Imprint - 8. Ch. 2 Part III

III

The alarm played for perhaps fifteen seconds before it went sailing across the room, smashing against the far wall, batteries popping out, falling down dead and blessedly silent. His parents were probably going to be pissed, this was the fifth one this school year alone; perhaps lingering sympathies over his prolonged illness will prevent them from attempting to vocalize their frustrations, stick to mumbling quietly amongst themselves as per usual.

Swallowing a mouthful of painkillers, Xander stumbled his way into his bathroom, taking a few minutes to stare at himself in the mirror. He still looked like microwaved shit, but it was an improvement over even last week; still too pale, the bags under his eyes large black half circles, like he had been beaten. But he could stand up now without falling over which meant he was getting the fuck out of here, because after two and a half weeks if he had to endure one more day of this he was going to run amok with a chainsaw.

That I'm this desperate to get back to school, says much about the alternative.

Showering was a nightmare, he did his best to keep the water spray off his back but it did little good; dressing was worse, tight fabric clinging to his torso, irritating his skin, at least in bed he had been able to maneuver himself and the sheets to relieve the pressure, but... No, no, I'm leaving, I don't care, just suck it up.

Downstairs and everything was quiet, the twins were back at college, his sister would have left already, his parents somewhere else; beautiful solitude. He set about making himself a huge breakfast of eggs and bacon, because he could finally keep solid food down and that was something worth celebrating. He grabbed up the on the counter and turned on the TV mounted there on the kitchen wall, futilely searching for something to watch at seven in the morning that wouldn't burst an ulcer.

Talk show, talk show, cooking show, useless fluff masquerading as news, talk show, infomercial, Lifetime movie of the week, talk show, Ichii the Killer...jackpot.

Xander was sitting on a stool at the counter, halfway through his breakfast, eyes on the movie, idly twirling the dull steak knife between his fingers, when he heard the front door open, voices in the foyer. Ah fuck, he had been hoping to be out of here before they got back from their run; must have gotten an early start.

He saw his mother first, in her special jogging outfit he thought she looked utterly ridiculous in; after an hour of activity that by its nature should leave you sweaty and disgusting, Anita Cain still looked perfectly put together, from her clean white running shoes to the perfectly white head band at the top of her hair line, blond ponytail bobbing merrily behind. She saw him, opened her mouth for some inane greeting when a scream from the television cut her off. She adopted her long suffering, put upon expression. “Little early in the morning for this, Alex, don't you think?”

He opted not to comment, calmly putting the knife back down instead.

She picked up the remote, no question, no apology, brought up the cable menu, muttering under her breath, “Do not get how anyone can stand watching that.”

What's to stand? Fake blood and rubber limbs, doesn't even look real.

Walter Cain entered the kitchen next, looking matchingly ridiculous and equally put together, newspaper and laptop under his arm. “Hey, you're up.”

I see your eyes work, good for you. He smiled.

“How you feeling today, sport?” Walter pulled a chair out at the small kitchen table (there was a bigger one in the dining room, because why have one table when you can have two?), setting himself up to do his...work or whatever you wanted to call it.

“Fine.”

Anita finally settled on one of the talk shows he had earlier passed up, looking rather happy with her choice. Four washed up middle aged women gossiping about cute celebrities and talking about their periods; oh yes, I'm the one with the problem. Now she could turn her attention on him. “Are you sure you're up for school today? You're still looking a little pale.” She reached out as if to touch his forehead.

Xander jerked his head away, “Don't mom, I'm fine.” Her obligatory hovering concern was one of the things he desperately needed to get away from; such a perfectly calibrated performance, you'd think there was an audience watching to applaud her mothering. “Its just school, sitting and listening. Not that strenuous.”

“Yeah, Anita,” his father was behind him now, on his way to the coffee pot, “Don't worry about it, the boy's fine.” and he gave him a sharp slap on the back.

Xander bit hard on the inside of his cheek trying to hold back his scream; he tasted blood

(red...sweet taste of-)

“Are you okay?” apparently his mother had caught the strained look on his face, the way he flinched closer to the counter. That Good Housekeeping Mother of the Year expression of concern was back on her face again.

He slowly pried his teeth off the tender flesh inside his mouth, trying not to be so obvious about it, swallowing what blood there was before speaking. “Fine. Just still a little sore.” His eyes had watered just slightly and he tried to subtly blink it away, uncurling his tightly clenched fingers.

“Sore?”

