Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 7th, 201M2044 BC.

Weather? Overcast. Pretty sure I can hear the wind whistling from the other side of my window. It’s a cool breeze, making the last of the autumn leaves fall and painting the yard in a scattershot of oranges, yellows, and browns. It’s a pretty sight until Mom will make me go rake the leaves. But for now, I’m gonna enjoy my Saturday in solace.

Thank Raptor Jesus for the weekend. No alarm clock, no school to go to, I can just lie and rot in my bed until I need to get up. I reach over for my phone and snag it off the nightstand to check the time, and the date. It’s half-past noon and the 7th.

It isn't until I get a text with well wishes from Uncle Naser that I finally remember what today is; My birthday. 19 years-old and I still can’t drink. I check the app for any other messages, either from classmates like Jack, or from friends my sis and I share, like Sera and Melissa, but there's nothing. No 'Happy Birthday"s, no checking in on me, not even so much a “Happy Saturday” to welcome the weekend. What can I expect, they’re Amber’s friends… Not Mine.

I guess I’ve been so caught up with school that I didn’t even realize my birthday was coming up. Cramming for tests and trying to “make the most of my senior year” isn’t how I like to spend my time. It’s what mom and dad keep telling me: “Senior year’s gonna be the best,” they say. “Make life-long memories with your life-long friends.” What a fucking joke.

All I ever get is cold shoulders, laughed at, and left to sit at the loser’s table with the likes of Cynthia. If this is the ‘best’ Senior Year has to offer me, I might as well drop out. What good’s a high school diploma gonna do for me anyway, get me into college? What good’s college gonna do for me when I’ll just wind up sitting around for 4 more years and go into debt for a slip of paper?

I pull myself to my feet and slip on a pair of pants. I’d better get something to eat. First come the negative thoughts, then comes the ‘hangry.’ The wood thunks with each step I take until I reach the landing at the bottom. Dad’s on the couch playing his console that I’m pretty sure is older than me. He never let me touch it again after I broke the ‘duke,’ in a fit of rage. That game sucked anyway. What kind of an FPS game lets melee deal more DPS than a gun?! I digress.

I turn the other way and begin raiding the pantry for as many sugary snacks I can to help wake me up. My attempts of sneaking back upstairs are cut short with a Thrice Crispy Treat slipping through my fingertips and clattering on the hardwood floor.

“I hope you’re not planning on having that as your breakfast.” Dad caught me with his usual guilt-trip tone. It’s like he’s trying to condescend and lecture me in a bomb of mental warfare. I’m not having it today.

“Mom’s going to the store soon, she can get more.”

“She’s already out, don’t eat all the snacks we have or I’ll start padlocking the pantry again. Not everything in there is for you, save some for your sister and your ol’ pops.” I roll my eyes and pick up the last of my smorgasbord before ducking upstairs. He calls up to me, “I’m serious, Greene!”

'Yeah yeah you old sack of skin, I know!' … is what I wanted to say, but then I’d have to deal with him more.

“Okay Dad!”

Bastard. I can’t believe I got stuck with a washed-up skinnie like him. Ever since Dad got laid off as a sound engineer, he’s been living on the couch complaining about “H1B’s taking his job” or whatever.

I had set my accrued loot upon my desk when I decided to open up my phone. Better text mom and make sure she restocks on our toaster tarts and oatmeal cream pies. I tap ‘send’ as I boot up my PC, the Green Machine, and let my SSD quickly boot to the desktop. I double click on Arma aaaand … Updating. Great. I check the download times and see it already reaching into the hours. All the more reason I need an Ethernet cable, mom! Not that she’d understand, and Dad took the only one for his ‘remote work.’

I get up and walk to the other side of the room, pressing my head against the wall. To the shock of no one, Amber’s watching some shitty Netstix show and no doubt chewing up the already limited bandwidth we can afford on Mom’s crappy teacher salary. I lightly bang on the wall, making sure not to dent the drywall. Hoping that got Amber’s attention.

“I need to download something, turn off the TV!” I call, only to be met with the volume getting cranked in her room. I’m really not in the mood to deal with this. I just want a game, I want to relax after a long week, and enjoy my birthday. Feels like Raptor Jesus invented twins just to spite me.

I storm out of my room and march up to my sister's. With my hand balled up in a fist, I pounded on the door to Amber’s room, making sure she heard well over whatever Mahvel slop she’s watching.

A few seconds tick by, and the door opens with a purple face to greet me.

My anger is quickly subsidized for confusion as I visibly recoil and scream. I blink twice to make sure I’m seeing who I think I’m seeing: purple triceratops, biggest chest in my grade, brown overalls, smells like oatmeal, yep. It’s Sera.

“Greene!? What are you doing? Are you trying to bust down Amber’s door?” Sera raised an eyebrow as she shot me the accusatory question. I rub the side of my head and glare.

“Sera, are you here to try and fuck my dad?”

“What!?” She realized my poor word choice just as soon as I did. Shit, I need to fix this and fast-

“What are you doing here?” My blunt question is only met with a purple palm inches from slapping me in the face. Out of pure reflex, I leaned back and caught her wrist in a tight grip. I had to hold myself back from pulling her off her feet as she struggled in my defensive hold.

“Let go of me!” She grunts and growls, flailing in my hand while I held her at arm's length. I’m just about to let go when a black binder full of papers flips open and smacks against my face.

“Greene! Let go of my friend!” Amber calls as I stumble back. A pair of hands presses on my chest and shoves me out of the doorway, before the door is slammed shut. I grab her folder and frantically throw it to the ground, scattering sheet music along the hallway as I snap;

“AMBER, TURN OFF THE TV AND LET ME DOWNLOAD SOMETHING! … Please!” I kicked at her stupid binder. My toe stubbed on one of the three metal rings that held papers together, which only made things worse. I grit my teeth and screech as I clutch my foot, feeling like one of those old-timey cartoon gags. If I knew this shit would hurt this much, I don't think I would have laughed as much as a kid.

I hop on one leg back into my room and plop myself down. My chair never felt so comfortable, especially if it meant I wasn’t on my feet right now. I return to my desktop, seeing it’ll take a couple hours just to launch Arma 3 at this point. I curse life once more as I tear into a Smucker’s Bar. A crunch of chocolate, peanuts, nougat, and caramel gives me a sugary ambrosia to give me the energy to deal with today. I'm off to a FAN-TASTIC start so far.

A buzzing notification from mom directs me to turn and grab my phone. A text from Mom.

“Tell your father to save a creampie for me.” I feel my eyes roll back as I groan.

“Cream pie, Mom. Use a space.” I’m type and fire back, when she sends another text;

“I'm using voice to text because I'm shopping you can worry about grammar later green.” If it weren’t for her telling me, I was worried she misspelled my name, again. Before I can even think about responding, my phone buzzes in my hand. “What do you want for your birthday?” The message catches me off-guard, but I shrug and shake my head.

At least she remembered, which on reflection, I’m really happy to know someone hasn’t forgotten what day today is.

'I wish I didn’t have to deal with any of this… bullshit.' As fun of a birthday wish as that sounds right now, I contemplate before sending but instead I delete the message and type; “idk” She is quick to respond.

“Make sure to think of something while I’m out and about.”

Two hours for an Arma update, and I’m stuck listening to Amber suck up the bandwidth like cocaine up an exec’s nose. She’s probably not even watching it like everyone who uses those subscription services anyway. Out of decent options for killing time, and since I’m still tired anyways, I pop a pair of my earplugs in and lie down. My plugs are normally for airsoft, but I can make an exception just this once. Just go to sleep, and Arma will be done updating before I know it.

I close my eyes, lay back in my bed, and let my mind drift. I think back to my initial wish.

I wish I didn’t have to deal with any of this bullshit.

Some of the parts didn’t entirely suck, but if I could have just one day where I didn’t have to worry about any of this? That’d be cool. No worries for ‘making the most’ for Senior year, nothing to worry about for graduation, and not having to be kicked to the curb and be lonely, not having to deal with a nag for a Dad and a sis who lives to inconvenience me with her friends.

That’s what I want for my birthday.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEP

That goddamn alarm. It's loud enough to split through the deepest recesses of my sleep and kickstart my day. If I was kickstarting a landmine. It's so much louder than I remember, I sluggishly grope around the nightstand until I find my clock, and promptly pound the 'off' button with my fist.

It's not enough to break it. I've tried.

I take a second or two to gather myself as I slip my hand back under the warm covers. The worst part about winter has to be climbing out of bed and freezing my balls off.

...

Wait. I didn't set my alarm before I took that nap.

I jolt and sit upright in my bed. I can already hear the wind rattling against my window, I don't have earplugs in anymore. But that was the least of my concerns.

From where I sat in my bed, and a quick glance around me shows that I'm not in my room anymore. Everything feels horribly 'off' in the most unnerving way possible.

What should have been my olive-drab colored room of army and gun posters, a few trophies, and my desk with the green machine running Arma 3; was instead a pale-orange room with a TV in the center of it, and a couple consoles old enough my dad probably had these when he was my age. It didn’t look like an XRox by any stretch of the imagination. Is it an old Pachystation?

I quickly reached for my phone to check if I had somehow missed a text from Dad telling me to come down and help Mom unpack the groceries, or Amber demanding I apologize to Sera for my crude comments, or even an update from Mom asking me what I wanted for my birthday!

But I didn't find any of that when I looked at my phone. My questions only grew, and from it, came panic.

Friday, November 6th, 201M2044 BC.

Sure enough, it’s 6AM. I have to be dreaming, there’s no way I can be here without my green machine, or any of my airsoft guns, or even the trophy I got from winning that paintball tourney with Amber and Jack! The more I look around this room, the less and less accolades I see. It has the shape of my room, my bed's in the same place, but everything else is vastly different.

Shelves that lined the walls were littered with old toys, books, and memorabilia that I cleaned out years ago. The fact that I still remember where some of these came from makes me rattled. My eye catces one in particular; a plastic gold medal from when Mom had me and Amber play soccer when I was a toddler. Still here, and not tossed out for something worthy of praise.

Did I hit my head when I laid down?

I feel my head for a quick check. No lumps, no bruises, not even a headache. The hypnagogic twitch in my arm leads me to a momentary spasm, causing me to jerk and stand upright as I clutch my elbow.

I need to get out of here.

I plod over to the door, grab the knob, and feel myself freeze. I'm not frozen from the touch of cold metal per say, but I feel... unmotivated, despite the perturbed troubles I feel being in this kind of room. I try to bring myself to twist the knob, taking a moment to look down and put my focus on it. It' like I'm dragging my arm through an ocean of syrup, like I've been hit with a hefty dose of a tranquilizer and am fighting to not conk out.

I reach for my forearm and hold it steady. It feels normal, if a little warm. When I let go in fear of losing all sensation with my hand, everything feels normal again. I ball and uncurl my fist a couple times to make sure my nerves weren't going shot, when I notice I nearly left with a major red flag! I'm still in my boxers! I don't want to go out looking like this, not unless I want mom on my case; and it’s too early to be scolded like one of her students.

I turn back to the dresser and closet, they look like mine and they're in the usual places. I find myself in a sense of familiarity as I dig through the drawers, but that familiarity is quickly lost as I pull out clothes I’ve never seen before.

Orange Tees, a dark grey zip-up hoodie, and urban camo pants.

No military jacket, no black shirt, not even my combat boots I got from Thot Topic when I went with Cynthia. I shudder to recall that last part- last time I’ll ever shop with that gremlin. I get dressed and throw the, admittedly, cozy clothes on. With my shirt over my head, I slip my wings to it and… something is stuck. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals an answer to my confusion, feathered wings. Just like mom and Amber. Wait, does that mean I’m a-?!

I quickly glance down, tugging at the waistband of my boxers.

… Nope, still a guy. Thank fuck.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I step into my pants one leg at a time. I would have rather worn anything that doesn’t make me look like I was going to conceal-carry into school, but I would be lying right now if I said this wasn’t comfy as fuck. The hood is just loose enough I can sling on and off, but not too loose that it would fly away in a breeze; something I struggle with my military jacket

All I'm missing are shoes, but I don't see my boots in the closet. Just as I think I left them by the front door, I find a pair of tan boots that greet me by the foot of my doorway. They're Timberlands. The orange shirt underneath almost matches my new shoes. I take another look down at myself. Still, something feels off. Wait, didn't I lie down while wearing clothes-

I’m ripped from my thoughts as my door opened with a squeak of the hinge, it’s enough to put me on edge and snap to its direction. To my shock, or rather because of it, I end up shielding my body with my new feathered wings. I lift it momentarily to scold what I can only assume is Amber barging into my room. She's the only one in this house who doesn't knock! However, right as I'm about to lay into her and give a piece of my mind, my gaze meets a taller ptero.

She has a ribbon around her crest, the same one that Amber wears, but she’s wearing a yellow sundress. Her silver hair is long and flows past her shoulders, but her feathers are ragged and thin. It looks like Amber if she over-preened. I feel myself trying to reach out to her, struggling to ask if this really is my sister, but that voice… That voice is unmistakable.

“Oh, you’re awake! Good morning Sweetie!~”

Mom?!

It’s unmistakably her voice but she sounds so… different. It’s soft, uneasy… frail, even.

I watch her breathe a sigh of relief as a smile washes over her face. She comes into the room unannounced and holds her hands out, inviting me into a hug. From her cheery grin I can see her wearing a cross pendant around her neck instead of the usual amber-stone amulet. Since when was mom a Christian?

Before I can voice my confusion, I'm already being pulled into a hug. I feel my wings droop around her instinctively, as she does the same to me. My chin is lifted as it's brought to rest against her shoulder, her chest firmly planted on my clavicle as I'm pressed flat against her core. I try to pull back from the hug to get a second to process, but she keeps me in place for a moment longer. Holding on like I was going to run away.

Admittedly, I kind of did. If this was an out-of-season April Fool's Prank from mom, then she got me good. But just to make sure this is actually her-

“Mom?” I’m hesitant to speak, but even after I do, my own voice doesn’t sound like my own. I sound weak, like the maternal figure before me. My voice barely carries itself louder than a murmur, like I need to clear my throat but can’t. Some kind of lump has formed itself in the way, and I’m unable to swallow it. I simply stand there as I wait and watch her break the hug. Her hands rest on my shoulders as she looks me in the eye.

“You’re already dressed, and not hiding under the bed! Are you feeling okay, Moss?”

Moss? Did she just call me-

I feel my head involuntarily nod at her question before a smile stretches over my lips. It’s fake as hell, this feels like one of those forced smiles, but I’ll wear it anyways. It makes her happy, happy enough to finally leave my room and get off of me.

“We’re leaving in 15 minutes, please don’t forget to brush your hair and get something to eat.” She leaves me with the warning before swiftly leaving. I check my phone for confirmation that this is, apparently, a Friday.

Fucking hell, 15 minutes?! Thanks for nothing mom! You might as well have let me sleep in and miss school today! I check my phone once again to see the time, 6:34am. It's a little early for the bus, did she want to drag me in to school early to help her around the room?! Forget that, I'll just wait outside for the bus and freeze my ass off.

I step out of my room and into the hall, peering into the restroom to get a good look at myself. Sure enough, I’m me alright. As “me” as I can get. Silver hair, dark marks under my eyes, crest… But I’m not me. My eyes are orange, like Amber's, and it takes me longer than I’d like to admit looking at myself to realize my crest hasn’t shrunk. My hair is just poofier. Any more hair, and I think I’d know how Sera’s uncle Huey feels. I slap on some deodorant and make my way downstairs. The house itself seems normal, the living room’s all the same minus one dad cooped up on the couch. I wonder where he is.

My search for him is cut short with a quick grab around my neck. My head is yanked into a headlock and quickly drilled with a knuckle to my scalp.

“Sup li’l bro!” Amber’s unmistakable voice pierces into my ear as she grinds her fist against my forehead. For as much as I don’t like how it looks, the hair is doing a wonderful job cushioning this. I fight to break from her grip as I grit my teeth, trying not to yelp out and sound like a wuss.

“H-Hey! C-Cut it out, I have a headache!” I fib to my sib, but it’s surprisingly enough to get her to let go of me. At least I think it is, until I see mom poke her head out of the kitchen.

“Shiloh, leave Moss alone.” Her glare is the equivalent of a blunt dagger that’s still in its sheath. I have to do a double-take on what I'm seeing in front of me, even if I have to push her off of me to get out of her headlock. I look to 'Amber' right next to me. Same voice, same orange eyes, same markings, but a little taller now and a little more surly, not to mention she is dressed completely different.

She's wearing an aviation jacket, looks like grandma's that she kept stored away in the attic. It's a dark, tar-black leather with cream sherpa interior. She's wearing combat boots, and a digital desert-camo bandana has replaced the all-familiar headband she usually wears. I can’t help but look at her in disbelief.

"Jeez bro, did you not get enough sleep? Too busy crawling under the bed again so you could cry yourself to sleep?!" I feel an elbow jab my chest as my supposed sister guffawed. I can't find myself saying anything, especially when Mom speaks up from the kitchen.

"Shiloh, I'm not going to ask you again!" She barely raised her voice compared to last time, if at all. How she could think she could control a classroom of highschoolers with a gaze like that is beyond me. Yet somehow, she obliges and tucks her hands back into the jacket's pockets.

As I walk away from her, I can't help but think back to all the times I've fought with Amber. All the times we've wrestled and gotten a 'jump' on each other, or had a game of Battlesaurs get a little too hated, but they’ve never amounted to… that. Usually I’d grab around her neck with my CQC muscle-memory, but… that didn’t happen.

I look to my hands as they have failed me, much like so many of the other things that are supposed to ‘help’ me in life. Schools, the faculty, the internet, my friends- if you can even call them that, my washed-up pops… The list goes on, and I guess I can now add my reflexes to that list.

I step into the kitchen and right past mom as she makes herself some coffee to help wake up. At least I assume it’s supposed to be coffee. I’ve never seen someone pour in half a mug of half-n-half before. I leave her to whatever she’s doing, and decide to raid the pantry. Hopefully Mom picked some up from the store... Jackpot, blueberry toaster tarts! I greedily snatch one up and tear the plastic wrapper. I let it flutter to the floor as I munch and divulge in my inner hunger. A long-overdue palette cleanser of today’s oddities, a taste of familiarity, and enough sugary frosting to snap me awake. Sorry toaster-tarts, no heating up for you. Today, you’re going in raw.

Fuck that was good. I’m awake and ready for the day. I instinctively bend down, toss away the trash, and check my phone. There’s only a few minutes before Mom would usually leave for work, so I gotta get going if I want to sneak out and get to the bus! As I slip out of the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of pass Shiloh sitting in the living room. I'd say she enjoys having speakers  batter the back of her seat in Mom's SUV, but I remember- Amber sits in the front with Mom. 'Shotgun for life,' or whatever she said in 5th Grade...

I grab my bag off its hook in the mudroom and head for the door. I place my hand on it, only to be met with the same feeling as before. My arm has lost all feeling, it's cold, limp, and simply holds onto the handle for the front door. In my panic, I quickly let go and try with my other, only for the same problem to persist!

I grit my teeth and decide to rip the band-aid off. I hold the handle with one hand, and pound my fist against the thumb lever. That turns out to be a horrible mistake, as when the butt of my palm hit the cold metal, an icy, frigid pain shoots up my wrist and all the way to my elbow. It takes everything in me not to scream, but fuck. I'm wide awake now. I stagger back and cup my beak, shrieking into it just to relieve the pain.

“Moss?!” I hear Mom’s voice call for me in a panic, she peeked out from the kitchen and stared at me like I just kicked a puppy. I turn back to tell her I'm fine, that the knob is just stupid cold for some reason, or that I tried to punch the door open.

No. I'm greeted with something much worse. A powerful, imposing force.

The air is heavy as I feel something I recognize all-too well. This tension is something I usually felt during airsoft and paintball matches, or that time I met Janet in the woods. A silence so fierce that you could drop a pin and it would echo. Tension so thick you'd need a steak knife to cut it. But it was never something I never felt at home, and especially not this strong. And something about that made it so. much. worse.

This isn’t aggression, this feels like imminent homicide. I prepare to meet my executioner when feel a white-knuckle grip cup over my shoulder, threatening to break it like an empty soda can. The body heat from the palm is enough to make me know who it is before he even speaks.

Dad.

“What. The. Hell. Are you doing, boy.” He sneers under a vicious growl as he pulls on my shoulder. My back is pressed to the doorframe as I instinctively flinch and look away. I feel like I’m about to be calling in sick from a hospital bed. His hand grabs me by the snout and pulls me to face him. My eyes snap wide open at the motion as I feel my neck crick. My jaw would have dropped if he wasn’t holding it, and there I see why I felt such imminent bloodlust.

What should have been my deadbeat skinnie of a dad, was instead a borderline neanderthal wearing my military jacket, a pair of dog tags, a scar over his cheek, and a 5 o’clock shadow he hasn’t shaved off yet. That lump in my throat hardened at long last, I could feel my wings spread and my hands frantically searched the door behind me for something, anything to pull myself away. My eyes met his, and I could only see the black abyss staring right back at me. The look alone told me; "Choose your next words wisely." No need for an or else, this story isn't rated for explicit content. My heart thumped in my ears, drowning out whatever he said next as I fought past his grip, past my own fears, and finally spoke up;

“I-I thought the door was iced and t-tried to punch it… I-I need to get to the bus but the knob's too cold, I’m sorry Dad!” The moment he let go I felt my legs give out. I was brought to my hands and knees, they wouldn’t stop shaking, trembling, twitching. I had a feeling this would only get worse if I didn’t look him in the eyes, but… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t pull my head back, I couldn’t lean to look his way. My eyes remained glued to the floor as I kept breathing, trying not to piss myself. I dry heave as I look at the floor. Something so similar, yet so different, and right now, I'm screaming to know one thing.

What the fuck is going on!?

“You don’t ride the bus, boy.” He let out a sneer as he raised his voice. “Lucy takes you to school.”

"Huh?"

“Stop kicking the door or you’ll be paying for repairs from your allowance!”

