creed Holme that we have to keep an eye out for; the authorities themselves are now prowling to join their party.

Farhan falls to silence, her glare plastered at me.

No matter how much she'll insist me on coming with her, my decision is final. So unless Oliver comes with us, we won't go to Carson City. Farhan may be too mature for her age, but I know we'd still need Oliver if we'll trek out there.

As her clenching fists catch my periphery, I try to banish the unbidden fear that Farhan may attempt to hurt me. She wouldn't do it, not when it's me whom she's hooking into her plots in the first place.

I have no idea which among the two would stand to be stronger and clever. I've known Oliver for three years already, and within that span of time, I view him as nothing more than vulnerable, weak, or nerd, and yet the string of events that has recently occurred forces me to rethink everything I know about him. I didn't know Oliver could be physically fit to even handle the escape we did from Derry Malt, nor the attacks in my house for that matter, and since then I know we'll need him so much if we're to brave the streets again.

Oliver saved me the night before we come to this place; he's no doubt capable enough to face the overlookers, and after all, according to him, he has spent the latter years of his toddlerhood on gang-littered streets, making use of scruffy alleys and squalid bitumen as refuge from the authorities' bloodlust. That's the farthest I know about Oliver, he certainly doesn't want me to pry on further nor does he heed my inquiries properly for that matter.

Farhan on the other hand, is yet to surface from her own mystic veil. I hardly know anything about her other than her prior babysitting career and her weird tendencies to botch her work. All I know is that she's too young to be a victim of Pelnora's haywire policy.