“Yeah. From the flu.”

His father had come back around, large steaming mug in hand and a frown on his face. “Jeez Alex, that was barely a tap. You sure you're okay?”

The hell it was. “I'm fine.”

“Because if you're still-”

“Jesus Christ, I said I'm fine.”

“Hey!” Anita snapped, arms crossed on her chest, “There's no need for that, okay.”

I beg to differ. He ran a quick hand through his hair, calming himself down. “Sorry,” he said, then tried for some level of honesty. “I'm going nuts cooped up in here like this. I just need to get out.”

Walter was at his customary seat at the table, looking over and still frowning, “We're just concerned, Alex. You weren't in good shape and we don't want to see you relapse.”

Xander just shrugged. “If it hasn't killed me yet, I don't think its going to.”

Husband and wife exchanged a look, some silent communication, before she spoke again. “You'll come right home if you start feeling sick again.”

He nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

“And no football. If you got practice, you stay on the bench, you got it?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Alex,” she spoke sternly, impatiently, “Do not strain yourself like that.”

Am I arguing? But of course he realized she expected him to, expected him to whine and cry and but mooom, its like, sooo important. He wasn't that dedicated an actor; pride got in the way. “I said I will.”

“I wouldn't worry about it, dear,” Walter speaking over the top of the business section. “Doug would bench him even if he tried, he's not going to risk one of the Timberwolves' star players two weeks before the big game against Pembrook.” He glanced over at Xander with a grin and a wink, “Ran into Doug in Whole Foods couple days ago, he was asking after you. I think he'll be relieved to know his Lone Wolf is on the mend.”

Oh my god. “Don't call me that.”

Anita looked back at her husband. “Lone Wolf?”

Walter was still smiling, “Yeah, Doug said that's what people at school have taken to calling him lately. Its either because he can practically win single handedly, or its because off the field he acts like he can't play well with others.” He laughed a little, “I like it.”

“Well, I don't,” he was gritting his teeth to keep his temper in check; it wasn't a chainsaw, but he thought he could run amok with a steak knife if he really put his mind to it. “I'm trying to discourage it, so please don't bring it home.”

Walter gave him a cockeyed look, “Lighten up, Alex, its supposed to be a compliment.”

“Its retarded.”

“Its just a nickname.”

Xander bit the inside of his lip again, drawing more blood; he was getting really sick and tired of having his objections hand waved like that. “What's the point of having a name if no one will use it? If people would rather these...dramatics, instead?”

(what is it with me and dramatic men?)

“Dramatics?” Walter managed to sound so disapproving, “I don't think that's what it is.”

“I don't know what else to call it when you need to give people ridiculous titles.” Moving subtly under the counter and out of view, Xander reached in his pocket and pulled his phone out.

“I think you're overreacting just a little here.”

“I wouldn't need to overreact if people would just respect my wishes.” He flipped the phone open, speed dial three, waited thirty seconds, punched in another number and hung up.

Walter gave his long suffering sigh, “All right Alex, whatever you want.”

Oh yeah, forget the chainsaw, steak knife will be much slower. This was one of those times he was so sorely tempted to just drop the normal, complacent act altogether, as it seemed so barely noticed and unappreciated. You would think, from the way his father acted, that he did nothing but constantly bitch and complain, when he didn't protest even a tenth of as often as he wanted to. He let those drooling morons at school call him a hundred other names; he let the two of them call him Alex even though no one else did. Was he not allowed to draw one line, have one thing that he didn't have to pretend to tolerate; even if it seemed unreasonable, even if he couldn't entirely understand it himself, one thing that can irritate the fucking piss out of him giving him permission to rip the jaw right off anyone numb enough to cross that line...

(“Let me guess, you had something to do with that clever little moniker?”)

(“...Perhaps. 'Tis catchy, no?”)

(“So's the plague.”)

Anita had put a bowl down on the counter and was going for her cereal. “You know, Gina stopped by several times the last few weeks.” she told him with a smile.

If her intention was to change to a more pleasant topic, it was a miserable failure; Xander was stiff and on edge for a different reason now. “Yeah?”

“She wanted to come see you, I didn't think it was a good idea to let her up, but she'd hang around for an hour or so anyway.”

“Yeah?” he wasn't sure where this was going but it couldn't be good.

She came back with that disgusting non-fat soy milk she insisted everyone drink for their health. “Oh don't worry, she didn't tell me anything bad,” she grinned and winked, “Did remind me that Homecoming is about two months away.”