“Anon…” I hear mom’s voice call to him as her heels clack on the wooden floor. I look up to the two, she has her hand on his massive shoulder, leaning up to him. It’s only now that I realize how much taller the bald ape is. He's a whole headtaller than her, and she a good head taller than me when she barged into my room.

Between the staggering height difference, he was leaning down just to look me in the eye. I simply refuse to accept this is the same human. A relative sure, maybe in a pipe dream. Maybe mom just hit her head hard enough and thought any human guy is Anon! This can’t be my Dad, no way. The Dad I know wouldn’t be some brute wearing the same jacket I would-

It is suddenly at this point I realize that this isn’t the Dad I know. This isn’t anyone I know. Him, Me, Amber… … Mom.

She looks at him with those same eyes that she looked at me with. “Please, don’t shout… It’s too early for this.” Her voice was pitiful, pleading with him as she leans into his chest and lets him drape an arm over her. I catch him mumbling under his breath; “It’s too early to be screaming like you in heat.”

I open my mouth to try and talk, to give my side of things, only for it to fall silent. There’s not an ounce of fight-back in me, no matter how much I squeeze and strain, I can’t even bring myself to make a sound.

I breathe a trembling sigh, and stagger to pull myself to my feet. My sister hands me my bag, which I didn’t realize I had dropped, and opens the door. Just like that!? Why couldn’t I open it?! … I take another glance at the door and feel like the biggest idiot to walk the earth. It was locked the entire time. That explains the open problem, but why did it feel so damn cold?

I step out into the crisp, chilly air. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, it’s still dawn outside. The frigid breeze nearly blows me right back into the warmth of my house, but given what I just experienced, I welcome the literal breath of fresh air.

Mom pulls a pair of keys from her purse and unlocks a red sports sedan. It looks way too much for what she says she can afford as a teacher, so I can only assume it’s Dad’s car. Still, even looking it over it reminds me of my Uncle’s NasCar. Only with Bluetooth connection, a rear-view camera, and a central locking system in-tact. I head over to the back door like normal, and grip the handle. No cold feelings, no syrup ocean to slog through, no numb and limp limbs? I'm about to pull the door open when Shiloh stops me with a question.

“You’re not sitting shotgun today, Moss?” I look to her to see she’s being sincere. I stand in complete dumbfound shock as my mind short-circuits through a lightning round of information.

What world am I in? Why is it that when I get berated by Dad, I get to sit in the front!? Amber never lets me ride shotgun, ever! Did I call dibs and not remember it? Did Amber take a bribe from Mom to have me sit in the front? Would Mom even want me in the front? I can't imagine what Amber would do to NOT be in the passenger's seat- so what would take Amber to give up that spot?! Am I really still dreaming? Have I not just entered some warped, twilight zone reality?

“Hey... Moss? Earth to bro? C’mon Moss, it’s not funny anymore! Moss, I'm serious, are you okay? I was only teasing you about the bed stuff! Quit pretending to be mute.” Shiloh gives me a push with her hands to get me to step back and stumble. I hold my head and rub it, I feel like I'm getting a headache from everything happening so fast, and everyone being so casual about this. I’m hesitant to even take her up on the offer of the front seat because everything feels so different. 

I wind up change my mind on sitting in the backseat and pulled on the front door. To be frank, I’ll take anything to get some space at this point. I sat down in the front, right next to mom. Anything to get me a moment to think. The car ride helped with that and more.

Dad’s car has seat warmers and coolers, but there’s something I notice when I’m adjusting the warmer. I’m getting too hot. I check the car’s AC, a toasty 68 degrees. Nothing seems out of the norm here, until I sit back and feel them. My feathery wings. They’re soft and pillowy, it feels like I can drape myself in a blanket of my own down if I folded them close enough. Like how I used to wear a snuggie blanket during the winter while sitting at my desk, letting my feet sit right by my overheating PC like it was a radiator- before I upgraded from that glorified toaster with a screen.

It’s a nice trip down memory lane, but right now it’s too warm. I click to lower the intensity of the seat so I don’t wind up going to school with my biscuits burning.

Before long, I see the building in sight, the car drop-off line was fairly full as students climb out and wave their parents goodbye. I never really saw this side of the school much, chalk that up to the differences. At this point, I should stop expecting anything to be normal. I’m in fucking bizarro land, I guess. Mom pulled in line and waited, slowly inching closer and closer until we reached the curb. I could hear the click of the car unlocking, my sis opened her door and climbed out but as I put my hand on the handle, I felt it again.

My frustration grows exponentially as now I couldn’t understand why this one would make me feel like this. Am I some kind of narcoleptic for doorknobs!? No, because I could get INTO the car no problem, why can't I get out!? Right when I bundled my hand in my sleeve to try and shield myself from the touch, I felt a hand on my thigh.

“Are you going to be okay, sweetie?” Her voice is soft as she hums beside me, leaning over to my seat to run her hand along my thigh. I know it’s a motion of comfort but fuck, mom, do you have to make it this weird!? I try to shift and pull myself away, but as I scoot in my seat, my whole leg is hit with that same feeling. Heavy, limp, cold. It’s like my thigh is made of concrete. I can’t move my entire left leg at all as her hand rakes along.

I look down in frozen horror at my leg, trying to shake it, to tilt my ankle, to kick the glove compartment as hard as I can. But none of that happens, the numbness is back and stronger than ever. If my arm  was in a syrup ocean before, then right now my leg is completely submerged. Chained to an iron ball as it drags further and further down. Something is holding me back.

I blink and try to put my hand on top of hers, to stop Mom from gently raking her claws. She hums and lifts her hand until reaches my shoulder, then my chin. I've never felt so uncomfortable in my life as I look back to her. Her eyes look at me expectantly, I guess I have to say something now.

“Y-Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” I can hear my voice start to crack, that whiny wuss-voice from before had returned. My frustration is betrayed by my expression, as I can feel another smile force itself over my face. No scowl of disapproval, no frown, I can’t even grit my teeth.

Why do I feel so powerless in my own body!?

I shuffle in my seat and lean forward, trying to regain my sense of control over myself, until I'm suddenly pulled to the left. Mom ropes me in with her arms, her wings over mine, and her breath a soft tremble as he hugs me once more. Not letting go like this morning.

“Your father and I love you dearly sweetie…” She looks at me with a glossy glimmer in her eyes, like she’s on the verge of tears before closing them, and leaning in. Her lips press to my cheek, giving a good-bye kiss before finally letting me go. My feelings have returned for the most part. I can move my legs once more, I can feel my body, but I can’t raise my arms any higher than my chest. Doing so only leaves my arms to feel cold and limp again, like all the blood is getting sucked right out.

It eats me on the inside how bad I want to wipe that wet spot off my cheek right now. The fact I can't only frustrates me further. I instead turn back to the door, pull on the handle, and get to have it open. That's Greene 2 - Doorknobs 3 if you're keeping score at home, folks.

At long last, freedom. As I step out of the car, Mom calls out to me;

“Have a good day, Moss!~” I can barely hear her voice over the thunderous turmoil raging in my brain. I fling the door shut, letting it slam behind me as I fight and jerk against my arm, fighting to bring it up and wipe the unnerving wet spot on my cheek. I finally look down to see what’s stopping me from lifting my right arm, but it's completely numb! I can't feel any muscle or nerve in my entire right arm, from my fingertip to my shoulder. I'm left holding my hand in fear of it falling off if I let go. I try to calm down and curl my fingers and make a fist- to see if I could do that at least, but my hand is like that of concrete. Ice cold concrete. I squeeze the nerves in my wrist, putting pressure to feel something- ANYTHING in my arm. I start pinching and digging my claws! I can’t feel anything!

What the fuck.

The revelation is enough to freeze me in place. I hear what sounds like laughter, and perk up for a moment. My mortification seems to be quite funny to a couple girls walking by. My left hand raises out of pure instinct to wave at them as they pass me. My lips pull for a fake smile. Just smile and wave, and get out of here. I quickly make my way to the front doors and grab onto the handles. Left and right hands both working now, the momentary numbness gone.

But right as I try to wipe the mark off my cheek, I catch my hand and look back down. Nothing looks different.

What is happening?

What am I!?

“Moss!” A voice calls out, as if to answer my internalized questions. I perk up at the voice, more than the name. I recognize that voice from this morning, Sera! Raptor Jesus on his cross of rock, SERA! Please tell me that you're still you! Please tell me you can explain what the FUCK is happening! I turn to the source of it, walking as fast as I could and slipping by a few idle tails littering the hallway before I see her. Only she wasn't alone.

Sera was standing by a locker holding a couple textbooks under her ample chest while a short, lime-green stegosaurus with greasy hair tied into twin-pigtails slams a locker shut with a sneer. If the short stature and familiar face wasn't enough to tell me who it was, it was the stink that followed her around like a criminal record for an ex-con. Cynthia. Of all the things to not change here, why couldn't her bathing habits have improved at the very least? If anything, she looks greasier than normal here, or maybe that's because she's not lurking in the shadows anymore. I can't imagine why the living wad of hair that clogged the sink would have anyone around her.

Which brings me to my next question, what the hell is Sera doing hanging around Cynthia- willingly?! The two are dressed like normal, Sera's in her overalls and Cynthia's in her cringy black and white striped longsleeve with a blue crop top, purple shorts, and the most blank black and white shoes imaginable. Regardless, they're both looking at me as I was still approaching. In an act of trying to regain my sense of composure, and to keep my sense of smell, I look to the left and away from Cynthia's general direction. No numbness. At least I can do that.

“Woah, who’s the SKANK you’ve been making out with this morning?!” Cynthia blurts out loud enough to start making heads turn. She can barely contain her laughter as she points at the stain on my cheek. A stain I had already forgotten about in my search for understanding. I feel my eyes widen as heat creeps onto my face, then my jaw, then my ears. It feels like I’ve been smothered in a heating pad as I’m left standing here, glancing back at this cunty bitch as she points at my face and laughs.

I eyeball Sera for some help, yet all she does is watch. Completely neutral, if not invested in the current drama. Sera's definitely herself alright, nothing gets that hamster wheel in her head spinning more than juicy gossip- doubly so if it doesn't involve her in any way.

I try to open my mouth to speak, but before that I ball my hands into fists. Already, I feel my arms getting cold, in spite of the heat cranked in the school building and the long-sleeves I was wearing. But I don't care. I want to put this bitch in the ground, I want to chew her like the wad of gum under a desk lid she smells like, I want to drop-kick this grimey bitch back into the storm drain this clod crawled out of. But by now the cold was digging into my bones and upper arm. I forcibly let go, and with it, surrender to whatever cold will I'm at the mercy of.

“I wasn’t kissing anyone… Just my mom.”

It's as my voice nearly cracks that it finally hit me, and I feel dumb as hell for not realizing sooner. I… I really am this “Moss” loser. Even as I want to look down at my hands, I can’t muster the strength to lift them. Is it because I'm- he's- ... I can't do something he wouldn't? Would he not throw a punch at this bitch making fun of him? Would he not open the front door, open his own bedroom door, or leave without having his Mom practically squeeze his back out?!

I can only assume that’s the reason, because why else am I not allowed to punt this cunt square in her face?! She continues to point and laugh, throwing her head back as if it was the funniest thing on the planet.

“AHAHAAHAHA OH MY GOD! You’re such a little WEIRDO kissing your mom! What, still need her to tuck you into bed at night?! Need to be a good boy and get a gold star for good behavior?~ No, wait, I know! Do you ask her if she can kiss your ‘other head’ too?!” Cynthia clasped her hands together and leaned close, getting into my face as she continued to laugh and taunt me. I can't see them, but I definitely feel everyone else's stares on me right at this moment. I grit my teeth and fight to arc my claws.

This disgusting freak. She wants to talk about stars? I’ll let her see several with one clean knock-out! I'll tear her damn throat out, see how much she likes talking when her vocal cords are severed! I bring myself to raise a fist, but my efforts are stalled as Sera finally intervenes.

She holds me back.

"Woah, Moss- Moss! Calm down! Sh-she's just kidding! Right?!" She quickly cups my wrist and holds me still. Her glare shot to Cynthia is completely ignored as she keeps going, uninterrupted. “Awww, does the little ‘stud’ need his mommy to speak for him? You taking after that caveman of a dad? I thought Mommy's boy would have learned how to talk to a lady!" She scoffs with a snide smirk. Sera lets go of my wrist.

"Cynth, girl we talked about this! You were gonna lighten up on the teasing!"

"What? Oh come on, I'm just having fun!" She rolls her eyes and flicks her tongue out in the process, showing the silver pearl she has pierced on her tongue. Gross. "If you want to learn how to talk to a lady, you should as your mother, momma's boy. You know she’s not always gonna be around for you, loser!” She continued to sneer as I finally stepped up. I feel my arms tense, my shoulder cock back, and my arm swing through the air when she suddenly shoved me back. I'm left tumbling back as I miss my footing.

In that moment, I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact. Back to the ground I go again.

I feel myself hit the ground, but rather than the cold, somewhat dirty hard floor of the school, I'm laying on something soft. It rustles underneath me as I open my eyes.

A blue sky, my house in the corner of my eye. My palms, knees, and leg are burning as I'm laying here. I look at my hand to see I've skinned them both, bits of asphalt and dirt on them both as I look down to see my knees leak a trace amount of blood by the edge of my shorts. I’m on the front lawn with a skateboard discarded by my feet. The wheels still spin freely in the air, and it's as I look around I realize what this is; a memory.

I remember this day. This was the time I scraped myself when I was skateboarding down the big hill right outside our house. I didn't know how to stop, so in the moment I jumped off and went tumbling on the street. I held it together until I made it to my room, and cried into my pillow until the ice cooled my hands.

But that's not what's happening. I'm sitting in the front lawn, my eyes brimming with tears as one streaks down my cheek, my breath grows uneven, and then I see Dad marching over. That look. Disappointment, judgement, contempt. He saw the me I was able to hide before, but now...

I sniffle and try to brace myself.

"Boy, pick yourself up already. It's just a scrape, no need to throw a hissy fit over it. C'mon." His words are what I told to myself to keep quiet, but somehow hearing it from him led to me craning my head back, and letting out a wail.

"MOOOOOOOOM!"

“Mom isn't home, I already said that!" He covered his ears from the screech as it echoed along the empty street of our neighborhood. He lowered a hand and grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to my feet. I could barely keep up with him.

"When are you going to learn, boy!? Your mom’s not always gonna be there to do everything for you. So get up and stop crying all the time!” I recoil at his booming voice. He’s angry, I think. My vision is blurring as I try to blink. Tears.

I can't stop crying, I can't hold myself together. I bite my lip until it bleeds, I stagger to wipe the blood off my hands, I trip over the front doorstep and feel myself falling to the floor, with time slowing to a momentary standstill.

I reach up to grab at whatever I can to pull myself out of this moment in time. I want to get out, I need to get out NOW! I stumble blindly into the building as I squeeze my eyes shut from the searing pain I feel in my hands and knees. I reach out with a fist to swing wildly at the figure before me, trying to make him stop yelling at me as I put everything into this punch.

BANG!

I’m brought to by the dull, metal clang of a locker. My eyes pop open to see my fist reaching in to punch the door of locker 427. I barely made a dent, but it hurts like hell. I feel my cheeks, they’re damp with tears.

My mind circles with questions as I clutch my hand and hunch over, trembling between pain, my tears, and... exhaustion. My heart thunders in my head with how hard and fast it's beating. What I can only assume were Cynthia and Sera's voices are a muffled, hazy mess of indistinguishable blurbs.

I stagger to try and stay on my feet, trying to wipe my tears and that stupid stain off my cheek. My breathing is uneven, I look back at the girls and they’re silent with wide eyes. I could only imagine their faces mirrored my own at this moment, as I felt myself fold under the pressure of their gazes.

“I’msorry…” My feet carry me down the hallway and around a corner.

Anywhere that isn’t here is fine.

By the time I stop walking, I find myself standing in one of the school’s stairwells at the edge of the building. I didn't even know this one even existed since it’s so remote, and I never remember taking it. It's empty, clean compared to the rest of the halls, and the steps themselves don't get a lot of traffic. Judging by the fact I can't hear any of the other students from around a corner or two, I'm completely alone. It feels natural, an eerie wave of comfort washes over me as I stand in a place that's normally very crowded. I take a deep breath and sigh. It's perfect.

I sit myself down right at the top of the landing, looking down. I take another deep breath to calm my nerves, although calling them mine at this point feels disingenuous. I really am not me anymore, am I? I’m not who I want to be, I’m forced someone else or I risk freezing to death like I'm shirtless in the snow.

Why?

Why am I stuck in this body, hell- why am I stuck in this strange world? So many things feel so similar to normal, but things are different. There's too many things different, and none of them make sense. Am I still dreaming, or did something happen?

I give myself a quick pinch check, adding a bit of claw to poke and make sure I really felt it.

"Fuck!"

Yep. This really is... real. Something huge must have happened to cause everything to be so different, what it was I can’t even begin to imagine. It's not like I can ask anyone, either. I'm just as different as everything else, "Greene" doesn't exist anymore. I’m just this ‘Moss’ crybaby.

At the mention of 'crybaby' I reach up to wipe my cheek, rubbing off the tear trail and that kiss mark off. I don’t need to go through that again when someone else inevitably sees me. Especially if it's with another girl.

As I continue to sit and look down at myself, slowly letting it sink in that I’m not in control as I think I am, I hear the door open below. Sera pokes her head through.

“Moss? Moss, are you okay?” I can hear her echo as she stands at the foot of the stairs. Her voice is soothing, but... She let that little snot-goblin run her mouth and make fun of me. As much as I want to look to her for guidance, it feels... empty. I feel like I want to run away and stay put simultaneously, a vicious 50/50 decision. Two sides of conflict interlocked in a battle that threatens to split me in two.

On the one hand, she hasn't done me any favors; but that's a given. Sera was always more of Amber's friend than mine. But the fact that she followed me caught me by surprise. I didn’t know she cared about me. Or, rather, cared about “me.”

I watched as she climbed up the stairs, her hips swaying with each step as her chest gave a tiny bounce along the way. I look down to avoid staring, but I make sure to watch her from the corner of my eyes. Both to see her, and to make sure she didn't try to pull anything fast on me. I don't have my CQC to bail me out anymore. I begrudgingly lower my head into my arms, curled up into a ball atop the stairs. Just as my wings drape over me to bury me in a feathery cocoon, I feel her hand on my shoulder, her other gently pries my wing out of her way so she can get a clear look at me. I hesitate before glancing up, eyes met with the busty brainiac who’s helped me through more math classes than I can count. The smile forces itself back over me, which was met with a rather grim expression from her.

“Moss, it happened again, didn’t it?”

“Again?" The words slip out before I even realized it. I look to Sera as she gives a nod, and a sympathetic look.

"Yeah, 'it'... The memory thing..." Her voice trails as he bites her bottom lip and taps her chin. I wait for her to say something, to help shed light on what happened. But as she continued to give me that expectant stare, I grow nervous that she might expect me to know something I don't, to finish her sentence.

And I'm not going to chance a shot in the dark like this.

"N-No? Nothing happened, nothing’s wrong, Sera… You don’t need to worry about me.” I speak up and shook my head, but she and I both know that’s a lie.

I want to cry out, to beg her for help, to hold onto her for just a moment. To cave in and tell her everything that's going on, but the 'how' is what's stopping me. What would I even say to her!? 'Hi Sera, I'm not me suddenly in a different body!' Yeah, that's a one-way ticket to a padded cell. I feel my forced grin strain as Sera continues to watch me. When I think about trying to stop smiling, to speak up, I start to feel dizzy. My breathing is uneven, and my head feels... cold.

I break through the smile and grunt out as much as I can say as I teeter to the side.

“H-Hold me.”

My voice is raspy as my face flushes pink. I blink to keep my eyes open as I reach out. Like I plunged myself up to my elbow in a semifrozen lake. I grit my teeth and wrestle back my scream.

Don't show weakness, don't be like this morning. Don't show weakness, don't be like this morning. I have to think it like a mantra as I tightly shut my eyes. But from the dark, I feel a sudden flush of warmth course through my arm and my head. Everything feels... Normal.

I open my eyes to see Sera doing exactly as I asked. She's sat next to me, her hip bumped against mine as her hand guided itself over my shoulder and down my back. It slips right between my wings, penetrating past the thinly veiled wall of feathers I bundled myself in. She leaned in, and I can feel her chest smush against mine. I huff out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, as I carefully guide my arm around hers to rest on her upper back.

Bliss.

I finally got to feel her touch, to feel that she cares. I feel her scoot closer, her other hand ensnaring my other side and pulling me to lean against her. I slide my hand to her thigh, wanting to feel more, but the feeling of the cold, frozen concrete returns as my hand doesn’t move. I had been so caught up in suddenly feeling warm and making a right choice, that I forgot. 'Moss' won’t let me move it over her thigh. So I’m forced to sit here and take it while Sera gets to have all the fun.

This. Sucks.

“Cynthia didn’t know, Moss… She says she’s sorry. And… I’m sorry too for not saying anything.” Sera lets out a sigh as she apologizes, her chin resting against my shoulder. She’s close enough I can feel the blunt edge of her horn graze my cheek as her lips find the crook of my neck. Her breath is as warm as the heat that creeps over my face. My hand's in my lap, the other holds her core as I lean into her. My wing flaps to curl around Sera, inviting her to keep hugging and holding me as much as I need her to.

As much as I want to feel her touch, to be given the same amount of care and attention she’s had for obsessing over my dad. I want this moment to last forever, but like everything it seems, fate has different plans.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Sera…” The words slip by me, as if I was talking out of pure instinct. Like a mere puppet on a string. Before I can even think about stopping-

“I made you and Cynthia worry about me, I didn’t mean to make things be about me.” My mouth is finally shut by Sera holding a finger to my lips. My eyes widened and for the first time since she followed me, I could finally look around. Her chest was right against mine, all I could see was the color purple in front of me as she furrowed her brows. She gave a stern look that was hidden between her soft smile, and rosy cheeks.

