ʍoɹplǝss, ᵇⁱˡˡⁱᵉ ᵉⁱˡⁱˢʰ

012: Dishonorable

The air was skin-biting. Billie's hums were enchanting amongst the breeze. I didn't want to go home, and with every click of my bike's chain reminding me that we would ultimately arrive and part ways, my heart lurched and rattled with my ribs.

"The sky's awfully pretty tonight," Billie uttered, her pearly teeth competing with the stars. I stared at her, wondering what the hell would I be doing at this moment if I had not encountered Billie that day.

"Awfully pretty indeed," I muttered back, yanking my gaze off her to set it on the sky. Billie glanced at me for a second, eyes gleaming with something I couldn't quite pinpoint at the moment.

"Is it okay if I ask you something, Ambrose?" Billie leaned her bike closer. "You can ignore me if it's. . . not something you wish to. . . divulge?"

"Go ahead?" I quirked a brow at her, amusement still playing along the seams of my voice. She cleared her throat and pondered. Her blues never pulled off, only kept analyzing me as if I were under a microscope. I was nervous, sure, but. . . There is not but. I was nervous.

"Okay, so. . ." she finally began, "I noticed something earlier. While we were talking, I mean. You seemed distracted. By something. . . behind me." I looked at her then, fully focused and drawn by her words. She bit her lip, eyes now dark and shadowed.

I thought back to when she spoke of her misfortunes. Her bruises, her past filled with moments of her voluntarily becoming someone's punching bag. My brain couldn't breathe as those words spilled from her teeth—it was swirling with ugly memories. Memories that contained none other than my wolf in sheep's clothing: Jace. He tore his way back in, out from the depths of my mind like shark emerging from the darkness of the sea. And his eyes, fangs, and claws were sharper and more alive than ever before.

He had loomed behind Billie most of the time, but his claws were gleaming dangerously with the lights of her room. He was angry—furious. And he wanted to tear me and Billie to shreds.

There was a moment where he blended in with darkness of his corner, then reappeared right behind Billie. His paw latched around her neck, claws digging into her nape. Blood rivulets acted as a necklace, surrounding the whole of her neck. She didn't know this, of course. It was merely a figment of my ruined mind, yet I panicked. I panicked, but I kept it down and held on to ever word she uttered.

"Ambrose?"

"Yes. . . I, um." I shook my head, clearing it of its daze. "I was distracted a bit, wasn't I."

"Yeah. . . Is it okay if I ask you by what?"

"If I told you, you'd think I'm absurd." I made a left into a dimmer street, and Billie followed quickly.

"I wouldn't think that at all." She paused, considering something. "You know I wouldn't."

"I suppose you're right." I smiled weakly, only looking down at the black road for a second before refocusing forward. I contemplated if I should or should not, worrying what her reaction may be. What would I even say? My brain conjures up figments of people who have had an impact on my life. Either negatively or positively. It places them in weird ranks—as if this were all some fairytale filled with Knights, Kings and Queens, and wolves in sheep's clothing. Satisfied with that answer? I hope so because I have no other explanation to offer.

"Again, Ambrose, you don't have to tell me anything–"

"It would be quite unfair if I were not open with you, right? When you're always so willing to tell me anything." I surprised myself with that response, but I didn't show it.

"I'm not. . . unrestricted with you with the expectation of receiving the same from you," she said firmly, arms waving around in gestures.

"Well, too bad. You've withdrawn me right out from my comfort zone," I said. "You're stuck on the receiving end of my newfound want to reciprocate." A laugh left me, resonating with Billie's. He laugh overpowered mine, even if it was just a light puff of a laugh.