Xander's eyes wandered to the wall clock just above and beyond his mother's head, counting each painful minute; he had actually been able to forget about that for a few days there.

“I guess we'll have to get you a new suit then.”

“I never said I was going,” he protested quietly.

“Oh, don't be silly, of course you are,” said in his light hearted, laughing tone, like the very idea of it was so ludicrous it was not even to be considered.

“Perhaps a limo, too,” Walter contributed from behind the paper, “Bet Gina would love that.”

“Oh, that would be a nice touch.”

“I have a car,” why was he even speaking?

Anita laughed and shook her head, “Oh, you are such a man. Where is your sense of romance?”

Hiding under the bed, waiting for someone better to come along. No point in saying that, his mother loved Gina, likely because she saw a lot of herself in her, which meant his father liked her, too. If he had any real feelings for the girl at all that similarity might have worried him, they seemed fine with it.

“Gina's got her eye on this beautiful blue dress at the boutique on Charles, which I think would look really great with-”

Oh my god, they're talking about clothes now. Xander glared hard at the clock, cursing each second that passed while the two of them prattled on about his life without him.

Before they could start planning his future wedding, finally he heard the sound he wanted, the doorbell. Anita broke off to go answer it, and then the second sound he, at least in this moment, wanted to hear. “Good morning, Mrs. Cain.”

“Good morning, Jeff. How have you been?”

“I'm okay. Is Xander ready to go, because I got to get-” Xander had already jumped up, neither a word nor glance to his father and rushed out to greet the eye sore that was Jeff Anders first thing in the morning. Jeff raised a hand, “Hey Xander, sorry to rush you like this, but I got that meeting I got to get to-”

“Its fine,” Xander grabbed his car keys out of the dish by the door, trying not to act as relieved as he was.

“You make sure he takes care of himself today,” Anita was lecturing Jeff, “If he starts to look too faint, get him home, okay?”

“Uh-huh, sure thing, Mrs. Cain.”

“Okay, you boys have a nice day at school.” and she didn't move to kiss his cheek like she would have for the twins or his sister, just held the door wider and let him pass without another word.

They were halfway to the driveway when Xander chose to speak, “Took you long enough.”

“Hey man, I was taking a shit when you paged me, I think I got here in record time all things considered.”

Xander merely grunted, ignoring the imagery.

Jeff gave him a long look, “Nice to see you among the living. The way your parents were going on, I was expecting your funeral any day now.”

He gritted his teeth. “They exaggerate.”

“Yeah, I know. They did say they almost took you to the hospital a few times, though.”

“It was never that bad.”

“If you say so,” Jeff shrugged, “I know I've never been so sick I was out for a month.”

“And I also never get sick, it hit me harder,” they reached the black Mustang that had been his sixteenth birthday present (one thing his parents did for him that he couldn't complain about), he turned to Jeff, “What's the big deal?”

Jeff shook his head, “No deal, just glad its cool, is all.” He ran a quick hand through his unbrushed hair, “Now if you don't mind, still got a few things I got to take care of. You can come in if you want.”

“I'll wait,” he had no interest in being forced to make awkward conversation with Jeff's parents, while his five year old sister stared at him from her hiding place around the corner and never said a word.

“Okay, cool. Won't be long.”

Xander leaned back against his car, somewhat enjoying the fresh air and sunshine after a near month absence. After a minute of waiting he could feel a headache coming on, which was not unusual and that's why there was a bottle of painkillers in the glove box. It was growing in intensity fairly quickly, which was unusual in a quiet moment alone, even the pristine suburban monotony shouldn't have been that irritating. It was like a hook, a million little hooks, digging into his brain; dug in tight and pulling, tugging, yanking

(calling, whispering, come here, come closer, I want you, I need you)

“What the hell are you doing, man?”

That voice could be like a rail road spike, driving its way through his calm meditation, splitting his consciousness back open. Xander turned toward it, a bit surprised to see Jeff across the street, staring at him with that familiar puzzled expression.

No...wait. I'm across the street.

Xander turned back around; he had taken two steps forward into the green, green grass in the front yard of the house across the street. Who lived there? He wasn't sure, one of the neighbors he almost never saw, he thought because they traveled a lot; judging by the empty driveway and the two newspapers on the doorstep, there was no one there now.

(...wasn't there?...for a second, in the window...)

“Going somewhere, man?”

Xander tried to shake it off. “I got bored waiting, all right.” Do not make a big deal out of this.