“Moss… Has anybody ever told you you’re such an idiot?” She giggles as she turns her head to the side, pressing her cheek on my clavicle as her arms wrap around my upper torso. A vice-like grip constricted me in place, all the while I could only pray for her hands to trail lower. Maybe if she made the first move, I could have free reign.

“Who hasn’t?” I chuckle as I am forced to respond. My focus shifts more to her. I want to pull her closer, feel her in my lap, have her chest on my face, but- “I don’t mind being stupid, if it means I get to have friends like you and Cynthia. I love you.”

I feel a shiver run down my spine. Not the limp, lifeless numbing I've felt off and on, but a proper chill running down my back. I can’t believe that it just came out. Seven years of crushing on Sera, I- he- he admits his feelings, and she isn’t laughing!? I can’t believe my eyes!

“Because I love all my friends.”

Oh, this absolute fucking cuck. I force ‘myself’ to roll my eyes as hard as I can. Fighting to get what I want, a piece of Sera. But instead my eyes stay shut and I feel Moss speak again.

“And, I hope you and Cynthia feel the same way, Sera. Whenever you're sad or feel down, I’ll be a shoulder to lean on. I have two, after all!” God, he’s so cheesy he's gonna make me lactose intolerant. Yet in spite of this destructive dose of dairy, or because of it, I feel Sera scooch even closer. Her hips lift as she slides over, threatening to climb into my lap.

DING-DONG BING-BONG

Cucked by the bell.

The chiming overhead indicates the time for everyone to get to homeroom. And to my dismay, Sera wastes no time in getting up and pulling herself out of my grasp.

“I’ll see you around Moss, take care okay bud?”

“Bye Sera, I love you!” I forcefully call out to her as pick myself up and stand before giving a small wave. She heads downstairs, undoubtedly to her first of several math and AP classes. I never could handle the stress that goes on in those things, extra work for no reward? No thanks.

As I turn away to climb the stairs and head to the second floor, I can’t stop thinking about what just happened. I grab my shirt for a whiff, just to make sure that really happened, just to see if I’m still dreaming or not.

Smells like oatmeal.

Fuck, it felt so REAL! That WAS REAL! My exasperation and bewilderment is quickly replaced with anger and contempt. To which I throw myself shoulder-first into the brick wall. I tackle it, gritting my teeth.

"God… FUCKING DAMMIT!"

She was right there, I was so close! So close to having something more than just wayward glances in her direction, to feeling her that close to me! She CARES about me, why the FUCK did I have to say all that sappy bullshit?!

I rack my head and sway as I stroll to my first class. That brief outburst left my top-half completely chilled and numb. I can barely think as I simply go through the motions of heading to class. My 'off' day gets even weirder, as I instead wandered into the bathrooms.

Still, never hurts to try and freshen up. I run my hands under the hot water to get some feeling back in my fingertips at the very least. If I can't grab a pencil or type on a computer, I'm gonna be in big trouble. I take the chance to splash a bit of water in my face to help snap back to reality. And as I glance in the mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself again.

Despite my struggles, despite my wills, despite it all… I’m still Moss.

Chapter Text

I walk back out after giving myself a quick splash of water. By the time I finish wiping my face in the sleeves of my jacket, the halls are sparse with most students already in their homerooms. I usually prefer to skip homeroom and avoid having to deal with the noise that comes with it. Especially since First Period is right after, so there really isn't much I'm missing. And well, let’s just say that my time spent with Sera and… myself... is the best excuse I've ever had for being absent. I follow through the familiar halls and pass the numbered plaques until I reach Classroom 222.

There's no sudden drops in temperature, no feelings of numbness no chill to spike through my bones, and no going limp. I'm just walking up to the door and twisting the knob.

It's just as simple as that.

The door silently swings open, the hinges for once quiet enough to let me slip in and not interrupt the teacher as I come in with plenty of time, maybe a little too much time. First Period hasn't even started yet.

The science lab has several pitch-black, laminate tables with bright orange wooded undersides. I peek at my usual seat and spot Melissa sitting right next to it. Perfect, another thing that hasn't changed; I share First Period with Mel. I've always liked sharing a class with her. Although I lament that it is biology of all things and not something like military history. If school was based enough to offer it as a class, that is. 7 different history classes and none of it's over military.

Regardless, getting to spend time with Mel can make any class an instant favorite. I think of something to strike up a conversation with her as I pull out the chair, but I'm drawing a blank. I doubt she and "I" would talk about what we normally do; that being vague and obscure historical points to interconnect events and places like one massive flowchart. Being 'Moss' doesn't strike me as someone who knows a lot about history. So what would he know then, Biology? Because he shares it with Mel too?

I think to our recent units to make small talk over, and cringe at the thought of our new insect unit. Melissa was geeking and tweaking like a kid on Christmas the one time I humored her about bugs. Then she wanted to show me one and-...

I shudder to remember the stings I got from that hornet she brought in to school. I step in and plop myself next to her.

I feel nothing out of the ordinary, so I must be doing pretty good so far. Glad to see that I can finally stop feeling so numb-

“Wh- Moss? What are- What are you doing here?” Melissa stuttered as she adjusted her glasses. She flicked her hand up as she turned to me, nearly knocking off her black headband in the process. Her brows were raised, lips puckered, eyes wide, and mind racing to process as fast as the stuttering student could. I gave a confused look, mirroring her own for a moment. It took longer than I'd like to admit to realize she was still talking to me, I'm not used to this stupid name now. She wouldn’t greet me with “Hi Greene.” because I don't exist any more. So instead, I focus on the task at hand.

I clear my throat and pound my chest with a fist, trying to make sure my voice doesn't crack or squeak like it has done so many times before. I open my mouth- "Uh, I share this class with you." Is what I wanted to say. But I never got past 'share' before a blue hand slammed on the table in front of me. I jerked back in recoil to face the front, where I met a pair of orange eyes glaring back at me, the same color of my shirt. For a moment, I felt like I was back in the bathroom, looking over my new 'self' in the mirror. Like my reflection had come to life, and was out for blood.

I blink and focus on the blue surrounding him. The short hair, the letterman's jacket, the face of a baryonyx...

It’s just Jack. A very pissed off, teeth-grit, snarling Jack. I can't imagine what he's doing shooting daggers at me.

“Hey 'bro,' you better start explaining why you’re in my spot talking to MY girl!”

What.

I blink, the processing in my brain threatening to fry as I try to compute and register. I blink again as I listen to what Jack said, but the bary boy was already marching around the side of the table. I need to act fast.

“W-Wait!” I turn to face him, holding my hands up defensively. My only hope is for this to act as some means to buy me time. To give me time to wrap my head around everything, but the only thing that wraps is Jack’s fist around the neck of my shirt. I’m yanked right out of my seat and dragged to the doorway. I'm turned to face the hallway, before a sharp jolt punts the seat of my pants.

A literal form of getting "kicked out" of, what I thought was, my Biology class. I’m left dejected on the floor, feeling embarrassed, ashamed, and still reeling.

Mel’s with Jack? JACK!? What the fuck, how, and WHY! How did this happen, why do I have to sit aside and let HIM get with Mel when I have a chance to finally get with either her or Sera?! Was being her 'friend' too much!? Did she need to have a pissed off pitbull on a leash as her bull to fuck me over?!

I pound my fist and get back up, determined to march right back in there and demand an explanation. I lean for the doorknob, when my knees buckle from the weight of my body. A new meaning to the term 'cold feet' as my lower-half goes numb. It's like I have shoes made of concrete, or I get a taste of what it's like to be Aunt Olivia. All because I can’t control- No. I can’t be me.

This shit isn’t fair.

I wanted a world where I didn’t have to deal with the normal bullshit, not be forced to watch everyone else live better lives than me! Not be forced to pussyfoot and be a wuss who cries instead of someone who fights back, what’s the matter? Am “I” freaking stupid?! Am “I” just some dysfunctional emotional baggage that can’t do anything on my own!?

I get up and shoulder-check the nearest locker, just to make sure I can still feel my grip on myself. To feel that I can still be me. I stumble once again as the dull thud rings out in the vacant hallway, I’m forced to grit my teeth.

That hurt. That hurt way more than I was expecting it to. I contemplate lowering my guard to try and relax, but no. I don’t want to lose myself to the cold. My breathing staggers as I pant heavily, I kick my heel against the locker just to feel the blood coursing through my veins again. Like a immense, intense form of sleep my limbs have fallen in. And they can fall back in at the drop of a hat.

All because I'm not allowed to be 'me.'

I don’t know when I got back up, or where I’m going, but I’m finally moving again. No longer giving Ms. Corinthian’s biology class my best impression of a frolicking druggie from outside the room. I keep setting one foot in front of the other, my heel wedging against the marble- or is it vinyl(?)- floor beneath me with every step I take. I trek back down the stairs, around the landing, and out of the stairwell; walking right past where Sera and I...

I shake my head and bring my palm to hold my forehead. I feel like an idiot, thinking everything would be so easy and simple. Of course not, and a different class schedule is exactly what I needed right now.

"God dammit." I grumble under my breath as I wander down the hallways. Knowing for sure I'm skipping class. Normally I would say 'whatever' and blow it off, but right now I feel like a ticking time bomb of anxious nerves and stress. All it takes for me to lose feeling in a whole limb is to do one wrong motion. And that's not mentioning the memory... thing... that happened earlier. What the hell caused that? Was it because I got shoved around? Was it something I said?

But knowing that sort of thing could happen at, what feels like, the drop of a hat has me on high alert. If I get in trouble, I'd have to deal with... Dad. And like hell I want to take my chances with that again.

"Moss? What are you doing?"

I perk up and turn about until I find the voice. I'm met with my sister, which quite frankly I could ask her the same thing myself.

But just like when Mel asked me that question, there was nothing but confusion in her voice. I could relate to it, as I was just as confused seeing Amber step out of the bathroom and greet me. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t feel anything escape, seems like there really is nothing I could say to explain this sort of situation.

I just stood there dumbfounded, waiting for her to keep talking. Surely she would know ‘me’ better than me at this point, because I haven’t the faintest clue what to do.

“I’m… I’m lost, A- Shiloh.” I stutter and feel my voice catch itself as I nearly blurt the wrong name. 'Shiloh' what the hell kind of name is that? It's supposed to be Amber like her eyes, isn't it? Her eyes are still orange as ever, so why is her name so different? Why does she get the one that has an actual name while I'm just a stupid plant?

Amidst my frustration, I look to the floor and dig my claws into my elbow. I feel myself slowly rescind into that same, pitiful shell Sera had to drag me out of. Everything is different. I hate it.

I don’t know where to go, I don’t know how I’m supposed to fit in. I don’t belong anywhere- not in here, and not in my old life.

Was I wrong to ever wish for something different?

I watch Shiloh step close to me. Then closer, and closer. Her hand reaches for my shoulder like a one-armed hug, but stops at the bone. She gives me a shake to jostle me.

“A-Ack!”

“Lost? You? Quit actin’ like ya got a screw loose, dork.” She flashes a grin as she chuckles, brushing the woes plaguing my mind aside. “I just wanna know what you’re doing here and not in your art class, bro.” She tilted her head to get a better look at my face, but I could feel that faux smile stretch back over. Blindly smiling and blissfully pretending that everything is fine.

“I got lost is all, sis. I-I know where my class is, thank you.” I go along with the smile, trying to convincingly lie to her, which is easier than I expect. She takes it with a nod, and gestures down the hall with her thumb.

“Try not to get lost anymore, and you should really take care of yourself. You look like shit. I don’t want mom thinking I kicked you down the stairs at school again!” She lets go of my shoulder and gives a glum, aloof stare. It feels like she’s trying to scold me, but her eyebrows aren’t furrowed. Emotionally, she’s as flat as a soda left to sit for two days.

I try to laugh it off, but even I can tell my laugh is as hollow as ever. I can only lie to myself so much as I force it to break the silence between us. I wait for her to tell me she’s “just kidding!” or “God, you don’t think I’m actually being serious, are you?” But… She doesn’t. I’m left smiling like some dumbass as she’s looking at me like some kind of basket case!

Which… isn’t too far off from what I’m feeling right now. But like hell I’M the crazy one here! Dad’s a roided-out monkey, Mom’s… eugh, and Amber- Amber would NEVER kick someone down the stairs! Well, maybe Jack, but- …

She’s not the Amber I know.

She’s not the Amber I grew up with. She’s a stranger like everyone else. … A stranger who apparently has a track record of sending me on a one-way trip to being gravity’s whipping bitch.

I take a step to walk off, trying to create some distance, but I’m stalled after only one step. That sinking feeling of weight anchors my leg in place. I feel it start to grow numb, and my knee threatens to buckle under the weight of my own body. I grit my teeth and try to face away from Shiloh, I don’t need a repeat of whatever happened with Mom or Dad this morning.

Just let me leave, let me leave!

I’m forced into turning around to face her, leaning on the one leg that I can still stand on while my lips curl. Before I can even think of what to say, I’m already saying it;

“I love you, sis.”

She gives me a glum pout before rolling her eyes, reciprocating the motion before wrapping her arms around me as I instinctively do the same with her. At this point, I can't even fight it.

I want to scream. I want to kick her away. I want to do everything I can to lob off every part of me touching her. I utterly revile at the thought of even touching her.

I'm left holding my chin on her shoulder and draping my wings around. Just like how Mom hugged me this morning. My twin is gracious enough to put me out of my misery of holding her, by breaking away rather quickly and pushing me off. My balance teeters onto my other leg, and I feel a flourish of warmth and tingles shooting through.

I did something right.

I honestly can’t thank Shiloh enough for not giving into the sappy bullshit I’m being dragged through. If it were up to me, I’d kick myself down a flight of stairs too. No, not myself- Moss. I refuse to acknowledge any of this is my doing!

Besides, this fucktard ‘Moss’ deserves it.

Finally, I’m able to walk away, taking off in a run. If I’m lucky, this stupid body will let me trip down some stairs, or just off myself at this rate.

Raptor Jesus? It’s Greene, PLEASE don’t have me share a class with Shiloh!

Taking the hint my "sister" had given me, I make my way around the empty halls of school until I find the art section of the building. It has a few paintings on display along the hallways, and the 'layout' of the halls doesn't seem familiar. There’s plenty of pieces along the walls, spanning up and down the hallway. It’s mostly paintings with a few sculptures in display cases. They're nice to look at, but a few are phenomenal. It’s a little hard to wrap my head around that these were done by high school students.

I can't help but wonder if this is something that is new to this world, or was here all along. Music is at the other side of the campus, the class my Mom teaches.

...

Hang on, Mom didn't come in with me and Amber, did she?

I take a moment to reflect on this morning, now that I'm lucid enough to start piecing things together. Mom's a teacher and sometimes arrives early to get settled and make sure she has lesson plans figured out. Heck, it's why I prefer to ride the bus so I can sleep in a few more precious minutes.

But that didn't happen today. Apparently it's "normal" for me to ride with her to school, but even after getting dropped off, I didn't see her turn in to the parking lot. I need to check music after first period ends.

I clutch my head and huff. If Mom isn't a teacher... what does she do? Does she work as some kind of accountant and actually makes boatloads of money? Is that why we can afford the car? If we were rolling in it, why would we have the car but not a new house?

Too many questions, and that's neglecting the most important one:

Where do I go!?

I’ve never taken an art class before at Volcano High, so as I pass by all these numbered rooms, I can't even imagine which one is mine. Amber didn't tell me which class I had.

All this time spent learning the layout of the campus from Mom's teacher work-days, and I'm still lost.

I walk up to a wooden door with a thin-slit window no wider than the sleeve of my coat. There's a black lattice in-between the glass, 'bulletproof glass' I mutter. I squint past it to see what is going on in the room, and it looks like students are sitting at an assortment of tables that line the walls. Large black canvases with an array of colors is present, with what looks like chalk being smeared into the paper.

I contemplate knocking and asking a teacher or waiting to see if someone recognizes me.

No. Wouldn’t that just invite anyone to realize that I’m out here clueless as can be?

I take a step back and dig my claws into my scalp, lifting up my bangs as I rack my brain for an answer. I feel like I'm trapped in a dizzying, foggy haze of anxiety and uncertainty- unable to clear my thoughts or piece myself through a proper train of thought. I contemplate pulling out my phone and asking Amb- my sis what class I'm supposed to have until a door swings open.

A purple amargasaurus steps into the hall, carrying with her a stapler and a black, canvas-sized sheet of paper with that same colorful chalk smeared over it. Even from here, I can see the colorful array of greens and blues on display creating a gradient of bright colors to stand out. Her leg stands in the way as it faces towards me. I glance up to see her eyes lock with mine. Crimson slits peer out from behind her long, dark hair; they were surrounded by dark circles that rested just above her white underbelly scales. A 'two-tone' pattern followed from the bottom of her lip all the way to her chest until it vanished behind her shirt like a tuxedo cat.

“Moss?! You better not be trying to skip my class young man!” The stern voice snapped at me. Yet for how stern she was, she sounded just as surprised as I felt hearing her call for me. For how old she looked, she certainly didn't sound it. I quickly shake my head and walk into the room.

“N-No ma’am, I just got lost is all!” I repeat it under my breath, sticking to my story of being lost in the halls. It’s not like she could prove I had done anything malicious, I really did get lost. By a stroke of dumb luck, I stumbled across the right room at the right time. First time for everything, I suppose.

Now that I'm in the room, I'm able to get a better visual. The room itself was a deep brown with the room itself surprisingly dim for an art class. I can't imagine anyone would be able to see much of their work like this. The whole room was shaped by the tables pressed against the walls with each student facing the bricks. It didn't seem to matter to them, as nearly everyone had their heads down focused on their art, or looking at their school laptops for an image reference.

In the center of the room stood a lone table with three huge trays of cubic chalk. I grabbed a drab, forest green chunk and make my way to my seat. I'm about to ask the teacher where the paper is to start, when a few students catch my eye. They're off in the corner of the room, standing by a large paper sorter in the corner. I could see a pink ptero girl carefully slip her sheet out as she examined it, while a lavender spinosaurus bellowed out a sigh of relief as he examined his before taking the black paper with him.

I follow what everyone else seems to be doing, assuming these are the projects to work on. Looking through the sorter, I can see names listed along with each shelf as they're divided by class periods. Mine is right by the middle of the first period's sorter, and I get a better idea about myself from it.

Mous, Moss - 1st

So my dad really is still the same… Well, no shit, his name is Anon, but… Who the hell names their kid ‘Moss’ anyways? It’s a dumb name.

Welp, here’s mine. I slip my hand along the thin shelf, flicking by a couple smaller art pieces Moss must have done earlier in the year until I find the sheet of black. I pinch the corner, making sure there is no chalk, and carefully pull it out.

I nearly drop the paper when I get a glance at what ‘my’ project is.

I did this!? Well, Moss, but since I’m him now… this was done by me?! The whole paper was covered in a smooth, smeared powder. A fine-sanded, pastel chalk had been fingerpainted into the rugged and rough canvas. Even as I pinch at the corner, it feels like shriveled sandpaper.

Somehow, by looking at the dry paper and the layers upon layers of chalk, I can’t help but start to feel my own fingertips feel smooth from rubbing. Like some kind of phantom sense. I ignore it for the time being and plopped my paper down at an empty seat, claiming it as mine and praying no one else would disturb me, but I didn't sit down right away. I stand over my project, truly taking in the moment.

It looks even better when I’m standing further away from it.

It’s a portrait of mom.

She’s holding herself with a smile and a mascara-soaked tear strolling down her cheek. I feel a pain stab itself in my stomach when I look at that smile, it feels… off. It’s equal parts beautiful as it is unsettling, especially because I'm reminded of the car ride to school when I see that smile.

Why did he have to pick mom for this project? Why couldn’t it be himself instead, or Mel, or Sera, or even a gun!? At least that would’ve been pretty cool.

I let out a sigh over Moss' shit choices and reluctantly sit down. I look over the portrait once again, but even as I see a blue utahraptor next to me smearing colorful chalk over a portrait of someone else, I realize how ill-prepared I am to tackle this. I don’t know how to do art, let alone where to continue from here after Moss made… this! It’s like seeing the Mona Lisa and asking a 5 year-old to put on a “finishing touch” with his pack of crayons!

I cup my hands over my muzzle as I stare intently at the project before me. Pretending to be thinking, when in reality I'm completely stumped. I contemplate on putting it back, shelving it for later and going on the /k/ threads to see what people are saying. But a student without a project out in art class is like a music student without an instrument. Doing absolutely fuck all- and I don't want to end up in any more hot water with the amargasaurus teacher if she thinks I got caught 'skipping.'

I return to instead keep looking over the portrait, mom’s tear running down her face, her arms tightly holding onto herself, that smile seemingly forced like my own. Speak of the devil, I feel my lip pull to plaster the smirk back on my face. I'm tired, I don't want to smile, but at this point it's like I'm convincing myself nothing's wrong. Fuck.

I glance back down to the near-mirror I see myself in. A forced smile, blue scales, feathered wings... ... Now that I think about it, this picture is missing something.

“Where’s her guitar?” I mutter under my breath as I scan the page, double and triple-checking the pose she’s in. Her arms are crossed over her chest, clinging to her shoulders as if to dig into the dress. No place for a guitar to rest on her lap, to be tuned by hand, to see her strum and hum along when she was playing with her friends. I think back to this morning, I don’t remember seeing a guitar anywhere in the house, actually. I wonder wh-

I’m suddenly yanked from my thoughts as a loud sloshing is heard, the thunk of a plastic cup rattles on the table, and a gasp rings out behind me. Water with crudely mixed colors spills over the page, quickly soaking and seeping into the portrait of Mom.

Thump.

Everything falls still. I’m left frozen, processing what I’m witnessing. Water damaging this piece that had countless hours spent smearing that chalk into, just to get washed away. Everything became a blur, and right as the water trickled to her eye, blending with her tear, I felt something inside snap.

