Flame Touch

Chapter 28-Knox

I was still in a bit of a shocked state.

No, not because of the ‘traumatic experience’ (as Melody puts it), but because I had lost my bow. I. Lost. My. Bow.

After we had been taken hostage, bleach head took my weapon and I never got the chance to take it back (seeing as I was unconscious), I felt like a part of me was lost and Taris’s words echoed in my head: “Don’t lose it. It can’t break, but it’s one of a kind and can’t be remade.”

I am so screwed.

I guess no one else bothered to interrupt my thoughts because they all thought I was still suffering from the “trauma” (again, as Melody puts it). Have I mentioned that I absolutely hate pity? Two years ago my mom drove us into a car crash and I broke my arm. The guy we crashed into said he was sorry so many times that I punched him in the face. With the same arm.

Well, you get the point.

Melody and Sunny were talking and laughing about something and Semba was still eating ice cream (a bottomless pit, I assure you).

He was sitting next to me and after what seemed like ages, asked me what was wrong.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I replied when he asked the fifth time. He looked unconvinced, so I decided to simply tell him since he was insisting.

“I lost my bow.”

“No you didn’t.”

The reply was so unexpected that I just stared at him for a while. It was almost telling someone you ate all the cheerios and them replying, “Nope.” I guess I stared at him for a little too long because he shuffled and motioned for me to hold my arm out. I gasped when I saw my mark (the arrow) glowing silver.

“Put your other hand over it and think about your bow.” Semba said as I continued to stare at my arm. I did as he told, and yelped when my bow reappeared in my hands. Not a new bow, my bow.

“How-wait-but…Taris said..?” I babbled, still not believing in what I saw and cast him a confused glance. He shrugged and simply stated that Taris lied because he didn’t want me to think that I could just leave my bow wherever I wanted without any responsibility in mind.

“And you didn’t correct him?!” I asked furiously.

“Hey, he did it for a reason.”

“A stupid reason!”

“Well it wasn’t my fault! Maybe it wasn’t a stupid reason.”

“I’m responsible!” I said, getting ready to jump up in frustration.

Yup. That was stupid.

Aside from the fact that there was a tornado under my feet, the burnt skin on my back and stomach roared in agony at the slight movement and I was forced to stuff my face inside the couch to prevent myself from screaming. When I had firmly made sure my body was not on fire again, I took deep breaths, all the while trying not to breathe in cotton fluff. When I turned back to face Semba, his look of annoyance was replaced by concern.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered and sunk lower into the chair. The look on his face didn’t go away and I felt my temper rise, “Don’t. Look. At. Me. Like. That.” I repeated louder and he finally tore his eyes away from my bandaged side (Sunny did the bandaging. First Aid 101 really did come in handy). A sad look was still on his face though and I wanted to slap it away, “I’m fine alright!” I yelled when it still didn’t come off. He looked up in shock, as if just remembering I was there. The shock turned into anger.

“Why are you yelling again?” he seethed.

“Because I hate-!”

“What? Me?” He yelled back, interrupting me, “Listen I’m sorry ok? I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out before Gemini hit you! I’m sorry I couldn’t do it sooner! I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough! I understand if you- and now, you-I mean-it’s,” he beckoned weakly to my bandages, “it’s my dad all over again.” He finished hoarsely.

I was my turn to look shocked.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I understand if you hate me.” He sighed and looked away.

“I said,” I thought about turning so that he would face me, but then decided against that risk, “What the bloody hell are you talking about? Why would I hate you, other than for being an essay stealing jerkwad.”

“You don’t-”

“No! Honestly you’d think I’m in one of those Indian dramas. I can hear practically hear the sound effects in the background.”

“That would be the tornado.” He replied with a lopsided smile, “So, what do you hate?”

“Huh?”

“You were saying that you hated something.”

“Oh!” I realized embarrassingly slowly, “I just hate that look. Of pity. It…annoys me.” I finished lamely, “But what about you? How did I remind you of your dad? It’s not like the injuries are the same or anything. Is it just because we’re getting closer to India that you’re thinking of that-er-incident more?”

Semba just nodded and I tried to keep a look of sympathy from creeping onto my face to avoid looking like a hypocrite. Apparently I wasn’t succeeding because he started laughing like crazy, and after a couple moments of feigned anger, I joined him.