Jeff, looking a little more together, hair brushed and different clothes, just shrugged, “Hey, sorry, went as fast as I could.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, moving quickly back across the street; at least Jeff had some sense, if his parents had seen that they would've had him tied to the bed by now – or tried to, anyway.

So there's a few lingering issues, that's to be expected. Just watch yourself, make sure not to do that in front of anyone else.

(was there something...in the window...watching, calling...)

(not allowed to think about it)

He got in the car, unlocking the passenger door for Jeff, reaching for the glove compartment, but his headache seemed to be gone, not even a light throb remained.

Well then, at least one thing going right.

“Bet Gina's going to be glad you're back,”Jeff commented, his lip twisting a little, “Which is good, 'cause she's been kind of unbearable lately.”

She must have been far more than a little unbearable for Jeff to be anything other than worshipful. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, the first couple days she was still all pissed about Adrienne's party and you were just the biggest asshole ever, I'm sure you know.”

Xander kept a straight face and his eyes on the road as he pulled out the driveway. He didn't know; he knew he had been at Adrienne's, had some vague memory of something with Gina

(“Oh my god, what did you do to your arm?!”)

him screaming at her about...something. But that was about it. Not that he was going to admit it.

“But then after a few days, I guess she realized there really was something wrong with you. Then she was all guilty for being mad at you, worried about you, crazy because she couldn't see you, and she just wouldn't let up with it.”

It took every last ounce of self control not to slam his head onto the steering wheel.

Jeff smirked at him, “I don't get why you didn't let her come over, have her play naughty nurse or something.”

Or drive right into a wall; off a cliff...

“You do realize I was really sick, right?”

“Yeah, so? Don't mean you can't have a little fun.

Maybe he's got a point, I should have had her over. Puking in her face has got to be a deal breaker, right? Would have been amusing at least.

“I'm not in any mood for her shit, today,” Xander told him, knowing it might he harsh but not caring, “Keep her the fuck out of my face.”

“Why?”

Why? Really? “If I wanted people hovering over me, I would have stayed home,” it was the nicest way he could think to put it.

Jeff looked dubious but, as usual, he shrugged and gave in, “Okay, I'll see what I can do. But how do you expect me to-”

“Same as you always do,” Xander told him, “Just be yourself.”

And Jeff laughed; he was never was sure if Jeff knew just how serious he really was.

The school day passed at a mind numbingly slow rate, slower than usual he would almost swear, or maybe that was just because his lingering aches and pains made sitting difficult. This place was so pointless and he resented having to be here; most of what they taught he either already knew or had no use for, was completely irrelevant to him and what he was doing with his life which was...okay, he wasn't sure of that yet but he knew it wouldn't involve sitting behind a desk, dissecting Shakespeare or Calculus problems.

Or sitting behind a desk at all, this is the worst part of it, I don't know how all these people can stand living like that. I'm not meant for this, I'm supposed to be...out there, doing something. Waste of my fucking time.

People were paying closer attention to him too, almost as soon as he walked through the door; one would think he had come back from the dead, and it made him wonder what bullshit his parents had spread through the rumor mill. All those eyes always watching, studying, interested for no reason he could understand and they could probably not explaining

(don't know what they see...don't see what they know)

like he was a fucking side show attraction, drove him nuts. Most of the time now he barely noticed it; either his extended vacation or their renewed intensity sweeping his usual numb tolerance aside. It almost made him wish for football practice even if it was pathetically easy, not fulfilling and lately, too difficult to keep within acceptable limits; to remind himself at each tackle not to snap their necks, not because he was angry or even particularly wanted to, but

(but what's the point of knocking them down if you're just going to let them get back up again?)

At least he wasn't the sort of popular that encouraged people to try and talk to him, not usually anyway. Oh there were a few, mostly from the football team, who fancied themselves his friends and barreled into his space; most everyone else admired him from a respectful distance. Today though, people felt free to ask how he was doing, ask where he was, what happened, like it was any of their business. But that was why Jeff was there, he was an idiot, but an approachable friendly idiot, and he served as a decent mediator when he needed one, reducing his need to play nice and giving Jeff the attention and purpose he desperately craved. Jeff did a decent job managing Gina, too, during lunch when he couldn't avoid her any longer; Jeff had piled school books in front of him and told him to look busy, then went on about the month's worth of work he now had to make up for. Though him studying at lunch should have been seen as out of character, Gina was overly concerned instead and easily pushed aside by his insisting he could only concentrate on one thing at a time; she scurried away with an apology and a promise to call him later.