A pressure starts welling up deep within my very soul, my lungs fill with air as a building rage leaves me shaking. All I could see in my peripheral was a tinge of red as I whipped to the direction of the gasp. I am met with a tapioca-colored triceratops who grits his braces-covered teeth. He’s staring at me like I was a ghost. I’m to my feet, a single accusatory finger jabbed into his chest with my claw out.

“You…” My voice is raspy and fritzing trying to process everything. My mind is a thundering whirlwind of rage and raw, animalistic savagery. Every emotion I’ve tried to hold back is welling up in immense pressure, threatening to pop a blood vessel at any moment. I can’t stop myself. Not even as the tricera flinches and looks away, eyeing the floor and grovelling at his feet.

“I’m Sorry…” His voice is meek and abashed, that lit a fire in my lungs.

“I’m sorry!? That’s what you can offer me!?” I forcefully grit my teeth to steady myself. I don't need to let my emotions get the better of me. I turn away from him to quell my imminent bloodlust. However, it feels like 'Moss' has different plans. My hands hold my head and pulling the bangs out of my eyes as I fight to keep feeling and control over myself.

I’m forced to look back in horror at what lay before me. A beautiful project soaked with water. What was just one tear now looks like a full-blown meltdown from my mother. It only twisted the knife in my stomach, making things worse was as I kept holding back, I could feel myself get light-headed.

The nape of my neck became cold, like my whole body was falling into a oxygen-deprived paralysis. My fingertips to my elbows were numbed, my feet to my hips felt like jelly, and as I scrunched my eyes shut, I couldn't hold myself back.

So I finally gave in.

“That’s what you give me after you FUCK UP my art!?” I whip right back around and snatch him by his short-sleeve T-shirt. I’m quickly forced to let go as the blue utahraptor beside me tries to intervene. Other students simply watch.

“Moss, tone it down, Raptor Jesus!” the utahraptor puts his arm against my chest to guide me back to my seat, I fight past him and point at the trigger himself.

“WELL I’M GONNA GIVE YOU SOMETHING YOU SHOULD HAVE GIVEN ME- A THREE-SECOND HEADSTART!”

That snapped his attention to me. My wings rise. My efforts to turn away and drop this leave me trembling, shaking with anger.

“Two…”

The raptor steps in front of me. Get out of my way. I don’t want you to get caught up in this, man. I can’t stop myself!

“One.”

I can see the troublemaker bolt for the door out of the corner of my eye, and over the raptor’s shoulder. I shove the blue blockade out of my way with as much force as I can muster up. He clatters against a couple chairs and their legs as he takes to the floor. I race for the door after that art-ruining BASTARD!

But my flight is cut short by an amargasaurus-sized teacher who was standing in the doorway, being a proper barricade between me and that sniveling little shit. Then, reality finally catches back up. I just caused a massive scene, and now everyone is looking at me.

I never wanted any of this.

“Moss. Please step out into the hallway for just a moment.” I feel myself deflate in her hand. I steady myself with a deep breath, and leave the classroom. I lean against the nearest wall, curling back into the ball I’ve grown all-too familiar with, and this time, I don’t stop my wings from covering me. What the fuck have I become? What could I have done? It feels like no matter what I do, it’s pointless… It's not my fault.

So what’s the point in trying to fight it?

I sit with my art teacher, who I soon learn to be Mrs. Parrish, and try to tell her what happened. Ignoring the 'sudden chills' and feelings of numbness. I could feel my jaw locking at the thought of confessing about my situation of being in an unfamiliar world.

Mrs. Parrish is more understanding than I would have expected, saying that she will let me off with a warning this time, and I will be given an extension relative to the amount of days left for the project. So, that worked out surprisingly well. I'd be relieved if didn't I had to start all over again.

I’m brought back into the room, I give my apologies to the triceratops, and sit down at my seat with my head in my hands. I don’t even look at the two or listen to their responses, I tune them out like the rest of the class itself as time slowly ticks by. Class can’t be over soon enough.

I didn’t even bother working on my project for the rest of class, I just want to sit and stew in my misery right now. Pissed off more classmates, bullied by Cynthia, friendzoned myself against Sera, and now Melissa is a definite no-go for girlfriend material after the colossal display of an ass I made of myself.

Can today get any worse? No, because now I have to do an art project from scratch. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to bear the brunt of working on it for now as the bell overhead signals the end of class. I waste no time in packing up and heading for the door. The ruined project hits the trash bin as I leave the room. I don’t look back.

There’s nothing left that's worth looking back on.

Stepping out of the class, I look to satiate my curiosity first and foremost; Music. I head through the familiar white halls, my boots meeting the tiled floor as I navigate through to my mom's old classroom. I find her number, Room 710, and look at the nameplate right below it.

Mr. Obadiah

I take a step back as the hall grew cold. I drape my wings over myself as I stare at the unnerving sight before me.

It's as if... my own mother didn't exist. Me, Amber, Mom... Whatever happened before has clearly brought a lot of impact. Which would be ironic, if it was a meteor that caused it. I'm brought back to reality with someone clearing her throat, shooting a cold glare at me and a 'Do you mind?' before waltzing right into the room.

Then began the troubling task of finding where my next class was. Although at this point, I give up and just text my sister. I have trouble finding her contact at first because she's saved under 'Shiloh,' not Amber.

"Hey"

"Hey yourself, you finally done being weird bro?"

My heart sinks upon seeing those words. I feel my shoulders tense from my own worries as I try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in the back of my throat.

"I can't find my schedule anymore and I'm too ashamed to ask anyone else." I hit send and pray that this works. The three dots appear and disappear several times before I feel my phone buzz.

"Drawing ll, Bio, Pangea History, Gym, and Math. Try not to hit your head next time you crawl under the bed."

With a heavy breath I didn't know I was holding, I thank her and send a quick apology. Felt like the right thing to do, I don't want to be as much of a bother as everyone makes me out to be, and knowing she can kick my ass now puts me even more on edge.

I find myself bouncing around the halls throughout the day, checking my texted schedule and asking teachers if I have their class next. I forgot to ask Shiloh if she knew who my teachers were, but assuming she didn't, that meant we weren't going to share a class.

By the time third period had rolled around, so did a reminder of the awkward situation I found myself in. I walk through the door after the tardy bell, and give a wave to the teacher before I stop in my tracks. He's a short, balding, baby-blue dilophosaurus with a paunch as wide as he was tall; but he's not the reason I froze.

Melissa's in a class with me, for real this time. I can't help but glower at the irony. On any other day, I'd have sprinted through the halls like a zombie in Claws of Duty: Coal Ops and froth at the mouth of sharing a history class with Mel. But now, even as we share Mr. King’s history class, I want to slink away and hide.

I can't look at her without thinking of this morning, the embarrassment, and... Jack. But seeing as the only empty seat was an adjacent desk to her, I begrudgingly took it.

What would normally be a class spent looking into rifle designs, talking about tanks used in Pangaea War II, or listening to Melissa talk my ear off about her bug obsession… It was quiet. Too quiet.

Granted, this silence gave me an ample opportunity to ask her how she got with Jack of all people, but I didn’t know how to handle this. How can I go about this without- well, I already look like a neanderthal from this morning. But how can I ask this without looking MORE like a neanderthal? Am I supposed to know already? Would asking her just tip her off that I'm crazy to her, too?

I sat and stared in the distance as the teacher kept showing a slideshow. I felt myself slowly drawn in. It was a nice distraction, thinking about an older time period, where it wasn’t unnatural to open-carry a gun as you’re waiting at a train station. I can picture it now, the sun rising just over high noon while the sounds of horse-pull carriages and dinofolk milling about is slowly drowned out by the chuff of a coal-fed engine. Life was so much simpler back then, too.

… Carnegie Steel? I’d better jot that down.

As I pull myself from daydreaming and return to the present, I start jotting down notes while Mr. King reads history notes off his power point. As I write about 'oil barons' of the 19th Century, a slip of paper catches my eye as it's passed right under my arm and into my lap.

I glance over my shoulder to the pale hand that retreated from my desk and back to her own. Mel. I watch her shyly look back to her own paper, pretending to be taking notes herself as I am left with whatever she wrote. Part of me doesn't want to even read the note for fear of it being more lines of tough questions I can't bring myself to answer to. About this morning, about Jack, about the bullying- if she gossips with Sera as much as I think she does. With a deliberate sigh and a I’m careful to fold open the paper and look at the cursive penmanship written with a pink glitter-pen. It takes me a solid minute to translate her swirly scribbles in the dark room. These teachers sure love keeping at least half their lights off in this school.

“I need someone I can talk to, I don’t know who else to turn to. Can we still talk at lunch? Anywhere private will do.” No mentions of Jack, of this morning, or even me being weird in her biology class? Something has to be up. That last line in particular doesn’t sit well with me; “Anywhere private will do.” Mel, what is going on in that head of yours? What do you want to talk about that we can’t here?

I glance back to her with the note in hand, when an idea is spurred. We can talk about it here! Then maybe I can be spared from Jack’s wrath if this is going where I think it’s going! I grab my pen and scribble onto the paper to get the ink running. Gel pen, huh. It bleeds into the paper with no effort put into the strokes, quickly scribing what I want to say to her;

“Of course we can meet for lunch, what’s going on? Is it about this morning?” I get the feeling I shouldn’t give her a yes/no question, but I need to know if this is about me or not. Besides, if I start with a smaller question now, I can get more questions to come later. Foot-in-the-door tactic, or whatever Ms. Philemon was blathering about in psychology.

I wasn’t paying attention too much attention anyway, psychology never interested me. But I think it worked, because Mel’s handing me the slip of paper again. I poke my head up at the teacher to make sure he’s facing away from us, before snatching it.

“No. I’ll tell you at lunch. Let’s meet behind the gym again.” I don’t know what made my eyes widen more, that she wanted to meet me there, or the ‘again’ part. Now I’m as curious as I am on-edge, she wanted to meet with me specifically in private. She- She isn’t actually thinking about cheating on Jack, is she?! I looked at her in the dark classroom, only to see she was still staring at me. Shit, that look of expectancy. I need to give her an answer now.

I nod my head, and feel a smile spread over my face once again. For once, I feel like I have to force it. I’m already in no shape to be getting into fights, and if playing tonsil hockey with Jack’s girlfriend during lunch is what I’m gonna wind up doing, then I’d better make sure I have my affairs in order. 

Top of the list? Don’t die a virgin. … So just keep it quiet until I have the opportunity to score with either Sera or Melissa. … God. What the fuck am I doing. I sink back into my hands, ashamed, really. Have I really fallen this low? Is this all I’m good for? She probably just wants to gossip, knowing her, and Jack is just unavailable. Or hell, maybe it’s not even him. Maybe I don’t even have to worry about him!

I wish that was the case.

Lunch comes around. I grab my tray from the omnivore line and head out to the Gym. For it being November, it’s not as cold as I was expecting.

I head down the skywalk, letting myself take the less-travelled outdoor walkway. The less Jack sees of me with Melissa, the better. But until then, I get to enjoy the sound of the wind quietly whistling against the buildings.

The smell of leaves falling and the rustic brown color the ground has started to take in its shape. The bountiful fields of leaves from the big oak trees nearby remind me of all the times Amber and I used to rake the leaves. I feel a particular pain in my tail as I imagine jumping into a pile. Instead of bundling into the soft cushion of leaves, there’s something hard, cold, and damp underneath. Like I fell through the pile, only to sink into disappointment instead of the soft, dry leaves.

Just another painful memory.

Finally, there’s Mel. She’s sitting on the stairs for the back entrance to the Gym. It’s really more of a fire exit than a proper entry, it’s also why the door’s always locked from the inside. She didn’t look up to me, not even as my boots crunched on the leaves as I stepped over. Her head was in her hand while the other was idly poking her cucumber salad with a plastic fork. Her grip was tense enough to snap the utensil in two. I stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Got room for one more on that step?” I speak up, asking to join her as she asked. Melissa leans up to me, staring back like a deer in headlights. Slowly, she starts to smile and nod.

“H-Hey Moss! Yeah, Yeah I just need to talk to you…” Her enthusiasm dies down just as quickly as it showed up. She scoots over and leaves space for me to sit next to her. Even with her sitting in the spot, the stairs feel cold. So I decided to do something to try and make things better for her, and to make up for this morning. I drape my wing over her shoulders, letting my down act as a blanket.

I prepare myself to explain, waiting for her to show me her initial shock at the gesture, but instead she scoots right back over and leaned against me. Her head on my shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips. It’s unexpected but this feels… nice.

“What’s up?” My tone is calm and slow, trying not to rush into the discussion point, but it’s nerve-wracking trying to be patient. She’s left me guessing what could possibly be going on in that head of hers. She sighs and slowly murmurs, here it comes.

“My… My mom’s finally gotten a response from the moving company, they’ll help with our settlement on Monday. We’re stuck sleeping on the sofa cushions until then.” She continues to look down as she’s resting her arms on her knees, holding her head and brushing her headband back. Huh, I didn’t know Mel had tiny triceratops horns. … Cute.

But I can’t focus on that, everything she just said came so far out of left field. But… if I ask her what she’s talking about, would she get suspicious that I’m not really the “me” she knows?! I don’t know what to do, so I…

I have to ask.

“The settlement? What settlement, what’s going on, Melissa?” I grit my teeth to ask her what she was referring to. She looks up at me with a hurtful expression, I feel like I’ve already screwed up.

“My dad, he-... He and mom split up. He got the house, and so Mom and I are moving into a new gated community. Mom’s taking me with her because she wants to make sure I get into the proper school and scholarships that she did, and because she doesn't want me to make the same mistakes as her and marry the wrong person.” She sulks into her seat on the stairs, slumping over her salad. I force myself to lift my hand, and put it right on her knee. It feels like the appropriate gesture to do for someone in despair.

Her eyes meet with mine from the motion. Neither of us say anything. I feel the heat creep on my face, despite how much I try not to think about it right now. Her peridot eyes are so beautiful amidst the bountiful leaves scattered around us, a tinge of green amidst the fall colors everywhere else. I bite my tongue. It’s going to hurt, but I need to know more. This sort of thing doesn’t happen everyday, but even now I’m letting my curiosity get the better of me. How could this happen to her, out of everyone I know?

“What happened?” I feel my voice falter right as I ask it, but I’m quick to quash those fears. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. I would never gossip about this sort of thing, Melissa.” My bold proclamation seems to help soothe her over, at least enough to hitch on her breath. The flood gates threaten to open as she chokes back on a sob, and reaches for her phone. She taps at a long password as she wipes her eye.

“D-Do you remember the Grammy’s Awards Show, and the controversy of… Kanye?” She mumbles under her breath as she asks me the question. Her look is sincere, even if I’m sincerely baffled. I try to remain neutral.

“Yeah, that happened a couple months ago, didn’t it?” I try my hardest to pretend to not know. It was everywhere in the tabloids Amber reads, not to mention she and Sera wouldn’t stop talking about how he had his wife walking the red carpet wearing nothing under a single jacket. That he made her flaunt around, then the guys on /b/ would talk about how she was really a fed all along. But if that’s where this is going, then… How does this relate to Mel’s parents? “Where is this going?”

“Here.” Melissa hiccups on her own tear as it rolls down her face. She holds her phone to me, and I’m left confused. She shows a photo to me of a peachy parasaur with blond hair. It’s definitely his wife, Naomi-something. She’s wearing a purple jacket and a blue t-shirt underneath, as well as a pair of skinny jeans. It’s a nice picture, it looks like it came from some stalker magazine photoshoot. Has to be, it’s way too close and intimate for a paparazzi or one of those staged pictures.

“It’s… his wife?” I ask slowly, and it’s not until Melissa looks at me with her big, wet eyes that it hits me. That picture, those eyes, and their color is- Oh my god.

“That’s… Is that your mom!?” Her slow nod yes made a looming pit grow in my stomach, like a mushroom cloud of emptiness billowed from the bombshell she just dropped on me. And of course, my stomach feels like it was ground zero. Sickness wells up in my throat as I remember everything that happened, imagining the fallout that must have occurred. I instinctively set my lunch tray aside, leaning close until I suddenly hug onto Melissa’s side. My breath is quaking, and now I feel like I’m the one about to cry.

My throat is sore, and I grit my teeth. I close my eyes and give my head a good shake, to get a grip on myself. But opening my eyes, Melissa isn’t by my side anymore. No one is.

I’m home again. At least, I assume it's my house, the hardwood stairs I’m sitting on aren’t exactly common in school, and my surroundings are dark. My fears that this is some horrible memory is confirmed, when I hear the sounds of glass breaking. The ear-piercing shatter echoes throughout the empty house. My attention turns towards the bedroom, Mom and Dad’s room.

The silence that followed was deafening. The air was still, and I could hear the warped, drowned-out voice of Mom on the other side. Curiosity brought me to my feet, to the landing, and to their door. Right as I’m about to press my head against the white wooden entrance to the door to listen, I’m stopped dead in my tracks by a voice as sharp as leather.

“I can’t keep doing this, Lucy!” It's dad. Even from the other side of the door I can hear his exhaustion. His would-be anger from this morning is gone. This doesn't sound remotely close to the hostility of before. I press to the door and hold my breath as I listen. A woman's meek voice follows.

“I’m sorry Anon…” Mom. I imagine she's looking over whatever broke, eyeing it and him with guilt on her face.

“Stop saying you’re sorry already, just, stop. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Lucy! I can’t be your rock forever!” Silence followed, footsteps, and the creaking of springs. Think dad’s laying on the mattress now. I can only imagine how tired he is, rubbing his eyes before looking up at the ceiling. He isn’t even muttering, as far as I can hear.

“It’s been almost twenty years, and you're just as broken as the day I left." The silence that followed left tension so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The air was stiff, stuffy, it's not even about me and I can already feel myself on edge.

"Why can’t you pick up music again, I miss hearing you Lucy, I miss Fang.”

“Anon, don’t.” Mom cut him off, her voice strained and ushered out. It’s like she’s forcing herself to speak… “Please, don’t.”

Her voice gets harder to hear after that as a sniffle cuts through the air amidst her quiet mumbling. The bed creaks again. Either Dad is getting up, or she's laying with him for comfort.

“It’s been twenty years, I think the least you can do is try. What about Reed? What about Trish-”

“DON’T SAY THAT NAME!” My blood runs cold. I nearly stumble from the sheer recoil of hearing that roar. It takes me a minute to even process that it wasn't Dad who said that. It was Mom. The last time I ever heard someone that loud, it was when Grandpa Rip stubbed his toe on the garage door. I swallow my hesitation and press back to the door, I want to know what’s going on.

“Please… Don’t say that name, n-none of it matters Anon! I have you, w-we have each other! We have our beautiful children, please!”

“Lucy… Don't bring the kids into this... I just don't want you to be broken and alone. What if I get drafted again? What if some three-letter agency comes knocking on the door asking for me again? I can't leave you alone." His voice is dull as he slowly meanders from point to point. The heavy topic weighing on his chest as he clears his throat.

"Rosa, Stella, all of your old friends gone. Why can't we bury the hatchet and make up? They meant as much to you as you did them-"

"Anon." Mom interrupts him again, her voice straining as she sounds like she's on the verge of tears. A heave as her breath staggers. "I meant nothing to them. They did nothing but use me for their own goals. I don't want to ever see them again."

Auntie Trish, Stella, even Aunt Rosa? I can't even imagine those three up to no good- especially against my own mother! Did she do something to cause it? No, no. Mom couldn't bring herself to do something heinous, especially when she's this... 'broken' as Dad so eloquently put it.

I peel myself off the door, thinking they're done, when something she says catches my attention.

"I don't want them to hurt my little bundles of feathers, they hurt me enough." I can't picture those three hurting me, not even Aunt Rosa when she makes me help her with the garden. I press myself back to the door, I need to hear where this is going. I need to hear what happened.

"Our children are fine, Luce. They don’t need you to babysit them all the time, just look at the boy. He can take care of himself, you just don’t let him. The kids are smart enough to take care of and handle themselves." The pit in my stomach returns, as does a familiar sound- Dad's mumbling.

"I think it'd do some good to get you out of that daycare and back into playing guitar-”

“I said No, Anon!" Mom caught his mumbling just as much as I did, maybe even more. She brags about her sharp hearing being a music teacher, and somehow, being a keen listener isn't something I think they teach you in teaching school.

"I don’t want to go back, what I have now is better! I’m better! I’m…”

“Lucy. You haven’t changed. You said it yourself.” His voice is slow and he lets out a heavy sigh. “I love you more than anything in the world, but please, stop holding yourself back. I wish you’d go back to doing what you loved.”

“I already do what I love, Anon. I already have everything. I’m… I need a drink.” Mom’s shaky voice and parting words with Dad put me on edge. I backed away just in time to see the knob twist as the door flung open. I thought I had another 5 seconds before she reached the door, but now I'm left standing in the hallway, caught red-handed.

Her amber eyes met mine. Horror, bewilderment, fear. Each emotion was etched into her face, melding and meshing into a crude, ugly display of visceral shock and guilt. Her lips curl to a frown, and she slowly lifts a hand.

“Moss…?”

“Moss?! MOSS!!!” I snapped from where I stood in the doorway to my parent's bedroom to instead be sitting on the stairs with Melissa. Blink once, blink twice. A mourning dove breaks the silence over the grassy field and the concrete stairs as I’m left staring into her eyes. I put a hand over my breast to listen to my heartbeat and take a deep breath. The parasaur shifted to look away from me.

“You looked like you were having another episode, I’m… I’m so sorry…” She mumbled from behind her long sleeves as she slouched. But when I looked back to Melissa, she was catatonic. Her eyes were cold and grey, her face emotionless. Like someone had come and sucked the soul right out of her. I scoot back to her side and clear my throat, swallowing my hesitation and putting my thoughts and feelings aside for now.

“I’m… I’m here Mel. You don’t need to apologize, please… I’m here to listen.” My words of encouragement seem to do the trick, as she takes a deep breath and plucks her glasses off, wiping an eye.

“You were having another episode, weren’t you? I’m sorry Moss, I... I shouldn’t dump this when you still have your trauma. I should’ve talked to someone else-” Melissa starts to apologize again, but I'm left looking at her with wide eyes.

