Hawk Point *ON HOLD*

Chapter Sixteen: Beauty of a Broken Angel

*I really need to start editing*

"Picture something calming. A beach---white sand, crashing blue waves, you're strolling along the tide line..."

Aven ceases his pacing. "That sounds very romantic."

The girl sitting on the sofa sighs and runs her hands through her thick auburn hair. The night is cold, the icy air creeping in through the window panes. Emily is in her pink-and-white striped pyjamas and her feet are bare, despite the chilly floorboards.

"Okay, whatever," she says exasperatedly, "But you're freaking me out with all your freaking out. What's the big deal? You need to calm down."

Aven's lips tighten into a thin line. "Calm down?" he asks, his words hissing past his teeth, "You don't know where they are! Do you not see how late it is? You know well enough how much I hate Dustin and when I see the way he looks at her, it makes me hate him even more."

"Why, you jealous?"

"No." With an irritated huff, Aven continues to pace the length of the small living room, steering  around Emily's pile of One Direction CD's. 

Emily scowls and leans back into the cushions, her arms crossing over her chest. "Well you're no fun," she states bluntly, "And before you can say something totally dumb and Aven-like, let me say something to that really weird face of yours and it's going to sound stupid but I'm going to say it anyways: you've changed. I don't know if you even noticed it yourself but you did change. You've gone soft."

"Just perfect," Aven says and falls onto the sofa, beside Emily, "Now I have to redeem myself. Maybe I should steal from Nuns and burn down an orphanage or some shit like that, just for the sake of doing it."

"No, that's not the kind of soft I meant." Emily takes a strand of crimson hair, twirling it between her index and her thumb. "It's a good kind of soft; it makes you seem...human. You've actually started to care for people."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Does it offend you?"

"It makes me want to steal from Nuns and burn down orphanages."  

"Listening to you makes me want to drive a knife through your spine." Emily says bluntly. She leans forwards, her fingers entwining on her lap, "But since I can't exactly do that, I'll just stick with witty comments and harsh remarks."

"How kind," Aven mutters sarcastically, "I'll try to remember that the next time you get me angry."

"You won't hurt me," Emily states matter-of-factly, "I can see right through your silly facade; you try to act all cold and concieted but you just feel lonely. And you care for the people around you. No one really knows you so they all think---"

But Aven doesn't want to find out what they all think. Instead, he brings himself to his feet and walks to the picture window that overlooks a small garden. He stands there for a moment, the light from the moon coming through the window turning the edges of his hair silver. Then he moves, so quickly that Emily doesn't even have time to react. By the time she sees what is about to happen and rushes forward to prevent it, it is already to late to stop the damage.

There is a loud crash---the sound of glass shattering---and a sudden shower of broken shards like falling, jagged stars. Aven looks at his right hand, his knuckles stained red, with a clinical interest as the fat crimson drops snake down to his wrist.

Emily slews her gaze from Aven to the hole in the window, thread-like lines expanding out from the empty center, a spiderweb of thin cracks. "Oh my God Aven," she says in such a soft voice that she even surprises herself,  "What am I supposed to tell mom?"