The Prince and The Wolf

XXIII

Chapter 23: Black and Blue

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She arrived at English with a smile, and his green eyes followed her figure quietly as she wove her way through the desks and chairs.

She was late.

"Sign the late log, you two." The teacher interjected the chatter of the students. There was a moment of silence before they went back to talking. Carl glanced away as they passed and he looked back when he saw them at the teacher's desk. The boy signed his name and then tapped the pencil on her head a few times before she grabbed it. He smiled boyishly, head tilted like he wanted a better look at her.

He's watching her from a distance.

Min turned around, and Carl quickly glanced away again and let his gaze reunite with her's as she walked towards him. Her cheeks were flushed, she bit her lip apologetically and sat down next to him.

Who is she watching?

The boy was returning to his seat, an emotionless look blanketing his face. And Min was... staring at Carl shyly. Carl glanced down at his paper. "Our story is halfway down, we should be good so far."

His sentence was met with silence, and he peeked at her and saw that she was running her hands over each other, like she was trying to warm her hands up.

Without thinking, he had placed his hand on top of hers like he wanted her to stop.

She flinched and once again her attention was on him. He retracted his hand, meeting her gaze, watching her body stiffen as she held her breath. This was her, the moments replayed like video tape. The glimpse of skin between her pants and her shoe, the taste of the donut in his mouth, her tears wiped away by her hand, the red slit of blood. Her soaked shirt, the table's rough texture, the letters on the keyboard, the poem, the bandages on his arm.

Her eyes.

"Why..."

Who are they following?

"...are you always absent?"

---

Watching someone as they grow up, as they turn into someone you slowly cannot recognize, and you can understand why we come to hurt the ones who has seen us change. And we hurt them the most. Because, we think, "where did you go?", we think: "why did you turn into this?" But we should not think that, we really shouldn't, because we are why they turned into that. Despicable, why? Maybe because it reflects us so much.

Return to a few days ago, when Angel watched her brother sleeping on his bed, sitting on a chair, she stared at him from across the room.

And she thought about what would happen if he never woke up.

Would it be easier? To let him fall, to let another array of problems burn up and disappear. His death would bring problems, but wouldn't it be better on the long run?

She stopped. She noticed his phone, laying there.

A crack glistened in the dim light. He always cracked his phone, since he was not worried about getting a replacement. All the money, if it couldn't bring the dead back, he might as well waste it on meaningless things.

Her finger scrolled through the conversations before she returned to the top and checked out the most recent one he texted.

Angel felt her heartbreak. This was her brother, texting a girl like he didn't know what to say and like he had to think for hours before he started a conversation. The girl reprimanded and teased him back, but otherwise, she didn't seem so eager to respond.

Poor boy, he was trying so hard to mean something.

She got up, snatching the bottle of sleeping pills he had lying about, out of place. Like the girl, it was out of place in his world. The ugly orange was the dash of color ruining the muted blues and grayscale of his room.

So, she tossed it in the trash.

---

He left the room.

Right after Min asked that question, the chair clattered loudly as he stood up, and Carl swiftly left the room. The room was silent, not even the teacher saying anything. Grudgingly, the class carried on with their work.

And, after class, the teacher asked Min softly if she was alright. Min had simply nodded and left for her next class. She was still feeling the aftermath of the shock. She questioned why he left, and was afraid of the conclusion she eventually came to.

The doubts clouded her mind, the rumors swirling into each other. She didn't know which one was true and which one was false. Was she right to ask that question? Did she have the right to know?

Why didn't he answer?

She was afraid that he would come to hate her. She just wanted to make sure he was okay. To get to know him better, to lure him closer to the light.

But she had scared him away. Like a nervous bird who had just hopped a bit closer to her hand, he flew away in a flick of her wrist. Just a millimeter closer, and he was gone. Would he be back? She did not know. But regrets started filling her up slowly.

What could I have done differently?

On the train, Prince sent her a text. It held his arrogant tone steady, but hinted at his concern.

What happened? Did you make a move too quickly and scare the victim away?

I don't know. She responded. I just asked a question

A few minutes later, a response. What did you ask him?

I aske d him why he was always absent

The was a noticeable pause before Prince responded. You always ask personal questions too early in the game, Cent. What did I tell you before?

I thought he was different.

No matter who, some questions just cannot be answered immediately, Cent.

She closed her phone after, staring at the black screen before shutting her eyes. She knew he was right. She knew that she was impatient. She was impatient to get close to him, to learn what was right and what was wrong. But as always, some things only come to those who wait.

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