Me? Trauma? That’s a little drastic for what was just a memory. It's just a memory, yeah.

“It’s not trauma, Mel…” I speak up and turn to her, trying to reassure her. ‘Right now’ doesn't need to be about me. I need to help Mel feel better, but I can’t exactly do that until she stops worrying about me. I lick my lips and speak up. “I was just… remembering something.”

“Yeah, it was another flashback wasn’t it? You were staring intently and not saying anything for a really long time.” She adjusts her glasses. She’s stubborn and dead-set on being right. Why couldn’t that have changed along with everything else about her and this stupid world?

“It wasn’t a big deal, I just remembered a night where my parents argued.” I shrug and try to shift the focus off of me. “There’s nothing traumatic about that for me, parents fight all the time, but…” I feel a weight plunge into my stomach as my shoulders tense up. I can already feel I’ve already dug myself a hole.

“Not every argument is the same, not all of them are bad enough to have them split up for good… And if it’s ‘trauma’ for me to have my parents argue and stay together, then… I can only imagine how much pain you’re in.” My breath is shaky, and right as I feel like I’m going to give out, one last line slips out. “Your pain is not yours to carry alone, Melissa. I want to be here for you. As a friend.”

For once, I’m thankful that saying such cheesy things feels like second-nature to me. Must’ve been a therapist for my friends if this is how easy it is to go through the motions. Now wouldn’t that be something, a therapist with more trauma and baggage than one of those shitty Visual Novels Amber used to play. Hoot Game, was it? I’m getting sidetracked. My focus on Melissa is cleared and I’m able to get her to relent. She holds her upper arm and turns away, ashamed.

“I was trying to tell you that…. Yes. That picture- That’s my mom. Which means you know who my dad is now.” Her voice is dead, distant, completely monotone. Despite her continuing to stumble over her words and stutter. “Please, don’t tell anyone. I didn’t want the fame and attention before, but now I don’t want to think about him at all.” I’m still reeling from that ‘episode’, but I still want to try my best.

I find myself still staring back at her, those little horns she kept hidden in her headband. Those were from her father. I take a deep breath, trying to push everything else aside, somehow. That doesn’t matter right now, that shouldn’t matter right now. What matters right now is the sweet girl caught in the middle of this whole feud. I wrestle past my worries and muscle myself to open my mouth. My voice comes as a squeak, then a stammer, and finally stern.

“I-... I’m… I’m so sorry, Melissa. Is there anything, anything I can do to help?” I feel myself pledge to her as someone she cares about. Which, I am now! I can finally be someone she cares enough to turn to in this time of need! I feel her shift under my wing to nestle in for a quick hug. My wing is to her shoulder.

“Y-Yeah, actually… I have to move a couple bookshelves down the hall, until my mom’s arm is feeling better. Could you… give me a massage, like yesterday? I-I’ll pay you again.” Her stutter has returned, as does the heat on my face. I’m left sitting there while my mind short-circuits. Whatever else she’s saying to try and entice me is being drowned out by the screech of AOL Dial-up as I’m struggling to process what I’m hearing, and more importantly, making sure I heard that right.

Melissa lets Moss do THIS!? What the fuck, how, and why! I have a million questions to ask, but I get the feeling only one of them will be answered. I want to know why she asked Me/Moss for this, I want to know if this is why she wanted to talk about this privately, I want to know if this is really a good idea to be doing when we’re sitting right out in the open. But the only one I got a response for was; ‘do I have a choice?’

I feel my face contort to force another smile, answering my own question as my hands work themselves against her shoulders. This feels Geneva conventions levels of wrong, even as my thumbs knead along her shoulders and down the middle of her neck. It’s tough with that puffy collar of hers, but like HELL I’m reaching under there!

The entire time I can’t help but listen to Melissa’s quiet coos and hushed moans, I pull my eyes to glance away in hopes that she’s trying to not draw attention to us. A few minutes pass before I’m able to regain the feeling in my hands and pull away. She lets out a soft “Th-Thanks Moss, I’ll have the money for you next week… and maybe I’ll bring extra if we can do this again.” She giggles and winks at me, is… is she flirting with me? I can’t tell anymore.

Note to self, scrub my hands once I’m done with lunch, and maybe amputate them so I never have to do that again. I’d rather be dead than be caught getting handsy with Jack’s girl. Hey, wait a minute-

“You’re welcome, but… why not have your boyfriend do this? Why me?” I ask, even as she leans her head to the side to snap and pop her neck. A grunt escapes her as she leaned away from me.

“Uhm... Because… You offer it all the time? You… You offer it to like, everyone we know? And, um… Y-You…” Her voice trails as she stutters and stammers. She looked away from me as she muttered the rest of what she said.

“Sorry, what? I didn’t catch that…” I lean closer to try and listen, but her following outburst makes me reel back in my seat.

“Y-You have really soft hands!” Melissa stammers as she shields herself behind her arms like I’m about to snap at her. I glance down at my palms, and I can definitely see what she means. Not an ounce of callousness on them. Smooth, tender, and unmarred from CQC training or rock-wall climbing.

I can’t believe I never noticed it before, but I also can’t help but wonder what she meant with that other comment. I offer it all the time? I never once felt myself have the desire or need to massage anyone- let alone offer it to them! I’d say she’s lying, but… I don’t know anymore. This, these ‘episodes' or trauma as she calls it… Am I even me anymore?

I refuse to believe it’s actually trauma. It’s not a war-wound or gunshots firing. There’s no way this is actual trauma. It's just people yelling. No way can that be traumatic.

God. What am I? Aside from being a kiss-ass simp for these girls… I really am in a nightmare, because I’m a fucking simp. Can this get any worse?

“Hey, Melissa…” I feel myself speak up, even as I wanted to just sit and stew in my thoughts. Lunch already gave me so much food for thought, I had barely taken a bite out of my dino-shaped nuggies. I hope they aren’t too cold now. “You said you had to move a bookshelf?” Huh? Oh right, I already forgot I was talking to Melissa. She said something about moving…

“Um, Y-Yes! Your m-massage really helps… helps… uhm… l-loosen up any knots in my back! I feel a lot better already, thank you!” Melissa quickly chimed in, leaning to the side as if to stretch and twist her back. Yet I felt like shrugging her off. I don’t remember ever seeing her stutter and stammer this much over a single question.

“Do you need help moving anything else? I could come over after school today and help move some things into the house. I don’t mind, really!” Oh fuck no. I know how this goes. I exhaust myself dry for a girl I like, and she won’t even date me. I’ve seen it dime-a-dozen times before, and it will never work with Melissa. I’ve tried before, and this ‘me’ won’t get anywhere anytime soon. I open my mouth to say ‘nevermind’ and try to downplay it, but I’m cut short.

“Are… are you sure it’s okay?” Her voice is weak and she starts to fidget with her hands, hunched over like she’s afraid I was going to snap at her. I’m frozen in my tracks. She looks at me in a way I’ve never seen from her. She’s slouched forward, her hands are fidgeting together, and her eyes are still wet with that tear from before. I feel that pit grow in my stomach, threatening to rend me in two as I nearly stagger from her stare. I…

I can’t say no to her.

“I’d be happy if I could help you and your mom out, Melissa. I… I’m sorry that this is all happening. I’m here for you.” I don’t know why I felt the need to include her mother in this, but whatever. I let out a sigh and held my wings open, my arms out stretched to invite her for an embrace. An invitation she snatched at the first chance.

The plightful para pressed against my side as I instinctively wrapped her in my wings for a feathery hug. I can feel her bury her face against my chest as I hold her close, her breathing starts to get more and more uneven. A damp spot spread over my shirt, and as I quietly listened, my suspicions were confirmed. She’s crying.

Yet right now, I cannot help but feel like I’m glowing, absolutely elated even. My smile is sincere, my hands travel over her back and give a pat or two, and I rest my chin against her crest. Being here for Mel, being this… what did I call it earlier? Shoulder? Being this shoulder for her to lean on feels nice… Maybe I’m not such a screw-up after all. Don’t get me wrong, I feel like I’ve messed up a lot of things so far; especially today. But right here, right now, I feel like I did the right thing.

But did I do the right thing, or did ‘Moss’ do the right thing? Am I really still in control of my actions here, because I wouldn’t have done half of these things…

What's different?

Chapter Text

Melissa and I go our separate ways after the bell rings, dismissing us to return to our respective classes. She reminds me to call her after school and when I’m on my way, so she can buzz me in. She lives in a gated community now.

And it’s while I’m walking through the empty halls and minding my business that I finally get time to reflect on what happened. The massage, Melissa’s problems, but the thing on my mind? Those weird memories I keep getting.

One thing at a time, there’s a lot to unpack here Greene. How do I feel? I feel pretty good all things considered. I’ll need to avoid Jack like the plague until I can wash my hands and scrub them. I don’t have the best nose, but I can still smell the apple-cinnamon perfume she wore on my hands.

Hell, I don’t even need to hold them up, just looking down is enough. 

Man, if she really is the child of a celebrity, her parents must be making bank, letting her afford as much perfume and luxurious knick-knacks as she can get her hands on. Although I wouldn’t say Apple Pie is an ‘arousing’ scent. Just makes me feel like I’m about to have dessert during thanksgiving.

Grandma Sam makes the best apple pie, and putting a slice of it with a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream? Oh man… I could go for one of those right now. I don’t care if it gives me another 3 cavities, it would be SO worth it.

Where was I? Right. Melissa… Getting to have that talk with her was just what I needed. Finally gave me a better understanding of what the hell’s wrong with me. At least, I hope it did.

I’m still caught up on what she said; I have episodes? That might explain what I saw this morning when Cynthia pushed me, but even then that’s a little ridiculous to call it ‘trauma.’ It’s just dad telling me to stop being a screw up, there’s nothing traumatic about that!

But even then, if that’s really all there is to it…

Why do I feel clammy when I start to think back on it?

… I should just focus on something else. Like the good deed I did for today. It felt good to be there for her, to feel like I’m not just a constant screw-up. But of course, I can’t really go about bragging about that sort of thing. I’m not as ‘alone’ in my choices as I like to think.

I look to my palm as I let out a sigh. These nerves of mine, these memories. I really am not ‘me’ anymore, and although I keep saying it… It’s not any easier to let that sink in. I wish I could open up to someone about how I feel, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if “I” would let that happen in the first place.

Sera’s the closest I got to telling, but even then I had to fight just to say two words. How much would I strain myself to say “I don’t feel like myself?” Then comes the matter of having to elaborate on what I said…

I really blew it with her this morning, I wish I didn’t. God, if I had just one more class with her, I could actually try to get along with her-

“Hey, Moss!” The familiar voice snaps me out of my woeful pity-party. Speak of the devil…

“Hey Sera, um…” My voice dies just as quickly as I spoke up, I really should have thought about what I was going to say more. Why is she here, anyway? I don’t actually share another class with her, do I?

“You wanna head to Gym together?”

Her words stop me in my tracks. Gym? With Sera? I think back to what class I’d usually be taking right now, but I’m drawing a blank. If she knows that Gym is our next class and she’s offering me company, I should take it.

I’ve been left alone with my thoughts for too long today.

We walk side-by-side through the skywalk, making small talk about our days so far. Sera tells me about how Maria gave Cynthia a hard time during lunch since I didn’t show up. She asked if I was okay after this morning. I don’t want the attention, so instead, I let out the usual “I’m fine.”

I look to Sera as we enter the Gymnasium. It’s a lot bigger than the last time I came here, but then again I avoid pep rallies on purpose… So it’s probably been years since I set foot here. Hopefully it’s as I remember it being when I took this in freshman year.

If I remember right, we just follow the coach with stretch routines, run 2 laps on the track field, and then come back inside for free activities… Including camping out on the bleachers with our phones! It could be nice, having a class where I can finally take a breather and relax. Not have to worry about something going wrong, getting cozy with Sera.

I think back to this morning, her holding me on the stairs and comforting me. I wonder if I can ask her to sit with me after we run laps. With any luck I might be able to hold onto her just as much as she held me… And feel her chest-

“MOUS!” A booming voice echoes in the gymnasium, enough to stagger me from my perch high in the clouds. I suddenly find myself standing on the third row of bleachers, my wings are spread, and my heart is thumping like crazy.

I look back to the origin of the voice, only to see a white T-Rex that stood up to the shoulders of the students. He wore a white tank-top, red track pants, and a red-and-white baseball cap that was 2 sizes too small for his head. He squints at me past the row of students that are all evenly spaced along the black margin of the basketball court.

A few students snicker as I climb back down from the bleachers. My knees threaten to buckle with every step I take until I’m back on solid ground. I can hear a few students murmur and snicker to each other about whatever must have happened.

“Sir?” I ask cautiously as I stand up straight. I lock my knees to stop them from shaking so much.

“Three bleachers cleared from that jump… Not bad form, Mous.” He gives a slow, approving nod. “You ought to try out for the track team in the Spring. You’d be great at the hurdles.”

“Um… Thanks?” Three bleachers… Was that a flight response? So… I really don’t have any of my CQC training. No fight response… I’m just some pansy who runs away? Man, no wonder I’m not with Mel or Sera… No girl would want someone so sad and pathetic.

Coach Amos, the pint-sized t-rex himself, squinted from behind his hat as he paced along the court like he was a drill sergeant looking at our ranks. As the bell started to ring, everyone snapped to the coach’s attention. Most of us having to look down, because he was only 5’0”

Silence. Nothing but the heavy footsteps of Coach Amos as he walked to the edge of the gym, eyeing all of us along the way. In between each booming footstep was the faint jingle of the whistle that hung around his neck. It was shiny and pristine as ever, yet I can’t say I remember seeing him use it. It was always him saying-

“ALRIGHT! As some of you may have noticed, it’s a lot warmer outside than it’s been in the past few weeks! But since we already had our ‘Summer’s End’ we can’t expect the weather to stay like this for long. Let’s get outside for today and soak up some sun!”

I can’t help but shoot him a look as he walks back down the court, surveying us with his shriveled, wrinkled face. He squints and scrutinizes over us like he’s been sucking on a lemon and LIKED IT. The rest of the class mirrors his bitter enthusiasm, now there’s an oxymoron, and lets out a few hoots and hollers. Although, I can’t quite find the same enthusiasm myself.

Going outside means one thing, no bleachers to sit back and relax.

There’s the grand stands by the field of course, but Coach doesn’t let us go near them. Probably because the metal seats seared a girl’s leg when she sat down in August. Chalk that up to yet another reason you shouldn’t wear bootyshorts, I guess. But with no option to sit back and relax, I contemplate on where I can go once I’m done running my two laps, namely, where can I go where I won’t be pressured into doing more running around?

I think through my options as I drop to the floor alongside the rest of my classmates to do the standard stretches. Push-ups, curl-ups, toe-touches, and jumping jacks. It’s all standard exercise to get our hearts pumping and simple cardio before hitting the track field.

There’s plenty of woods in the nearby area, I could always check to see if Janet’s around. I think the nature trail passes by Volcano High, we’ve had a couple Code Yellows in the past month or so. I assume it’s from strangers wandering off the path and too close to the track and football field.

Although getting to sit back in here, lay out on the bleachers, spend some time with Sera just like the stairs? That sounds even better… I just gotta figure out how I can convince her to come back here with me.

Wait, bad idea. Sera’s a stickler for the rules, and asking to be all alone with her, in a place completely unsupervised? That’s just ASKING for the Coach to reach for his whistle…

I keep trying to think, but nothing’s coming. Guess I’ll just wing it.

With our stretch routine finished, Coach Amos calls for us to head outside, holding the back door open to make sure nobody skips out. I take a deep breath and try to overlook the step where I sat during lunch. I can still hear Mel’s muffled sobs if I listen hard enough, even though she’s so far from here. I shake my head and force myself to keep walking, no use getting sentimental over it again.

I look at Sera to see how she’s taking the news, and she’s not happy in the slightest. Camping out on the bleachers must be her favorite thing to do, especially because I never considered her to be the athletic one. That’s normally Amber’s thing. But would it be Shiloh's? I can't imagine being athletic while borrowing my fashion sense.

I wonder if I can sneak into her room after school and play Arma. It's all too tempting, especially when I look at Sera to see her eyeing the floor. Her whole stance screams 'deflated'.

I nudge her with my elbow to get her attention, but I can’t think of anything to say to her. “Sorry that we’re stuck outside?” “You gonna be okay?” “Anything I can do to help?” I feel myself rack my brain, trying to think of something- ANYTHING to say to help ease the situation. Without thinking, I just spoke.

“Thank you for this morning, Sera… It really means a lot to me.” I feel like I just got a Sera-sized weight off my back. Must be how she feels having to carry those around every day. While I contemplate the best way to suggest a massage to cop a feel- I mean… help her posture… My face flushes red as I try to shake those thoughts from my head.

I look over to her to drop the offer now, slowing down to walk by her side, when I notice she’s fairly red in the face as well. Out of breath, slouched over, and barely holding her eyes open. We haven’t even made it to the track field yet, and already she looks like she’s going to pass out!

I decide to stay back with Sera, walking with her as she paces herself. All the while whining about how much she hates running. I tried not to stare, instead focusing on asking something else.

I just wanted to empathize and give pointers on how to deal with the pain, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t understand the back strain caused from inertia, or being built like her. I’m just a toothpick as I walk right next to a sculpted hourglass. And when we reached the black-tar concrete of the track field, we picked up the speed to run.

I can’t help but look down at my hands once again, it doesn’t sit well with me. My own skin, but not my skin. I left behind everything to be a noodle-armed wimp who’s only good at crying, running away, and making people worry about me. How could I relate to Sera? She’s smart, compassionate, good looking…

“What are you staring at, Moss?” She nudged me with her arm as she finally managed to catch her breath. I glance back, only to be corrected when I let my head hang low.

“Hey, my eyes are up here!” She snaps at me with a raised eyebrow, scoffing. I stammer as my face flashes pink, I jerk my head from side to side.

“H-HUH!? N-No, I wasn’t-!!” I blurt out, my panic-induced notion led Sera to stagger as she laughed. Her critical glare was gone, sporting a cheery grin in its stead.

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing ya!” She clarified as she continued to jog alongside, suddenly I don’t want to hold myself back and hang around her anymore. Right as I prep myself to take off down the straightaway, her voice catches me. “So, what were you staring at? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so in-love with their hands before.”

“Just… thinking about this morning…” I feel my throat start to tighten as I try to bring up what I said. When I was trying to get myself to speak, trying to say what I wanted for a change. I pick and choose my words carefully, window’s closing and fast.

“I think about everything I’ve been going through, and I wonder how come I’m not strong. Why do I have to be such a wimp, why do I have to cry at the smallest…” My voice trails as my throat is caught on something. I cup my neck and try to swallow, but it just gets caught. I’m left choking on my own spit trying to clear my own throat.

Fuck this is embarrassing.

Whatever I said to Sera must’ve ticked her towards the right direction, because she gives me a firm pat on the back rather than a punch. It’s enough to jostle me.

“Jeez, you really are a lightweight aren’t you? I’m surprised the wind hasn’t blown you over yet!” She flashes a grin as she slows down to catch her breath, prompting me to slow down too. It wasn’t until I did that I realized I was just as short of breath as her!

“Moss, you’re not a wimp, you’re just… you. There’s nothing wrong with not being super macho-man all the time, you’re just a sweet guy. And if it’s worth anything, I like that a lot more than some of the muscle-heads in this class.”

“R-Really? It’s not that you’re trying to get close to my dad?” I ask cautiously. My face mirrors her own shock, as I’m just as surprised as her that I had that slip out. Sera snorts and shakes her head.

“No. Way. Am I gonna go for an older guy. Puh-lease!” She recoils at the thought and slugs my arm. I definitely deserved that and more, but she… doesn’t continue. She taps her chin and scornfully looks my way.

“Why the hell would you think that?!”

Shit. Oh god, has this Sera never seen my dad!?

What the fuck have I done. I’ve completely screwed the pooch on this one, and now I’m about to lose out on everything I could have hoped for with Sera! Think, dumbass, THINK! What is a perfectly believable excuse?!

“... Because my dad’s a skinnie.”

I want to staple my mouth shut. They say ‘Honesty is the best Policy,’ when they really should be teaching; ‘Honesty should be a last resort. Especially when it’s stopping your dad from being stalked by a freshly legal teen.’

My palm meets my face with enough force it could puncture through, only it’s stopped by the incredibly thick skull I have for being a fucking retard. I can already hear the gears shifting in Sera’s head, I know what comes next. She asks me for proof, I show a picture, one thing leads to another, and now she’s inviting herself over for family game nights on Thursdays, and getting into Mom’s wine stash with Amber while she’s out shopping on Saturdays.

Just like last time this happened.

I finally got the chance to get in Sera’s good graces. A chance to finally have something with her, a chance to have something REAL with her, and I just blew it. Again.

Regretfully, I look back to Sera who’s giving me a confused, yet, unamused look. She’s doubting me right now I can already tell.

“So? You’re half-human too, aren’t you?” Sera’s question is enough to get me to trip and fall. My knees lock up as I fumble right onto the black asphalt and land on my side.

THWACK!

“Oh my gosh, are you okay!?” Sera’s by my side, kneeling. I can feel her chest press against the side of my head as she runs her fingertips against my ribcage, poking and prodding. It hurts a little, my head is pounding as I blink away my blurring vision.

But I feel… warm. Is this… my wish? Did it finally come true?

I glance up to Sera as she helps me to my feet. I dust myself off, telling her “I’m fine” before we continue running along. She tells me I should slow down and take it easy, but I don’t want the coach to shout at me again. If him just saying my name got me to jump 3 rows in the spectator’s seats, I’d hate to imagine what would happen if he was pissed!

We’re able to talk again when we finish running. I lean over to hold my knees with my hands, keeping myself upright while Sera flops in the grass beside me. She lays out on her back, and lets out an exhausted groan interspersed between her panting.

“Finally… You still ok Moss?”

“Peachy.” I turn to her before sitting down, criss-cross as I lean back on my palms. Grass has never felt so comfy.

