A Fool's Coming

Ch. 2 - Getting Ready for Destruction

A/N:

I was typing as fast as humanely possible

Typing Plus has trained me well

~

I stomp my way over to Alex, who stands at the end of the alleyway he told me to meet. He leans against a rusty fence, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

The more I look at him, the more angry I get. Once I get close enough, I clutch onto the reminisce of my destroyed phone and throw it to his chest.

He doesn't bother catching it, not even giving it a glance as it falls to the ground with a clatter.

"The fuck was that for?" He doesn't even look pissed, just tired.

"You put a tracker on my phone! You fucking creep!"

He sighs, "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd disagree. If things go... badly, I need to know your location."

"What does that mean?" I cry out, clutching my brown hair, spinning around, and showing my back to him. "Gods, help me."

There was a moment of silence; Alex's fidgeting could be heard. I don't turn around until I listen to him wince loudly.

He holds his arm, a look of discomfort splayed across his face.

I try to look at him, but he avoids my gaze. "What?" I ask.

"Fuck! Nothing, I just broke my wrist." He sounds exasperated.

"Just?!" I repeat hysterically, "You said people died—what the hell happened?"

He shakes his head, still avoiding my eyes. "A lot. A lot happened."

I raise my arms in the air, "Well, no shit! I'm asking about the events that occurred! The Syndicate attacked you and your men?"

"That, and some more." He shook his head slowly. And finally, he met my gaze, and a look of disgust crossed his face.

"What?" I glare back at him.

"You just... you look exactly like Ares. I'd bet you'd still look the same if he took off the mask."

Now I'm pissed, looking away. "Please stop comparing me to him."

He takes a step forward with a sign and whips out a cigarette from his pocket and a lighter.

"Wanna take a drag?" He asked me.

"No."

"You used to do it in high school."

"Yeah, but Sally told me to quit."

He scoffed, a smirk poorly hidden on his face while he lit a cigarette. He holds it in his mouth, his voice muffled. "Do you do everything she tells you?"

"I try to."

"Now I'm wondering who really is the bitch in that relationship." He exhales some smoke.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

His smirk just grows, "Straight to the point. I like it."

"You seem much more relaxed than you were on the phone."

He lifts up his cigarette, some smoke lingering in the atmosphere. "It helps."

It really does. That's the entire point why I took it; the smoke helped call my nerves. Gods, it made me cough all the time, though.

"I hear you," I say at last. He doesn't respond as he just looks away. Way to make things awkward.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, "I know I'm basically signing your death sentence by doing this, but..."