It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

40. The Last

The first thing Troye does is try to close the door. Inside him, he has this tired anger—she is the enemy who regenerates again and again and again and—so he does not go to slam it. He's better than that, so he moves with this simple, graceful disgust. Dismissing the door towards her face like a shunning, his quiet is much louder than words he thinks.

Frankly, he was done with her antics; this fact was well-known, by Beth especially. She saw it everywhere, like graffiti in her little train station world. From Sharpie frowny-faces on the bathroom walls—Connor's refusal to look in her immediate direction—to arches of paint on the tallest walls—the couple's friends with the same colours speckling their venomous side-glances and sneers.

However, like Troye's current expression of subtle choler, she seemed to process the messages differently than the average villainous young lady. She acted as though rebellion against her was part of her scheme—the exact reaction she had hoped for—and it was clear that she was fed off of it's residue.

Ergo, she brandished her utensils—pink nails sharpened for lunch, rounding hungrily over the edge of the door as she pushed it back open. She held her hand there firmly, watching Troye's face and absorbing the black aura like a dark mage. Troye could only huff in response.

"What do you want?"

Beth took her sweet time figuring this out. She shifted her weight to one side—nonchalant. She sucked in one cheek—infuriatingly pensive. It was so indirectly evil, letting Troye stew and stew and stew, and she was close to cracking a smile when she pretended just to have decided. "Nothing from you."

Troye hated when she kept him waiting, but hated when she spoke just the same. Ignoring the tense and problematic nature of the situation, she chatted like a casual conversationist. Her eyes drifted around the entrance to Troye's house, her countenance relaxed with Kian and Caspar behind her like bodyguards.

Troye, exasperated, snarled both facially and vocally. "Then why are you here?"

"Me?" She tinkled in a horribly princessy manner. Seeing how this made Troye a little redder in the face, she clicked her nails on the door and finally cut to the chase. "Where's Connor?" She smiled with plastic innocence.

Oh. Connor. Sadly, Troye knew that from the very beginning. He had wanted to believe that he was wrong—that this debacle really had ended weeks ago—but it was clear that Beth wasn't here to deliver orders of his sister's Girl Guide cookies. No, she was here for Connor. Why was she always coming for Connor?

Troye gulped; he felt a ball of saliva and apprehension clunk down his throat. He knew his Adam's apple bulged in obviousness at this, but he kept his neck swan confident. For Connor's sake. "He doesn't live here anymore." He said in a voice that was meant to be confident.

Beth's smile fell, but only on one end. "Oh." Her sounds were even more snake-like than before: coy, poisonous and happily malefic. She faked sadness with only half her face. "I didn't realize you two...broke up."

"Are you kidding?" Kian quacked moronically. "Just today I saw all that gross fag action in the hallway from you guys, so I don't..."

"Kian." Beth's gently heated voice was like a clamp around her goon's throat. "Shut up."

Kian obliged and, once all was quiet again, Troye felt the attention dawn on him. His reply was coldly awaited. "No." He articulated cautiously, very wary of his words. "His mom got released from the hospital a while ago. He's living with her again, but they moved to a different part of town."