“Sera…” I grab her attention. “What did you mean by ‘I’m half human,’ how did you know?”

“You don’t remember? You’re warm-blooded, Moss! You’ve always been half-human, half-dino.” Sera opens an eye as she turns to me, still laying as stiff as a board.

I’m warm-blooded? Since when? Dinos are supposed to be cold blooded, that’s why we have scales! It’s why we do better in the heat!

“Now that you mention it…” I start to think back to this morning with my car seat. I always thought it was just having feathers instead of flaps, but I really am some kind of… freak. I’m a warm-blooded dinosaur. How often does that happen?! Too low for me to even consider calculating the odds.

“Yeah, I guess I am warm-blooded… Just, um, forgot?” I shrug to Sera as she returns the gesture.

“Must’ve been confusing for you growing up, being told that dinos are all supposed to be cold-blooded. Bet it makes the winter months amazing for you.”

“Yeah, but it’s absolutely brutal right now…” I relent a sigh as I look to my wings. “I thought I was warm because of my feathers, when I’m more human than I ever thought. I’ve been sweating up a storm just being out here!”

“Moss you dummy, that’s perspiration from cardio…” Sera lectures me like I’m some little kid. Her patronizing, condescending tone seethes with sarcasm.

“Ha-ha, you know what I mean…” I roll my eyes and smirk in her direction, clapping back to her playful banter. Sera leans over her knees as she sits up. She fidgets with her hands, eyes glance from here and there as she looks down, a slight pucker to her lip as she thinks, apprehensive in her manners before speaking up again.

“Hey… About what you said earlier. What the heck got into you?” Her eyebrows furrow as she looks my way. Only this time, I don’t feel like I want her attention. “Why the hell would you think I would be into older men? That’s disgusting, and furthermore, I expect better out of you.”

Her words cut like a metal skewer, piercing deep into my soul. Like she’s not even talking to Moss anymore. She was speaking directly to me. I let out a debilitating sigh as I grip my arm, my guilt as obvious as ever as I look down. I want to tell her how sorry I am. I want to find some way to explain my actions, but no matter how much I open my mouth, nothing comes out. No apology, no explanation, nothing.

Because there really is no excuse for what I said.

“Moss?” Her voice catches me off-guard. I’m shocked to hear her speak to me.

“Y-Yes Sera?”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t having another episode. I’m… I’m just gonna go over there.” She lifts her thumb to gesture to the other side of the field. I feel myself start to get up alongside her.

“Need me to come with-”

“No.” She cuts me off before I can ask my question. “I just want to be left alone.” I watch in dismay as she turns away and strolls off. Here I am, alone once more. It seems like no matter what I do, no matter what world I find myself in, I still manage to make all the wrong choices.

Why?!

Why can’t I just do something right for once, what’s different about this world, what was different with Melissa that I can’t do with Sera?! I-... opened my mouth. I spoke. That's what happened.

I’m back to grovelling at my feet as I wander aimlessly. Where do I want to go? Dunno. Anywhere but here. My timberland boots stick out like a sore thumb against the diluted grass and scattered leaves. I’m just a screw-up… That’s what it is. The sooner I stop trying to do things for myself, the sooner I can start getting what I want.

I just don’t want to be alone.

As I keep walking along the grassy fields, I soon find myself getting tackled into the dirt by a sudden presence to my right.

“Woah, Sorry!” 

A voice calls out. It’s… familiar. I hold my head and slowly peel myself from the ground to look at my assailant. I’m brought face to face with a blue baryonyx wearing a letterman varsity jacket sporting a big J. His orange eyes scan over me, as he lends a hand, it’s Jack.

“Sorry about that little dude, didn’t mean to bump into ya!” He flashes an earnest smile. It’s the closest I’ve got to seeing someone else happy to see me, so I slowly reach up and take his hand. He pulls me off the ground with a single tug. I flinch at the sudden torque of my arm.

“I-It’s okay Jack… I wasn’t looking where I was going. Sorry.” I apologize to him as he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. At least, I thought it was him taking deep breaths. He leans close to me and tilts his head, eyes scanning over me.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for? You okay? You’re breathing all fucky, did you seriously overexhaust yourself doing laps?” His comment brings my breathing to attention, I’ve been panting like a dog in summer, no thanks to being terrified of him asking the big question.

I can’t bring myself to speak, I’m too terrified. I just nod my head to go along with it. Jack folds his arms and rolls his eyes, glancing behind him.

“Yeah, well, me and the guys are playing some flag football, want to j-” I lean to the side and look past him at whoever else he was playing with. I’m not too big on sports, but what’s the harm?

“Um… I guess I could try. I don’t really know how to play.”

“Dude.” Jack's expression quickly shifts to a skeptical look. He leans in close as his voice went low. I could hear him sniff at the air.

“Were you with my fucking girlfriend earlier?”

Everything froze. My heart thumped in my chest, right against the damp spot in my shirt from when she cried. And with Jack smelling her on me…

I need to get out of here.

“I’m sorry…” I squeak out as I flinch, stammering as I stumble back. The grass rustles beneath me as I fumble my escape. I can’t even pretend to catch my breath anymore, my heart is thumping in my ears now, I put my hands on my knees, and take a deep breath. It doesn’t help.

“You didn’t…” Jack snapped as he stepped over me. His tone is ice cold. In one part, it’s like he’s trying to convince himself that the worst-case scenario didn’t happen… but…

“Did you fuck my girlfriend!? You think you’re fucking funny, that other people’s lives are just some GAME to you?!” He balls his fist and goes for a swing. I throw my hands up as fast as I can in hopes of catching, but the searing pain in the left side of my jaw and the ringing in my ears lets my new reality sink in.

I’m not a fighter, I’m a flier.

I’m left laying on my back as my vision blurs and swirls. Forget seeing stars, it feels like I’m seeing double and triple as I try to blink and clear my vision. My recovery is cut short with a sharp pain jabbing into my side as Jack’s red converse meets my waist. I’m sent rolling onto my side from the force, curling like a croissant as I convulse.

Then I feel the sole of his sneaker on my spine.

“WAIT!!” I cry out in an act of desperation. I grip at the grass and try to pull myself away in a frenzy of panicked flailing. His heel grounds me in place, and his hands grab hold of my wing.

“So you think you’re some kind of hotshot flyboy?! Let’s see how good you can fly without these wings of yours, Icarus!” He snarls behind me as he starts to yank on my wing. The nerves fire on all cylinders down my wing, up my spine, and spike into my shoulder. He twists the wing, making me wince and whimper as he effortlessly pulls and pins me facing the grass below. I feel him yanking at the feathers, tugging fiercely at my right wing as I start to scream and cry out.

“No! No I don’t! I’m sorry Jack, I’m sorry! I didn’t do anything!!” I choke back on a sob as I frantically clawed at the turf, trying desperately to pull myself away. His heel is driving right into my spine as I feel him yank on a fistful of feathers. Each tug only drives a shot of pain as I claw at the earth, hoping by some miracle I could get away.

Yank.

STOP!

Yank.

PLEASE!

Yank.

IT HURTS!.

Yank.

I can feel the tinge of crimson dripping down my limb.

Yank.

A stabbing pain shoots yet again.

YANK!

“I’M SORRY!”

“Sorry!? What are you sorry for!?” His voice is dripping with venom as he spits. “You purposely made a cuckold out of me, you bastard!” He growls between his grit teeth as he keeps yanking. I flutter my wing as I try to tear it from his grip, but when I glance back, all I see is the blood drip as I start to feel hazy.

My head starts spinning, my world blurring, and I feel myself fading once again…

Once again as my head hits the ground.

I open my eyes and see myself, I’m looking into a mirror. I’m in my bathroom, the light is off, but the door is wide open with light spilling in from the hall. I can barely see, but that’s only because I’m in so much pain. My wings are throbbing. I can feel the nerves in my wings pulsating, only for blood to streak down my feathers.

I can feel the damp blotches on my wings from the cold AC blowing into the room. I'm freezing, and it only worsens the pulse I feel. I rub my eyes and try to look back again.

I’m a teen, going through my first-ever preening, and it looks like I overdid it. I don’t remember this ever happening in my bathroom at home. I remember I was at school and the nurses patched me up. A few bandages here, a pat on the head, and I was back in Ms. Hyder’s Science class.

My confusion is only magnified when the light flicks on. Mom is standing there. Her eyes are wide, but her mouth is even wider- even as her hand raises to clutch her pearls. First the gasp, then… screaming.

I’ve never heard her scream so loud in my life.

I’m caught in a blur of grey as she bundles me in a cocoon of her feathers. Mom is shaking as she holds onto me, crying over my shoulder. The pain in my own wings is eclipsed by her holding onto me, asking weird questions. I could barely understand her over her own wailing sobs, only a faint “You matter, you matter so much…” as I struggled to stand.

I… matter? Of course I do, I’m… Me, aren’t I? Well, I'm Moss but- What does she mean by that?

I hear racing footsteps. Boots stormed up the stairs and towards my bathroom. I look to the doorway with wide eyes to see the imposing figure that is my father.

When he looks into the room, his eyes follow the blood and feathers, until his eyes meet with mine. His mouth opens, and right as I brace myself, I cry out.

“G-Get off! GET OFF, GET OFF RIGHT NOW!” I scream and kick my legs. I can’t even feel him pulling my wings anymore as I scream out. “GET OFF, JACK! GET OFF!! I’M SORRY!!!” I screech like a banshee as I cry out, tears rolling down my eyes much like the blood along my feathers.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?” Coach Amos roars with enough force that I can feel the ground vibrate beneath me. My wing is released, and with it, Jack’s foot is taken off my back. I tremble as I lay in the grass, my heart is once again pounding with my stomach tied in knots. My wing- I don’t even look at it. Just feeling it throb as fast as my heart is beating only worsens the pain in my chest. Drool starts to leak at my lips, and right as I’m able to bring myself onto my knees, I lurch over.

First came the dry heaves, then came the bile. It’s crude, it spills out like a running faucet, and as much as it burns the back of my throat; I can barely feel it over my wing. The throbbing from my heartbeat, the wet blood soaking into my limb, the cool breeze that only heightened my sensitivity. I can’t even bring myself to look over.

“C’mon Moss, up and at ‘em…” I hear someone speak up, but I don’t look to see who it is. I’m guided to my feet with someone under my arm. They let me lean on for support, but I can barely keep myself together. I cough to try and hold myself from throwing up again.

I can’t bring myself to feel anything. Anything but holding myself as I walk with my classmate. My eyes are to the ground, making sure I can still put one foot in front of the other. I’m walked past the Gym and towards the main school building. It feels more like a walk of shame, that I was so weak and couldn’t fight back.

No, that’s not right. I didn’t when I still had the chance. How could I? I completely forgot about Melissa. I was so caught up in Sera that… … 

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut for once.

For Sera's sake.

For Jack's sake.

For my own.

I'm brought to the nurse's office before I even realize it, thanking the classmate who brought me in as I continued to eye the floor. 

“Thanks.” I quickly brush aside to step into the room. The office itself is incredibly stuffy, no thanks to the heat being cranked for sickly students. The air smells of old insulation and rubbing alcohol, I clutch my forehead before a headache kicks in. It’s strong enough that a groan slips past my lips to announce my presence.

“Goodness, what happened to you?!” I glance up, a woman’s voice calls out to me. Before me stood a salmon-colored scipionyx with jet black hair wearing a white, crisp button-up. She adjusts her blue glasses as she peers at me, beckoning for me to come closer. I hesitantly step to the nearest bed to me, sitting right at the foot of it. It’s only now that I try to flex my wings and stretch, that the pain finally started registering in my body. I grit my teeth and turn away, my breath hitching as I try to gather myself.

“I… I-I fell...” I can’t bring myself to tell what happened. I… got too close to the sun.

But if I don't say anything, will I still be making the right choice? I played with fire and this is what I get, but... Something deep down tells me I need to come clean. Lying now will only put more pressure on me to pretend someone I'm not. I look to my hands.

I'm not me anymore...

I clear my throat and take a deep breath. This is the choice I’m making for myself. “I fell, and someone yanked on my wing. He stepped on my back and kept pulling. Ripped a couple feathers.”

I'm awash with regret the moment the words slip out. I bring my hands to cover my face as I lean over. I don’t want the attention that will come from this, I don’t want word getting out, and I don’t want any more problems to come from my mistake.

I got too close to Melissa. 

The nurse gave me a stern glance, nodding as she listened to my story. She cleared her throat as she combed through the strands of feathers. A couple fell out on their own. I patiently wait for her to ask me something, but that never happens. So instead, I decided to take a good look at my left wing. the outside of it was torn and tattered. Worn thin from what looks like overpreening.

“Turn around.” The nurse instructed. I’m pulled from my thoughts and back to myself. I can’t help but wonder…

“Why?” I’m slow to ask, but quick to grow anxious as she continues to glance over me with that dull yet critical glare of hers.

“I need to see if your scapulars or coracoid have been damaged.” She instructs me to turn so she can look at my side. Looking to make sure my wing wasn’t pulled too far. “Do you know who did this to you?”

I feel a chill run along my spine until it hits squarely in the middle. I wince and bite my tongue. I could have only avoided it for so long. I hope that if Melissa finds out, she won't hate me for being a snitch. The last thing I need to do is have both girls who started out liking me now hate my guts.

“Jack.”

The nurse left briefly to ‘take care of some errands’ but I get the feeling she’s going to write a report about this. I was left in silence to sit and stew in my thoughts, regretting my choices that led me here. I was doing so good with Mel, well… half-good. Then I had to let it get to my head and ruin everything. Again.

I hold my head as I lean forward on the edge of the bed, letting my bandaged wing fall limp beside me. I glance back at my wing again, and it’s wrapped up nice and thorough right along the middle and edge. Cotton swabs were padded and wrapped in gauze against my coverts, at least I can’t feel my wing throbbing anymore.

I finally let out a sigh and look out the lone window that was positioned by the bed. All of this, for Melissa? Was it for her, or for himself? He said I made a cuck out of him? I don't smell like her heat... Just...

I give my shirt a quick sniff test.

Cinnamon-Apple Pie...

I blink back a tear as I recoil at the mere thought of food. The pies, Christmas with Grandma Samantha, getting to see everyone so happy... My stomach felt like it was left on tumble dry as I try to push those memories away. I don't even know if they've even happened in this world. But thinking about the only other alternative... Melissa...

I don't want to think about her right now.

I look at my hands and think back to what happened on the field. It’s all I can think about right now. What did I see when I hit the ground? Was that just another memory like when I fell off my skateboard? When I was listening in on Mom and Dad arguing? Why are my memories so different, what happened to make everything so different? I take a deep breath to steady myself and my growing heart rate as I consider all that may or may not have happened before.

I don't know where to look for answers, who I can turn to, or how to go about this.

I feel like I really am trapped in a nightmare where everything is worse. Is this God's punishment for just a joke? I wished to not deal with anything, and now I have to deal with everything and the kitchen sink out to get me! I reach over for my feathers, and feel for the oldest one I can find. The oldest one that's not buried under bandages that is. I give it a quick tug and pluck it clean off, gritting my teeth. It hurt, hopefully enough to drive a sharp pain into my head to cut through the growing fog of my confusion.

It didn't help.

I listen to the rattle of the old AC underneath the windowsill as I fiddle and flick my feather. Trying to kill time however I could while I sat in relative silence. I try to twirl it around in my fingers like my stat-track karambit, to see if I can at least be good with a pocket knife. But no, no butterfly tricks for me, I can barely get i to twist around my middle finger to catch it with my ring finger.

I continue practicing my dexterity until I see a seafoam green liopleurodon in a sharp dark grey suit step into the room. He has short, almond brown hair and a small beard at the edge of his snout. His tiger-orange eyes are intense and have their gaze fixed squarely on my wing, even when I try to hide it behind me.

“P-Principal Leviticus?” My eyes are as wide as they can get as he swiftly approaches, setting a hand on my shoulder and looking over at my bandaged wing.

“Let me see your wing, son.” His voice is cold and emotionless. I watched him bite his tongue, stifling himself to speak as briefly as he could. I’m almost too afraid to show it, but that choice isn’t mine to make anymore. He steps around the side of the bed, looking at it even while it was still folded. His gaze is just as critical as the nurse’s, and he mutters under his breath something I can’t make out.

“What’s going on?” I ask out of necessity rather than fear. I scoot along the foot of the bed, turning around and setting my feet on the floor. The nurse quickly gestures for me to sit back down, putting a hand on my left shoulder.

“Don’t get up, you’re still hurt.”

“It’s alright, Bethany.” The principal spoke up as he stood, his lean figure towering over the both of us now as he pressed his fingertips together. Like making a combined fingergun with both hands. His tone is clear and dry as he spoke again; “I’ve seen enough. I have a few phone calls to make. Moss, you’ll be staying here until your parents can come pick you up.”

I’m left in disbelief. The air falls still as I look up to Principal Leviticus as he walks to the door. The whole world slows to a crawl as I hear him again, “your parents can come pick you up.” That sinking feeling of dread tears at the chasm in my stomach, it feels like it’s threatening to split me in two.

But for the life of me, I cannot figure out why. What did I do wrong? What did I mess up? Why do I feel this overwhelming sense of dread upon hearing those words?! If I'm going to have some kind of episode right now to explain, then let me have it!

...

But... Nothing happened.

“No, no that’s not… I feel fine. I can go back to class.” I force myself to stand on my feet, but the sudden weight on my knees leaves them to buckle. My wings jerk at the motion, and it’s enough for the pain to shoot up my back, along my spine, and all the way to my ear as I cry out. I can barely hear the nurse scolding me as she lays me back in the bed. My palm clasps over the right side of my head, pressing like I’m trying to squash a melon.

My head is spinning, swirling in a violent maelstrom of pain and nausea, even as I’m laying flat against the mattress. I feel the whole world twist and turn, spinning out of its own orbit as I’m left to cling onto whatever I can. But even as I try to open my eyes again, all I see is the dark.

"Please..." I ask out, trying to course-correct as much as I can.

"Don't tell... them..."

When I come to, I can feel something damp resting on my wing. I look up at the ceiling, seeing the tiles lets me know I’m still in school. Is it cardboard? styrofoam? Some mix of the two for sure. But it’s enough to know where I am, and I pull myself to sit up. I was worried this would be another traumatic memory, but… I am safe for now.

The crinkle of a plastic bag rolls to my left, and with it, the damp feeling only grows. The remnants of an ice pack just spilled into the sheets, and wetted my wing. Soaking wet feathers were not a very welcome surprise to wake up to. My heavy sigh as I steady myself brings my vision to clear. I’m still in the nurse’s office. Principal Leviticus is gone.

He sounded serious when he said he was going to call my parents, what’s going to happen? What am I going to tell them? I fell? No, Mom’s gonna see my wing and know right away. What should I do? What should I say? What CAN I say?! I can't shake this feeling that something absolutely terrible is going to happen when they find out!

No, I need to make a choice here and now. I ask the only one I know who knows Mom and Dad better than me.

I grab my phone and undo my lock screen, opening right to my contacts and start texting. Sis. Mom and Dad are coming to pick me up. I'm in the nurse's office. ... That might be the dumbest message I've ever sent. No. I'm not going to get fucked over for another bad word choice of mine.

Delete.

Hey Sis. I'm in the nurse's office after gym. I'll be fine, but Mom and Dad are coming to get me. I can't think of any better way to word it. I want to ask 'Should I be worried?' but... I think they're the ones who will be more worried.

The three dots appear on my screen, and shortly after her message.

What. Happened. I know it’s just a phone screen, but I feel myself wince at the ugly expression she’s making. I can already imagine her face contorting from sipping a glass of sour milk, and because she’s worried about me. I bring the keypad close and tap away with my claws.

I’m okay I promise. It's just a torn wing. But Mom and Dad are coming to get me. Will they be upset? I contemplate on hitting send. I need to clarify one thing in particular. I feel like I screwed up again.

Shiloh's response is immediate. Who did this to you.

My fingers hover over the keypad. My eyes trace over the letters or his name, but... I'm scared of saying who. I'm scared that she'll do to him what was worse than what he did to me. Not to mention, he's a head taller than her! No way is she going to win that fight!

But if she's not going to win that fight... maybe I am safe to tell her. She'll know better than to go after him, right? ...

What am I saying? This is the sibling that kicked me down a flight of stairs in the past. Anything that happens at this point is on him for beating me up.

Jack.

I'm about to hit 'Send' when a flurry of grey feathers ropes around my vision. I tilt my head to look up, only to find my chin pressing against a shoulder.

A shaky, dry-heaving breath huffs against the crook of my neck. It only took me a second to realize who this was, given the fact that she’s hugging me. It’s mom.

I wrap my arms around her and fold my wing to try and hide it. Her voice is breaking, choking on her own sobs as she traced a hand along my wing to inspect the damages. Her breathing hitches and she winces at the gauze covering my left wing, the one that’s out of commission.

“My baby boy…” She whimpered as she looked me over. Her mascara ran down her cheeks, her eyes brimming with tears as she cupped the sides of my head. She looks a lot like she did in the portrait right now, is she always like this…? She leas close and kisses me right on the forehead before wrapping her arms back around my neck.

“I-I’ll be okay mom…” I instinctively tell her as I let my plastic smile spread back over my face. I scoot closer, and reciprocate the hug. I hear her mutter more under her breath, but I can’t make it out. She takes my hand and helps me to my feet. It takes a moment for me to stand on my own, and with one foot before the other, I’m walking out the door and past the main office. I check my phone as we walk, 2:33pm. I would be in my last class right now… Hopefully Shiloh doesn't share it with Jack.

“Moss…” Mom’s voice clues me in to put away my phone and turn to her. Given how disheveled she looks, and the fact that she was crying, I can’t bear to look away, no matter how much it hurts my heart to see her upset. “The principal told me what happened."

"I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry.”

Chapter Text

Mom’s grip tightens around my hand as she leads me through the hallways. It’s a pitiful sight, being led around the school like I’m some lost tot in a daycare. Especially considering this school is the only thing I know is still this same in this bizarro-land. Yet even as I slow down, it does not stop her from squeezing like a stress toy.