Coach James wasn't so easily dodged and caught him before he could slip away at the end of the day, hooking his arm around Xander's shoulders and dragging him to practice. He sat him down next to him on the bench and then proceeded to talk enough to more than make up for the near month absence; Xander wasn't even sure about what, practice he missed, the game he missed, Pembrook and how all important it was, blah blah blah. Xander nodded and smiled and uh-huhed, wished fervently this bloated windbag would find another kid to mentor, and let his mind wander away. He thought of what he might do after school once he dropped Jeff off; though it usually burned him that there was literally nothing to do around here, he was actually looking forward to driving aimlessly around, finding a quiet corner of the road to pull over and breathe for a few minutes. Enjoy the quiet, the solitude, not having to think, about this shit, these people, this place, how trapped he felt here, about the far right window in the house across the street, it was dark but for a second there wasn't there a-

(not allowed to think about that)

He was still in the locker room, getting out of the shower when Jeff found him again, back from whatever after school shit his parents were making him do to impress colleges. As usual, Xander had lingered until he was the last one there, in the back corner by himself getting dressed when Jeff came in complaining about...something, some bullshit about someone else, high school drama, who cares? Then, suddenly, “Oh my god, what the fuck is that?”

Loud, way too fucking loud, just a few feet behind him; Xander was about to ask what the hell he was yelling about, but-

Oh, right. That.

He calmly pulled his shirt back out of his locker and made to put it back on when he heard Jeff again, closer than before. “Wait up, let me see it.”

He seriously considered telling Jeff to fuck himself, but maybe it would be better to indulge him now, satisfy his curiosity so he can forget about it, not bring it up again later around the wrong people. Xander stood still and allowed the examination.

He could feel breath on his skin, body heat; Jeff wasn't really that close but he was hyper sensitive to it, every instinct screaming turn around, flatten him, his hands shook with the effort to stay still. “Shit man, that is freaky,” and then the pressure of a hand right in the middle of it.

A flash of pain, white hot, flaring across his vision and a grunt of surprise but not from him; Jeff's brown eyes wide with shock about an inch from his own, pressed up against the locker with Xander's hand around his throat. “Do. Not.” spoken through grinding teeth, “Touch. It.”

Jeff couldn't currently speak, he blinked and nodded slightly. As tempting as it was to squeeze him like one of those human shaped stress balls until his eyes popped out, Xander let him go, turning back to his locker to put his shirt back on before there was anymore bullshit.

Jeff touched a hand to his neck then the back of his head, “Ouch,” he mumbled half to himself, “You know, I'd ask if you've been working out, but...” Xander's mind paused at that, just a moment, before slamming his locker shut and sitting down on the bench to get his shoes on.

“So...does it hurt?”

Xander glanced up, incredulous, “What the fuck do you think?”

Jeff was not deterred, “Okay, yeah, but...I mean, don't tattoos stop hurting shortly after you get them? I mean, not like I'd really know, but that doesn't sound right, you know.”

Frankly, Xander didn't know either but had to admit it did sound right. So he evaded, “I don't know what to tell you.”

But now Jeff's brain was working, it didn't happen often but when it did it could be dangerous. “So, wait, when did you even get that done? I know it wasn't there last time you were here. I mean, its not like I spend all my time staring at you in the locker room or anything, but that I would have noticed.”

Xander had to suppress an eye roll. You know you only sound guilty because you brought it up, why not just keep your mouth shut. But he had long ago stopped trying to make sense of these people and their ridiculous behavior.

“And what is it?” he asked again, “Its freaky.”

Xander shrugged a casual shoulder; he had planned to just say that he got it because it looked cool, such explanations carried weight here for whatever fucking reason. He had spent some time the last few days when he was coherent more often than not, when he could stand up for short amounts of time, leaning against the bathroom sink trying to catch sight of his back in the mirror. He had no better explanation than that.

It looked like a gear wheel on the outside, thick red tipped spikes all around the edge. Inside, more gears, hundreds of them, spokes and spikes grinding violently together, dripping red in vicious slashes; a clockwork of blood and iron.

“I take it your parents haven't see that?” Jeff asked, smirking to himself, “Oh, no way, your mother would still be screaming about it.”

Xander smiled, Jeff was right they would not be happy; he couldn't wait.

