Something Counterfeit's Dead || EN ||

V

Apart from glares, nobody is speaking to Agatha the next morning.

Not that it bothered her. They are all annoying anyway, and at least she's free of Teen's questions. Even though she still catches herself turning her head to look at him or waiting for the inevitable "How?" whenever she mentions something. But it never comes and always leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

Agatha leads the group through the Road, confident and level-headed as always. It doesn't matter that the others keep a noticeable distance from her, whispering to each other, laughing, and forming friendships. Who needs that?

She feels eyes in the back of her head—sometimes multiple, but one pair never leaves. Agatha feels they belong to one particular teen.

Since their run-in last night, they have yet to talk to each other. Agatha won't lower herself to come to him for forgiveness, and Teen is currently preoccupied with the overprotectiveness of the rest of the coven. They are like hounds, constantly watching Agatha as if she were planning to jump in and cut Teen's throat any moment. Alice is by his side, apparently teaching him some self-defense moves by Teen's constant shouts and Alice's apologies. Lilia encourages him to talk to her about his feelings, and Jennifer tries to convince him to let her heal the bruise on his cheek.

For the first time, Agatha finds herself agreeing with Jennifer. Last night, with the fire dim and the darkness covering half his face, it didn't look that bad. But when Teen woke up and moved closer, warming his hands over the flames, Agatha caught herself staring at it for multiple minutes. She could see the faintest shape of her hand across his cheeks, the top of her fingers ending just under his eye. The color wasn't the same in all parts – some spots were dark red, some deep purple, some almost black. For a few seconds, she felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and cup that side of his face, cover that awful mess she made with a gentle touch of her hand, soothe the irritated skin, and make it better. Apologize for ever laying a hand on him.

But she didn't.

She just stared at it until Teen noticed. For a moment, they looked at each other over the fire, the light dancing over their faces. To Agatha's surprise, no hate or coldness was in his eyes anymore. Teen's gaze was warm and still full of childish hope everything would be alright. His lips formed a slight smile that made a tiny dimple appear in the middle of the bruise, and he opened his mouth. Agatha leaned forward, ready to accept anything he chose to say – whether it was cursing her or forgiving her – but right at that moment, he let out a hiss of pain and quickly put his hand on the left side of his face – the bruised side of his face – and held it there for a few seconds, closing his eyes as he let out a quiet sigh. Before Agatha could move to ask him what was wrong, Jennifer was already by his side, urging him to go away with her so she could make him something for the pain.

All of this nonsense about caring for him and he still slept only in his hoodie last night – with the way Alice is glued to Teen's side, Agatha expected Teen to be ordered to sleep by Alice's side and under her jacket (and as far away from Agatha as possible), but no, Jennifer had to sneak in there, only thinking about herself as usual. She could've stayed awake longer and worked on the lotion for the bruise, but no. She had to secure the best spot for a nap.

Agatha kind of wishes she had left her coat draped over Teen a little longer in the morning, just to see all of them flip out. But as soon as Agatha noticed the tiniest movement around the campfire, she quickly snatched the coat back. But she did find some more wood to make the fire brighter and warmer—not that anybody noticed.

Agatha watched Teen leave her with Jennifer and clenched her fist in anger, helplessly trying to summon any bit of magic that Wanda might have forgotten. She wanted to be the one to help him – she hurt him. She should be the one to make it right.