I’m left silent. My mind wanders over so many questions as I drift along the main hallway. Why is she apologizing? Where is Dad? Is he going to yell at me for getting beat up and not fighting back, because ‘Mommy wasn’t there for me,’ or whatever I remember him saying?

That last one brings a scowl to my face as I open my mouth. I turn to my mother, but I can’t find my voice to speak up and ask. Instead, I let her tug me along. I hold her hand as she practically drags me.

And as much as it fucking kills me, I feel pretty lost. Today has been the opposite of everything I wished for.

I followed her out of the front office and out to the parking lot. It takes me a minute to remember she drives a red sports car now, instead of the usual SUV. She always used it to pick up Amber from soccer practice and haul some of her music equipment around like her guitar and speakers.

“Mom?” I finally feel myself talk as I turn back to face her. She’s hesitant to let go of my hand. Given the fact that she still hasn’t let go, and we’re now standing at the trunk of her car. She looks to me with those big, wet eyes of hers.

“What are you sorry for? What’s going on?” I’m able to ask as she lets go of my hand. We reach our respective doors, to which I look across the top of the car to her, as she does the same with me. She’s worried. Her face says it all, even as she glances to the car seat, and then back to me. My hopes for an answer are dashed, when I see she’d rather climb in the car than talk to me.

I’m admittedly stunned. I thought she would be the easiest to approach with my problems, Mom was never one to shy away from feelings before.

“Mom?” I ask tentatively as I open the car door and peer inside.

“Get in the car, Moss.” Her voice is dry and quaking. I almost want to take a step away. It feels like I’m getting into a car with a stranger, rather than my own mother. She’s not even looking my way, her eyes are focused on her hands, resting at 2 and 10 o’clock on the steering wheel. I take a deep breath and step inside. If I want to find out what’s wrong with me, and what’s wrong with… everything, this isn’t going to be easy.

Keep a stiff upper lip.

I tug on the handle and let the door shut behind me. I sit down in the passenger seat next to mom as she takes a deep breath, composing herself.

“Moss… I… I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” She reaches over to put her hand on my thigh. I’m still unnerved by the touch, but… I don’t fight it. “I’ll make sure we get you to a therapist. We should have done it in the first place.” She looks me in the eye as she wears a smile. Just like the one I’ve worn so many times today. Plastic. Forced. Fake.

Her eyes are brimming with tears as she tries to hold herself together. A sniffle, a hiccup, then a shaky breath. I instinctively lean in to drape my one good wing around her, even as she nearly pulls me out of my seat to hold onto me.

A Therapist? Why? What did I do to tick her off- to make her seek help from someone else?! My brows furrow with suspicion as I reflect on the prospect of having to talk to someone I don’t know about my feelings. To someone I don’t care about. Admittedly, it isn’t too different from what I’m trying to do here, but she knows things I don’t. A therapist won’t give me that.

And I’m not quitting without a fight, a real fight.

“I don’t want a therapist, mom. I’ll be fine.” I try to push her away. Now is the time to rip the band-aid off.

“Moss, you’re not fine! Your wing…” She murmurs under her breath. Her arms continue to constrict me to her chest. Hearing her trembling voice and talking about my wing. It’s enough to make a chill run down my spine. She sounds exactly like when I overpreened. I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my claws into the palms of my hand. I heard this sort of thing helps keep people ‘in the moment’ when their mind’s a wreck.

“My wing will heal. The nurse didn’t say I needed to go to the hospital. Just…”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be worried!” She interrupts me as she can hardly hold herself to stay composed. Her face twists into a sour, shriveled sneer as she looks at me. I wince in anticipation.

I sit and think of what I can do, the tense silence between the two of us is giving me plenty of time. She turns back to the wheel as the engine quietly hums. She moves her claws to crank the air conditioning on her end. A blast of cold, refreshing air meets her face as she takes a deep breath.

Another sigh.

If I’m a wreck, then Mom here must be a loose hair away from a padded cell- or a breakdown- whichever comes first. I don’t want to talk about my wing, about Jack, I don’t want to think about that right now. I need to think of something to say to steer this in a better direction. I take a deep breath, time to shoot my shot. I’d pat my cheeks and say “game time” if I were that much of a tool.

“Mom?” I ask slowly, pushing to make sure I keep steady eye-contact with her. I hope this will at least let me get something to work with. “I keep having… memories. Painful memories.”

“Then don’t think about them, sweetie.” She hums as she reaches for my shoulder, but I push her hand away. I don’t want to be comforted and ignore it. I need to know.

“I-I… They’re more than memories. It feels like I’m sucked back to that point in time.” My voice trails as I feel beads of cold sweat brimming at my brow. I take a few deep breaths and focus on counting off on my fingers. Look at anything, think of anything, just- not those ‘episodes’ again…

“When Dad yelled at me for crying when I fell, when you and dad had that argument, when I overpreened in middleschool…” I hesitantly glance to my mother, who has that same look as Melissa when she pulled on my arm. I wish she was here to do that right now, because it feels like I’m eyeing down my judge, jury, and executioner right now…

Funny, it’s not the roided monkey.

“When I was talking to my friends earlier they called them… Episodes.” I take a breath and wet my lips, taking a moment to find my voice again.

“Mom those… Those didn’t happen, right?”

Mom sits there and contemplates, blink once, blink twice. I’m left watching her face twitch and flash through a myriad of emotions in an attosecond. I can only catch a glimpse at so many; confusion, sadness, … anger? But instead she winds up smiling. She smiled and shook her head, bringing her hand to ruffle my hair.

“Oh, absolutely NOT Moss! You’ve always had quite the imagination, but goodness me! You don’t want to start confusing yourself with what does and doesn’t happen!” Her following laugh is empty. It’s hollow, vapid, horrifying. I feel my heart start to hammer in my chest at that hoarse cackle, utterly speechless as Mom continues to hold me and pretend that everything is fine.

“Your father couldn’t love you more, I couldn’t love you more! You’re my little bundle of feathers, and I could never think of being upset at you in such a way!” Her promises sound null, as if she’s just going through motions while she keeps holding onto me.

Her arms constrict around my core as she drags me to her seat again, so I strong-arm her to break away. My back hits the car door, and I’m left hissing as I land on my folded wing.

So much for letting that heal.

I grit my teeth and force myself to open my eyes. Those ‘episodes’ as Mel called it, Sera too… I know those felt too real to be made up. My eyes scrunch from the pain searing into my wing as I look at the matriarch before me.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

My voice is bitter and dripping with venom as I struggle to catch my breath. Like my own body is trying to suffocate me from raising my voice. Mom looks onward aghast. My words shattering her facade, and reducing it to mere shards upon shards of broken glass.

Glass, I decide to walk over with my boots.

“I remember those things happening, but… I don’t understand why.” I tear myself to look away from her as I think and contemplate. The less I focus on her is more I can focus on myself- on making sure my voice doesn’t die out into a whimper.

Why is she lying about them happening? Why do I get into a cold sweat just thinking about them? Do I seriously have traumatic memories over simple family discourse?

Wait.

Then it hit me. And I can’t believe it took me this long to piece it together.

It’s because I’m not in a normal family anymore. This is “normal” for Moss. A dad who doesn’t care, a mom who lies to my face, and a sister who’s kicked me down a flight of stairs and who knows what else. There’s too much to unpack here for me to know where to start.

At least, I would if the answer wasn’t sitting in front of me, shocked silent over what I said to her. I refuse to believe this is the same woman that I could call my mom, yet I look back up to Lucy with wide eyes. My mind clearer than ever. 

Do I have trauma?

“Why are you lying to act like I’m not remembering things? I saw you look at me after fighting with dad, I saw you rush to my side and say things when I overpreened…” I list out the two from the best of my detail, but instead she clasps her ears over her head. She grits her teeth and racks her head in recoil like a demon spritzed in holy water. Her face contorts and wrinkles as she looks down and away from me. Just as I think to reach out, she starts… humming?

It sounds familiar, but in reality I think this is quite… pathetic. No, not even- it’s beyond pathetic. I’m looking at a grown woman in her late thirties trying to sing to herself some sort of lullab-

Wait. Lullaby. This is that song she used to play on her guitar when I was really little! Why is she singing it now?

I sit dumbfounded as I watch Lucy hum and sing through the choir until she lowers her hands and opens her eyes. She lets out a deep breath, and… smiles again. It’s unnerving to say the least.

“Sorry sweetie, I… don’t want to focus on the bad. I promised your father I would change and be better. I’m sorry I’ve scared and worried you, but you don’t need to worry about me.” I want to push further, I want to know everything, but… I don’t want to push my luck on someone a few inches taller than me.

Damn Moss, getting mom’s height instead of dad’s.

I slowly put my hand on her thigh, trying to give her the same comfort she keeps trying to give me. I feel myself letting out a sigh as my anger diminishes.

“I’m… sorry. For swearing at you, and for getting mad… Today's just been…” My voice finally fails me as I look further and further down. I can’t get my questions answered. Everywhere I go I just end up messing up, why can Moss get things that I can’t? Is that what’s going to happen right now? Please, me, please. Please know what to do. 

As if on a whim, an epiphany: Know what to do? Then you should do what feels right. 

“Everything feels wrong, but I don’t know who to ask about these things… I don’t know why Dad doesn’t like me, I don’t know what happened to cause you two to fight so much about ‘being a rock.’” I look at her as the light goes off in my head. It takes everything I can to not smirk as I believe I have the ‘gotcha!’ to make her talk.

“What did I do wrong?”

Pinning the blame on myself is a low blow, but it was just what I needed to get Lucy to start squawking. She shook her head, and grabbed me by my snout, blinking back tears as she firmly cupped with both hands like a rubber band. All things considered, this isn’t even in the top 3 most uncomfortable holds I’ve been put in today.

“No, Moss. Don’t say anything like that, p-please…” She shuts her eyes as she holds her head low, unable to look me in the eyes. Her voice breaks as she chokes back a sob “You’re not a mistake, you didn’t do anything wrong sweetie. None of it is your fault.”

I sit back in my seat and hold still. I listen to her heave out a breath she had been holding for who knows how long before slowly recollecting herself. She lets go of my face and puts her hands back on the wheel, shifting gears before driving out of the parking lot. She wet her lips and gathered herself, mustering the strength to speak.

“I love you more than you could ever imagine, your sister loves you, your father…” I hear her voice trail before picking up again. A lull in her speech as the little hamster wheel starts running in her head. “He… has a different way of showing it than he used to. Ever since his second deployment.”

My eyes lit up at her words. ‘Second deployment.’ My mind tries to rummage through what shreds of history notes I had that weren’t memorizing tanks that I could pinpoint in BattleThunder. Figuring out what war he would have served in was tough enough, but making it two separate instances?

Before I can try to bridge my thoughts together like a conspiracy theorist’s corkboard, I’m pulled back by Lucy’s voice.

“When he first returned, I couldn’t imagine him leaving my side again. He was older, more patient, and I saw a side of him that I loved him for the most; his understanding. He wasn’t afraid to help reach out and… … save me… from myself…”

She starts to tremble and quiver while staring off in the distance, watching the road go by. She slouches in her seat as her shoulders raise, visibly tensing before my eyes. Her wings threaten to open as her mind wanders in directions I can only imagine…

‘Save her?’ Mom never needed saving. She always needed to save dad from whatever mess he got us into! Like that time he tried rewiring mom’s amp speaker to be compatible with the home stereo to create an ‘indoor theatre room’ only to then break half the windows in the house and several down the street once he launched Rock Band 3.

I swear I thought Mom was going to kill him that day. She looked like she was going to for a minute, until he microwaved a bag of those dinosaur shaped nuggets-

“And all my stupid mistakes…” I’m interrupted once again. I try to think and deliberate on what could have happened. How her mistakes could cause her to end up like this, instead of the mom that I know and care for. Did she hit her head? Have a near-death experience during an OD and turn to Christianity like tons of ex-junkies? The more I try to piece it together, the more I come to realize; I don’t know squat about my mom’s high school days.

Whatever happened here in Volcano High… That must be whatever caused things to spiral out of control. I glance over my shoulder and in the direction of the school itself. It’s long gone by now. It feels eerie to know I was that close to the answers all along. So close, and yet so far.

“But then he was redeployed, shortly after you and your sister were born-” She hiccups as she clears her throat, moving to wipe a tear from her eye. “I’ll never forget that day for as long as I live, when we first got to hold you and your sister. Oh you clung to me like moss to a rock.”

Lucy lets out a soft giggle as she takes a moment to reach over and rub my cheek. I can’t stop myself from flinching at her claws being so close to my eye. “You know your father was the one to say that when you didn’t let go… I thought it was such a perfect name. He thought otherwise…”

I’m left in deep thought, unsure of what would have become of me if he didn’t say that, but at the same time, that isn’t important right now. I have too many questions.

“Is that why Dad doesn’t like me?” I don’t realize I blurted that out loud until Lucy slams on the brakes. The seat belt jerks along my neck, my legs kick out with the wind knocked out of my lungs, and I slingshot back into my seat with a loud SKREE-ONK!

“Your father DOES love you, sweetie! Why…” She snaps as she whips to shoot me a glare, which quickly diminishes as she catches her breath. She grits her teeth and mutters a blue streak of swears. Her hand is back on my head, but I don’t look up to her.

“I’m… I’m sorry sweetheart. Your father hasn’t been the same since he returned from his deployment. He’s been more and more tired ever since he came back. We have faith, we have a family, but…”

Her voice trails as she lifts her hand, gripping the steering wheel as she slowly rolls up to a complete stop. The car moves again after a moment, and I’m dragged to my side. I wait for her to finish the sentence, but she doesn’t. I can’t expect to get an answer to everything.

“I’m sorry Mommy…” slips out as I try to catch my breath. I race to bite my tongue as hard as I can for even saying that. Stop acting like a fucking baby and man up! I grit my teeth in recoil of the sharp bite on my muscle, forcing myself to talk through my hiss. “I’m… sorry I brought up a heavy topic. I don’t like seeing you upset. And… I don’t like feeling I’m to blame for this. Right now. I want to go back to school.”

Lucy, once again, sighs as she collects her thoughts. It’s only now as I listen to her that I wonder if this is what I sounded like all day. All huffy and pouty while moaning and groaning.

I really am a loser.

I can’t help but think back to the day I’ve had so far. Everything that could have- no- should have gone differently.

“You’re fine Moss, I… I could never be upset at you sweetie. You’re just a sensitive boy, more than most. There’s nothing wrong with that!” She wears a smile and looks to me. It’s different. It feels more like… my mom’s smile. Not like this faker in front of me.

It feels genuine.

“I’m just afraid the world will find more ways to hurt and try to corrupt you because of it.” I feel her wing reach over to my seat and blanket my back.

The rest of the car ride home is silent. As we stop at a red light, I take the silence to piece everything together, just so I can keep my head intact from all the emotional baggage I’ve stumbled into. Lucy’s issues came from Volcano High, and Dad’s came from his deployments. They both have their problems, and yet when faced with me, they’d rather give up as parents and pawn me off to talk to a stranger.

Yeah, because right now, a therapist is what I need after all of this. Maybe she’s right, maybe I do need to seek professional help. But I’m not going to until I know what layer of fresh hell I’ve awoken in. 

I’m about to voice my thoughts on Lucy and Anon ‘giving up’ on me, when a car blared its horn right behind us. The startling noise gave the both of us a reason to jump in our seats. I whip my head back in a momentary panic to see an F-150 who decides to turn on his headlights right as I did.

I veer and twist back into my seat, frantic to cover my face with my hands. Lucy steps on the gas pedal and cruises along, following after the other cars who were long gone by now.

I keep rubbing my eyes and blink, trying to readjust to the world blurring by me as I let her drive. The grass looks pink and the sky looks orange, at least in the center of my eyes. It passes after a few blinks, but it looks pretty cool. Maybe I can do that as my next art project. My vision clears just in time as we pull up the driveway. Lucy stops the car, and I reach for the handle to open up and hop out.

The house was eerily empty. The sunlight was still bleeding through the curtains and illuminating the house, giving a spacious yet ‘liminal’ feel to everything. I’m not used to hearing nothing when we’re home. Between dad camping out on the couch, Amber always running in first, or Car coming to greet us; having a house this empty and quiet feels more nerve-wracking than the onslaught of onomatopoeia that usually accompanies us.

Mom ushers me towards the living room and pats a seat next to her, but… I don’t want to sit down. I just want to go to my room. There’s too much for me to think about that I want to distract myself.

As I reach the landing and hold onto the rail, a wooden clunk of a step behind me lets me know that the matriarch is not going to let me off the hook so easily. I look over my shoulder to see her pleading with me. Her wings sag and her bottom lip curls as she asks me to come over. I shake my head.

“I just… want to… lie down.” My voice is weak as it cracks. I can feel my confidence waning, but hopefully I fool her into thinking I'm drained after today.

I continue up the stairs, but even as I get to my room, I hear her call up after me:

“I’ll be up in a minute to check on your wing!”

A minute is all I need.

I close my door behind me and pull out my phone. I go straight to my music playlists for the perfect song to accompany a day like today, when I’m brought to something different. Nothing I recognize is in his favorites by the looks of it, but I’m not in the mood to brainstorm and remember what I had on shuffle during my last Arma session. I tap on the first song I find, and give a listen.

Not bad. I feel myself start to hum along, murmuring lyrics as I pace about the familiar- yet foreign- room.

I, I could use

A shot your Novocaine

My soul's a fuse

Blows away your name

Then you can be the remedy

And I can be the enemy

And we can go and live as nothing

Then you can be the wanna be

And I can be the remedy

And we can go to hell for all I care

It’s pretty melodramatic, but that’s to be expected at this point. I'm just surprised it's not 'Dirty Little Secret.'

Moss doesn’t have a lot around here. Although then again, neither did I. I just kept everything on my PC aside from a few old trophies and accolades from when I went paintballing with Amber and Jack.

...

I turn my attention to the floor. The less I think about the walls and him the better. There’s a flatscreen TV sitting on an orange rug covering a good third of the room. I’m not good with measurements, but the TV looks like it’s about 3-4 feet wide. There’s an odd console that’s plugged in with a wired controller sitting in the seat of an orange beanbag chair. I’ve been thrift shopping with Sera before when she’s looking for spare parts, so I’m no stranger to seeing old pieces of machinery, but this thing feels archaic even by those standards. Like it’s just as old- if not older- than my parents!

It’s an orange cube with a black circle on top, a couple buttons, and a weird semicircle on the back. If it’s a handle, why isn’t it on the top of the- … nevermind. It’s built like one of those bootleg knock-offs anyway. I wouldn’t know which button turns the dumb thing on in the first place, it’s so worn out that I can’t read any of the labels on it. So like hell I’m going to try it. It would probably start sputtering and combust when I boot it.

Console aside, this whole set looks cozy, but I doubt I’d like any of the games Moss would have, especially if this is wired to the orange an black abomination for shovelware. Seriously, did he get this shit at Lil’ Tru?

I shrug it off and debate on if I want to punt the controller aside and sit down, but I think I’d rather lay back. I kick my timberland boots off and collapse against the mattress, trying not to disturb my wing in the process. I sink into the soft, silk sheets of my bed, it’s warm. Too warm.

To my shock and admitted frustration over this slight inconvenience, I end up kicking off most of my sheets. I recall what Sera told me earlier, how I’m “warm-blooded.” Is this seriously what it’s like? I just get hot all the time and can’t layer up? This blows.

I groan as I get up. Think dammit, there must be some way I can cool off in my own room!

I take a moment to think back on this morning, and how Lucy was happy I… wasn’t under my bed? Is it more comfortable down there? No, what am I saying, of course not. That’s the most retarded thing I’ve thought all day!

… Then again, Moss did call her ‘mommy’ in the car ride. So it’s not like I have any integrity left to lose.

I drop to my knees before crawling onto my stomach. With the wooden floor beneath me, I slide along my front and slip under my lofty bedframe. What would have normally been a few plastic bins of old stuff, some discarded knickknacks, and a misplaced sock or two were nowhere to be found. It was instead empty, and surprisingly clean too. No signs of dustbunnies or dust as a whole to speak of.

Then I’m hit with the gust of cold air from the floor vent on the other side of my bed. It beckons me closer like an alluring temptress, I slide right along with the thick, cotton hoodie serving as a makeshift sled. It’s nice, it’s cold, and it’s dark. It feels… Perfect. Just what I could ask for right now.

The vent hums and rattles with the sound of dull, brown noise. I lean in for a closer look to see there’s still no dust on the frame. Not only that, there’s enough room down here for me to prop my head onto my arms-- like I’m sleeping at my desk in school! Although I never really slept in class that much. Not that I didn’t get the chance to, I just didn’t want to. But now, I have the dark, I’m alone, it’s just me and the crisp air of fall. I fold my arms and lay my head atop, deep breath in, and out…

In, and out…

I can feel myself succumbing to the cold like a wave of sleep coursing through my veins. It’s enough to let me relax, to stop being so tense. But it isn’t until I fully relax and start to think that I remember why I was so wound to begin with.

It was stopping ‘Moss’ from ruining everything I was trying to fix. With Lucy, with Melissa. … With Me. But the more I tried to think about it, the more things just kept going wrong when I opened my mouth. When I tried to fight for my claim.

Am I truly in the wrong? I hunker down with a chill up my spine, an uncomfortable thought; to think everything was my fault all along. I close my eyes and let my nerves finally get to me. For once, I stop fighting what I feel myself wanting to do.

No one can hurt me here, it’s just me.

I can’t hurt anyone here, it’s just me.

No one can see me here, it’s just me.

I can’t disappoint anyone, no one has to worry. I’m out of the way, out of sight and out of mind.

Isn’t it a good thing?

In, and out… In, and out… My breathing slows to a half-asleep huff as I feel my worries and my anxiety melt into the floor, much like my frame. It hurts, and it’s not that comfortable, but that’s what makes it perfect for the time being. It’s so perfect because of the imperfections. How it could be better, how I could be anywhere else, but this feels right.