“How did you – I mean, how did they miss it during the whole-”

Xander shrugged, “Luck, I guess. They were otherwise focused.”

“You know your mother's going to try and get it removed in your sleep?”

“She can try,” shoes on, Xander motioned Jeff to start moving toward the parking lot, toward freedom.

“So,” Jeff, apparently past his distraction, was back on it, “when did you get that done?”

Xander paused, he didn't have a prepared answer to that one because he hadn't counted on it coming up; shitty timing, if this moment could have been pushed back another week it wouldn't have mattered. He thought quick. “...Saturday.”

“Saturday? When the hell would you have...” Jeff paused, thought a moment and caught on, “Oh, wait a minute. You don't mean this last Saturday, you mean a month ago Saturday? Adrienne's party Saturday?”

Xander nodded.

Another pause, then, “Wait a minute, when the hell did you have time to do that?”

“...in the morning.”

“I thought you spent the morning with Gina?”

“Before I met up with her,” he could feel his teeth grinding together again, “What does it really fucking matter?”

Jeff shrugged, oblivious to his growing irritation, “It doesn't, just curious.” Silence then, “You never mentioned anything about it.”

“Yeah, well, I don't tell you everything I do.” No, that's too defensive, doesn't sound right; take it down a notch. “It was just kind of a spur of the moment thing.”

“It was?” Jeff seemed skeptical, Xander supposed that wasn't unreasonable; spur of the moment was a string of barbed wire around your bicep, not something that covered nearly your whole back.

He stuck with it though, “Yeah. And it was also a fucking month ago, not like I still remember every detail.” He glanced at Jeff out of the corner of his eye, hoping he'd buy it, leave it alone, because...

...because it was the truth, Xander didn't remember. That Saturday as a whole was pretty much erased from his memory; he could barely remember waking up in the morning, he only knew what time he must have got to Adrienne's because Gina was talking about it for at least a week and what time she intended to arrive was burned into his brain (he also wanted to say Gina occupying most of his day beforehand sounded right, and there was no way in hell he would have gotten her into a tattoo parlor; even beyond her proper girlish squeamishness, Gina sitting still for a few hours watching him do something all for himself? Perish the thought, she had clothes to buy). He knew he left the party early and without her, wasn't sure how he got home, and then

(something happened)

Then his parents found him the next morning, passed out in the foyer in a pool of bloody vomit and his body was cold.

(something happened)

(“There you are...”)

(but I'm not allowed to think about it)

(“...forget...for now...”)

“That isn't what happened, is it?” Jeff asked now, “You didn't get some infection at some skeevy tattoo parlor, did you?”

Xander immediately shook his head, “No. It wasn't an infection.” That would have involved a fever, that would have required the hospital; as it is he wasn't entirely sure how he managed to avoid that, his few clear coherent memories over the last month all involved arguing with them, or their friend Dr. Something or Other that his father played squash with on Thursdays. They always threatened but they must have listened in the end, he must have said something convincing.

“Besides, I don't need to go to a skeevy tattoo parlor, I can afford a good one.” He may not remember that part, but it stood to reason.

Jeff nodded, seeming appeased, “Well, it looks cool at any rate. Freaky, but cool.”

Xander felt the corner of his mouth pull up in a grin that was almost genuine. “I'm sure the artist would be thrilled.”

“I'm sure they've heard it before.”

Xander laughed, again genuinely. Jeff looked at him quizzically but he waved it off; he didn't really know what he was laughing at.

“So,” Jeff was still smiling as he settled into the passenger seat while Xander started the car, “Should I be trying to think up some reason to suddenly call you out when I hear screaming coming from your house?”

Xander's grin had morphed back into its usual tight lipped grimace. “Probably,” he said, “Make it something good, so maybe they'll shut the fuck up.”

Jeff laughed, “Win against Pembrook, that should be enough for your dad. Your mom though, you'd need to pull orphans from a burning building before she'd forget about something like that.”

He was probably right. “Well, you get the kids, I'll get the matches.”

Jeff threw his head back and laughed. “Oh fuck man, I missed this,” he mimed wiping tears from his eyes, “You are such a fucking psychopath, you know that.”

It was probably for the best that people always assumed he was joking; his life would be impossible otherwise.

“I'm hungry. You hungry?”

No, but McDonald's hardly counted as food. Xander shrugged and made the requisite left hand turn at the intersection. “Got nothing better to do.”

(“...pretend a while longer...return for you...my Knight...”)