It feels nice to hide away from my problems, even if it’s for a little bit.

From the distance I hear footsteps- or more specifically- Mom’s heels as she comes up the stairs. I listen intently as she approaches my door, and gives a gentle knock. It’s soft enough that I would miss it if I wasn’t anticipating or actively listening for it. The doorknob twists and clicks, followed by the slight squeak of the hinge that broke when I slammed my door after a fight with Amber.

Even in bizarro land, huh? I chuckle to myself as I try to picture what was being fought over that Moss would get the balls to slam the door shut- especially on a crazed militaristic sister. My guffaw gives me away, as I watch Lucy’s black heels turn to face the bed.

“Moss? Oh, Moss, not this again! You were doing so good this morning!” I can already hear the disappointment in Lucy’s tone as she whines. She drops to her hands and knees. Her neck cranes and angles to get a glimpse of me as I lay still, looking back at her.

“Please come out from under there, let me take a look at your wing… I promise I’ll be quick and then… you can go back under there.” A sinking pain re-emerges in my stomach. It will only get worse if I stay put, but I don’t want to move. Part of me wants to stay put and see what happens if I keep pushing, but with Moss being a wimp, I’m pretty sure I’d form another traumatic memory… Somehow. I never thought I could hate myself so much, or be so pathetic.

I climb towards the light and pull myself out. My fingertips ring around the metallic bedframe, and I slide along the wooden floor. A look in her eyes tells me the bout of disappointment. But as I lay there, staring back up, I harden. My fortitude, my strength, I have everything to remind myself that she’s not my mom. She will never be ‘Mom’ to me.

We exchanged a glance for what felt like a minute too long after I stood next to the bed with her. The sound of birds chirping outside and the rattle of the AC broke the silence between us. I watch her lift a single finger and poke at my wing.

A sharp pain jabs right in the center, my synapses send shock after shock of pain shooting through my neurons and nerves, up the base of my limb, and all the way up my spine. It retracts when I seize and pull away, grit my teeth and hiss as I recoil in a sharp gasp. I clinch my eyes shut and grab my pillow to scream into…

Only I never made it to the bed. I grasped whatever I could and squeezed, my breathing heavy and desperate. Fast, rough, almost a wheeze as I fight back to hold myself together. My head is left swimming with a cumbersome dizziness enshrouding me. I wanted to scream at first, but now I’m holding my mouth shut. It’s the only thing holding me back from being sick again, so I force myself to swallow, no matter how much it burns the back of my throat.

The weight of the world threatens to drag me down with it as my knees buckle, my arm trembles. I stay standing. If I collapse now, it will only make things worse.

I might stop being in control again.

My hand grips onto whatever I’m holding, my teeth threatening to grind into dust with how hard I grit, until I manage to open my eyes and blink back the tears that started to form.

I’m holding onto her shoulders. My face had been pressed against her upper chest, mere inches from her breasts. My eyes go wide with horror as I’m left standing in what feels like the stalling of time itself.

Was… Was that reflexive, again? Was that my conscious doing? No, No I wouldn’t do this sort of thing, hell no!

I’m ripped from my confusion with Lucy taking me by my hand. She guides me to the edge of my bed, but I’m hesitant to sit. I don’t want her to think I'm worse off than I let on. I don’t want to give her any more reasons to drag me to a therapist.

Her eyes are shut, she’s frowning, she’s… holding herself, just like in my art project. It’s enough for my facade to crack.

I plop myself down next to her, and do the only thing I know how to make things better. I wrap my arms around her sides, press my snout into the crook of her neck, and I whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Lucy quickly shook her head and dismissed it, holding onto me and rubbing along the back of my wing with her hand.

“You don’t need to be sorry Moss. I… I poked it, I should have clipped my claws back more, I shouldn’t have touched it when it’s still a fresh wound, I…” Her words start to slur together as her grip tightens, “it’s all my fault.”

Her chest presses to me as I feel her pop my back from how hard she’s hugging me. I fight to have my lungs fill with air as I force myself to stay calm. I want to speak up. To tell her that I’m fine, to tell her that she’s okay, that she wasn’t hurting me. It’s a lie, sure, but a white lie never hurt anyone.

I open my mouth, but the bile from before threatens to return with a vengeance. I quickly clamp back up. A minute or two passed as she held me, running her fingertips through my hair. I swallowed my nerves and stress, hoping to keep it down while I speak.

“I’m okay Mom, I promise… You didn’t hurt me.” She lets go of me so I can speak. Her make-up is already running, I can’t risk messing up now. “I’m perfectly fine Mom, can I please go back?” I try to ask again, I don’t like seeing her this upset, and knowing I’m the reason why makes me feel even worse.

She reaches out one last time to my wing, her palm glides against the bandages. I let out a sigh and smile, thinking I was finally in the clear.

“Why are you lying to me, Moss?” Her voice was cold and slow, as if she was afraid of asking altogether. My eyes locked onto hers. I could only imagine the fear she was seeing, because when I saw her, all I could see was despair.

Her sadness was replaced with a black, gaping void. No joy, no tears, not even exhaustion. Her eyelids hung low, much like her frown. Like a deer in headlights coming to, I scramble frantically to gather my racing thoughts of panic. But from it, I can only bring myself to say-

“What do you mean? I’m not lying…” My answer is quickly met with a shake. 

“No. You’re not fine.” She put a hand on my shoulder, it took everything I had to not push her away. But with her leaning so close, grilling me so thoroughly, I can’t even look at her. “Why are you preening so much, Moss? Is it your father? Is it Shiloh? Is it a bully? Is it because I’ve been a horrible mother?! I-... It can be fixed, I promise! I-I promise!”

I shift once again in my seat. Holy hell that is a lot of baggage to unpack at once. My knee-jerk instincts take center stage, as I’m left wondering 'What?'

But, it’s not what I feel myself asking.

“Why?”

“That’s what I want to know, sweetie… You had to go to the nurse’s office because of the feathers ripped out of your wing, the principal told me.” She sets her hand on my knee as she looks over. Her voice was just as dead as before, but less shaky. Stern and foreboding. A side I can’t remember ever seeing from this woman.

“I… I know, but-” I stammer and force myself to speak, but not as much as I’m taking deep breaths to hold it together. If she found out I was bullied, I don't want to imagine what kind of lengths she'd go to in her intermittent panic. If all of this is just over me preening then... I can't imagine the alternatives.

She's not the mom I know.

“I-I fell, a-and my friend tried pulling me up by my wing… He’s a baryonyx! He just- didn’t know better!” I stammer and stumble to frantically try to explain. Putting as much emphasis as I can into portraying it as a freak accident, and not a bully tearing me apart for hugging and holding his girlfriend during lunch.

Lucy is taken aback by everything. Her motions reached a complete standstill, like a statue had been set on my bed. I stood there and cautiously stepped forward, continuing to eye her for any sign of movement before she suddenly yanked me into a hold. Her chin met my shoulder, and her breathing started to break into an ugly, pitiful wail.

Her wings draped to blanket me in her soft, downy winghug. Through the tears and feathers, I could faintly hear her thanking Raptor Jesus. For answering her prayers, for blessing me with ‘untainted joy,’ and saying “thank god” over and over.

I feel part of myself wondering if she’s going to the confessional after this week for how many times she’s saying the lord’s name. As I sit here, listening to her sobs as my wing throbs in pain, I remember the last time I felt like this. When I over-preened and she had a complete meltdown.

I wanted an answer, and… I feel like I’ll get it now.

“Lucy, why were you so worried I over-preened? Is it because of that one time?” I pulled myself away from the hug and stood up, looking to the bedframe. I hoped it would be enough to tell her I wanted to go back under, but she kept her legs in the way and blocked it.

“It’s… It’s a long story, Moss… A long, painful story…” I can already see her tense up and dig her claws into her arms over it. Just looking at her wince at the thought of it makes me feel guilty for my curiosity, but not as much as my curiosity brings the better of me. I shake my head, and force myself to speak.

“Does it have to do with high school?”

Lucy fidgets as she tries to look away. Her hands reach to the sides of her head. She stops halfway, and instead returns to digging her claws into her arms, puncturing little holes in her sundress.

“Yes…”

I know she’s not my real mom, but… fuck. It doesn’t hurt any less to see her unravel this much over a simple question. Was it something she experienced like this, too? No, wait… She was upset about preening.

She must have overpreened a lot. The ‘why’ remains to be seen but… I think I can piece it together without grilling her for more information.

“It’s okay Lucy…” I call out as I put my hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me.”

She looks back at me, brows furrowed. “It’s Mom, Moss. Call me Mom. Are you trying to be rebellious like your sister?”

I jerk back with wide eyes at her sudden snap. I'm left in a momentary stasis before shaking my head.

“N-No Mom! S-Sorry Mom.” I look down and give her big, wet, puppy eyes while I pull a frown. A pathetic sight, but it’s enough to get her to stop being mad at me. She gigges as she runs her fingers through my hair, lifting my bangs to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“Please be more careful around school, sweetie. I’ll head out shortly to pick up Shiloh.” Lucy gets up and leaves my room, leaving me to return to the quiet, cold comforts under my bed. Where it’s just me, my thoughts, and the box spring barely hanging over the floor. I slide on my back this time, wanting to fold my arms behind me.

I don’t want to lay on my stomach anytime soon.

I take a deep breath from the smothering presence that has finally left me. A weight off my chest, my back, lifted off me in general. I know she loves me dearly, but I wish she wasn’t so… clingy. I’m pretty sure if I tripped in front of her right now, she’d come rushing over to help me up.

I stare up at the underside of my mattress, looking at what appears to be shapes clawed and scraped into the furniture. I can't imagine anyone else laying under here, so these must be from me. Some look better than others, I must have done this a lot over the years.

There’s a crude picture of Shiloh- I think, a picture of Dad standing in the doorway in front of a little me and Shiloh- if Dad was a ptero figure rather than a human. Must’ve been when Shiloh and I would wonder what our father looked like for so long. I feel a fuzzy memory linked to it, but can't get any details.

Below that was a picture of me happy with a snack. But none were as prominent as the cross etched before me. A constant reminder of faith. I felt the need to pray, but… I wouldn’t know or care about that sort of thing. So instead I left myself to close my eyes and relax.

Even with my solitude in the dark, I can’t bring myself to calm down. No matter how many deep breaths I take, I feel myself growing anxious as I keep thinking about what happened between me and Lucy. For everything she said and did, wanting to lie and pretend nothing was wrong for me, wanting to hide it all away.

I held myself back from asking the question to piecing together everything.

'What was any of this?'

3:15pm

Weather? Same as before. Cold and partly cloudy with a mild chance of rain.

I reach to turn off the radio in the car while Lucy keeps driving. I would have been perfectly comfortable with staying under my bed and in my room, but I’m trying that whole ‘do what feels right’ thing.

And right now, riding with Lucy to pick my “sister” up from school feels like the right thing after reading through the 15 different schizo-rambling texts I got from her asking what Jack did to me, if this was on purpose, and them asking if I was 'still there' and that she'd leave our class to come check on me. Which also meant we shared the last class of the day.

Raptor Jesus threw me a bone at long last.

The car ride, unlike before, is quiet but there’s no tension. It’s the first time I can finally take my mind off everything and enjoy the ride. The cool air on my face, the sights of town going by, the hum of the car itself. It’s enough to make me forget that I’m not really ‘me.’

At least until I watch us make the turn to Volcano High and pull up to the car-rider line. I catch sight of Shiloh talking to Sera. I'm honestly surprised they'd still talk together. I guess not everything is different like I've come to expect.

They’re waiting out front just like the rest of the students. They both wave to me as I glance out my window. Shiloh steps to the door right behind me, and pops it open.

“Moss! What the hell happened!” Shiloh called as soon as she opened the door. She tossed her bag across the back of the car, letting it slump against the opposite door as she buckled her seat belt. I turned back to answer just as she pulled her door shut, but felt my cheek nudge with a bony jab.

An “eep!” escaped Lucy’s lips as I recoiled from the sudden turn. Our combined collision gave Shiloh quite the chuckle, easing her worries. … Somewhat.

Lucy turned to make sure Shiloh had her seat belt buckled before pulling out of the line, continuing to drive along the road. I gave a moment to hesitate before answering, unsure if Lucy was going to speak up on my behalf or not.

“I… My wing…” I leaned over the shoulder of my seat to talk to Shiloh. She leaned closer and tilted her head… I’m too quiet. I try to speak up, but my voice is drowned out by her mother’s.

“Kids…” Lucy turns down the opposite street as she interrupts me, heading the opposite way from where we came. The hum of the road filled the silence until she finished gathering her thoughts. “How about I take you out for milkshakes? Just the three of us. Let’s not dwell on… everything.” She holds the brake as we wait at a stop sign, taking the moment to flash us a quick smile. Shiloh’s face lights up at the idea, but I… feel numb. I feel nothing, no excitement, no joy, I just feel grey. Is this just her trying to sugarcoat everything again, to distract Shiloh so I don’t have to tell her? It’s… nice but, I kind of wanted to talk to Shiloh about this. To get her insight on what I should do from here. She knows me better than Lucy does, I think.

I feel like a bag of concrete was dropped onto my chest and I’m struggling to breathe or speak. It's not until Shiloh kicks the back of my seat and jostles me that I snap to. Especially now that she starts to hassle.

“Moss! Are you in there?!” She barks, loud enough to get a look from the driver.

“No shouting in the car, Shiloh sweetie.” Her voice is almost as hushed as mine was, yet she looks at me expectantly. “Do you want to stop before we head home?” I bit my lip and stared at the floor, giving a nod. I can’t bring myself to say anything. Not with this weight on my chest, not with her amber eyes peering at me, and not with things seeming to be calm. My weak, non-committal nod seems to do enough to satisfy her with a hum. “Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

We stopped by an old 50’s styled diner, simply called “Diner.” Despite being open for almost a century, it’s held up quite nicely. The red, white, and black paint looks brand-new, the checkered theme runs along the floor and walls, makes me feel like I’m watching Fast Racer on the rerun channels. I can only imagine this is the kind of place Grandpa and Grandma would go to. They’d probably put a quarter in the radio machine in the corner, clear out a table or two, and start dancing up a storm. Of course, that was when things were easy.

A yellow bambiraptor waitress with pink, braided hair rolls up to us wearing a pair of roller skates, a short bodice with a flared skirt, and a pearly white smile plastered on her face.

“Table for three?” She asks in a chipper tone, pulling a pen out of her apron alongside a miniature notepad. I continue to look at the floor, this conversation doesn’t need me.

I trail behind Lucy and Shiloh, the latter of whom was eager to get seated and order. I sat next to Shiloh, adjacent from the matriarch, as the waitress set down the menus. Perfect, a means of hiding away. I pretend to look busy while I hold my head, thumbing idly over the laminated paper at a picture of a footlong hotdog slathered in condiments. I tap along and continue to try and drown the world out around me as they go through the typical inquiries. “How are you” “What can I get you started with” “Are you ready to order,” with every question I feel that pit in my stomach grow and surge. Stopping me in my tracks from even thinking about speaking up. My mouth stays shut, and I just keep listening as the others order.

“And what about you, sir?” The waitress glances down at me. At least, I assume she does. I don’t want to look up. I just keep staring at the menu, trying to drag myself out of this moment. My hand bunches into a fist as I try to take a deep breath. Just like all the other times, it doesn’t help.

“He’ll have a cookies ‘n cream milkshake.” I hear Lucy speak up on my behalf, I’m as thankful as I am guilty for not being able to do it myself. No, I need to calm down. This is just a family outing, a time to just relax. I can fill Shiloh in later and talk about the heavy things when I'm ready.

The waitress nods and rolls back to the bar, wheeling by the empty seats and tears off the ticket from her notepad before hollering into the kitchen. I glance around and, aside from one or two booths, this place is scarily empty. I grab my phone and check the time.

4:09PM.

Guess it’s too early for rush hour. I tuck my phone away and turn back to the table, cluing in on the conversation at hand.

“So, Shiloh, how was your day at school today?” Mom leaned over the table as she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling her bangs back to drape over her shoulder as she smiled.

“Meh, boring as always…” Shiloh shrugged and rolled her eyes, “But not that bad… I got to play soccer with Maria during Gym class this morning. So, Moss, what happened to your-”

“Oh, perfect! You’ll be in great shape when it starts in the Spring! What else did you do today?” Lucy interjects with a brief remark of praise as she shifts the focus, leaning over the table and giving her full attention to Shiloh. This level of desperation is not lost on me, but unfortunately is on Shiloh as she scratches the side of her head. Seriously? You don’t see what’s going on here!?

My supposed-sister mentioned I got lost that morning, to which Lucy assured her I was fine. But then the two don’t even give a passing glance towards me. It’s like I’m invisible, a spectator to my own family as the matriarch keeps dancing around any topic of me being brought up. At least until Shiloh found a clever way to casually bring it up.

“So, what did Jack do to your wing? Is he bullying you or did you get in a fight? I swear if he's bullying you, I’m going to tie his dick in a knot!”

As casual and clever as the blunt side of a sledgehammer to a statue, that is.

I looked at Shiloh after she pressed me with the million-dollar question, pounding her fist to the table as she made her declaration. Our maternal figure quelled both it and the question as soon as the topic was brought up. She shook her head and placed her hand on Shiloh’s wrist.

“Shiloh, language! You are not going to be doing anything like that, and please do not talk about Moss’ wing.” She clarified as she spoke with conviction, for once. It’s enough to get me to look up and eye Lucy.

“I’ll tell you later, sweetie. Your brother’s been having… issues… as of late, very personal issues.” I look at her as I’m left puzzled in my seat. Is she even listening to the conversation at hand? This has nothing to do with my issues! Is she just pushing me aside to just keep ignoring everything? Screw this. I'm done beating around the bush with Lucy.

“Yeah, he did.” I go ahead and pipe up, answering Shiloh’s question. I quickly tune the rest of the conversation out as I look back down and browse through my phone. My distraction for myself is completely null and void when Shiloh thrashes about in our seat, vowing to kill him. Lucy practically loses her feathers as she tries to get her to calm down, reaching over the table, her voice pleading for Shiloh to settle down, and yet here I am completely bewildered. I'm left staring at the basket cases of this family unravel all because I ripped the band-aid off.

This was not the best choice I made.

I killed the whole point of this family outing, and my reward is to watch what is supposed to be my mother trying to control a roused and pissed off halfie of a sister. If I got Lucy’s… problems… then she definitely got Dad’s anger.

I wipe my forehead as I start to feel clammy, my mouth squeezing shut as I grit my teeth and hold my head. I’m… I didn’t mess up… I’m fine… I’m fine, everything is fine. Everything that matters is fine- Things will just boil over. Shiloh’s gonna forget this, and things are gonna move on. Nothing ever changes, anyway… So there’s nothing wrong. I recite the usual talks I see on Cynthia's /pol/ pages as I pull my head to look up, facing forward as I mutter my mantra. 

Everything is fine.

“Drinks’re here!” A cheery hum of the waitress pulls my head out of the sand. It feels like a pressing cloud lingers over the table as everything goes quiet between the three of us. I look to my 'sis,' then 'mother.' The matriarch is shooting a vicious glare as her wings are spread. Between the feathers strewn about her side of the table, the strain on her face to stay quiet, and the claws raking across the tabletop, it’s enough to make me want to hide under the table and stay quiet. I glance back to Shiloh, who eyes the table and avoids looking at her mother. Under her breath, I catch her muttering a temporary ‘truce’ in the argument. It hangs with as much confidence as a leaf in a hurricane. One twitch would be all it took for the gates to break loose again.

I grip the base of the glass and slide it towards me, giving it a moment for the ice cream to start thawing so I can drink it through the straw. Shiloh’s taken to sipping hers like a glass of milk, and Mom unwrapped the neatly-folded cloth to dig into hers with a spoon. She plucked the maraschino cherry up with some whipped cream, and bit as she tried to steer the conversation once again. Talking about work, talking about Shiloh's homework, and taking a moment to say that dad can help with her science homework.

I get wanting to break the tension, but I was still on edge. Even with Shiloh and Lucy calling a 'truce' that it will be discussed later, there was still the looming threat that could rain down like a maelstrom of feathers and frantic claws… And this was just Shiloh’s efforts to try and get to the door!

She wouldn’t actually fly out and hunt down Jack… right?

I pray she inherited Anon’s sense of smell and not Lucy’s. Otherwise, I might be listening to the evening report cover a homicide tonight at 11.

I get hit with the sweet taste of chocolate and vanilla, but with everything that happened, I can hardly say I’m thirsty. I struggle to swallow the mouthful I already have. My throat hardened like I had drunk powdered concrete mix, and if my teeth weren’t freezing and sending jitters through my arms, I would have thought it was. I force myself to swallow the melting mix of ice cream and slush. 

The cool ice cream feels great on my throat. And even though it feels undeserved, it leaves me with the first genuine smile I’ve felt in hours. My cheeks tingle with the joy as I gladly help myself. A little pick-me-up in the day is never a bad thing, and right now it’s doing wonders for the growing pit in my stomach. Numbing it with the cold treat, crunching on the cookies, and the frigid ache working its way to my temples. It’s enough for me to wish I had some of Grandma Sam’s Apple Pie to go with this.

“Moss? Moss?” I feel the gentle prod of a butter knife to my arm as Mom calls out to me. I sat upright, wide-eyed and a mouthful of ice cream. Shiloh mirrored my surprise looking right back at me.

“Moff, Mom wammff you!”

“Shiloh! Don’t talk with your mouth full!” Lucy scoffs lightly as she rolls her eyes. “Didn’t I teach you kids some manners?” 

“Yah Shywoh!” I joined in with my cheeks stretched with ice cream. It earns me an annoyed look from Lucy and a shove from Shiloh.

“Moss, did you want a to-go cup?” Lucy asks as she tries to push past the little scuffle between me and the ogre I have to call Shiloh. I give a nod and swallow when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pick it up, and see a text waiting for me. It’s from Melissa.

Are you still coming today?

Shit.