Surviving Us

Chapter 2

Callan said nothing as he ran into my room. He quietly clicked my door closed and ran over to me. He sat down on the floor and handed me a paper bag. My eyes lit up for a minute.
"You did not," I said as I unfolded the top of the bag and peered in. Three neatly wrapped tacos sat in the bottom of the bag.
"You're the best," I said wrapping my arms around him. He embraced me for a minute, but moved his arms soon after.
"Come on," he said pulling two movies from his book bag. "I brought Ryan Guzman and Channing Tatum for you." He smiled and helped me up and slid the movie into my DVD player.
"You're really going to sit through Step Up and Magic Mike with me?" I smiled a little.
"Yeah," he said clicking my TV on and plopping himself down on my bed. He said it so nonchalantly, almost like it was completely normal for him.
"Thank you," I said quietly curling up on my bed with a blanket. My bed was a California King, so there was enough room for us each to be on it without touching. The way I laid though, allowed my leg to touch his, but not much.
The volume on the TV was low, so I knew Callan was going to ask me about what had happened. He rolled onto his side to look at me. "Alright, Lace. Talk to me." I sighed slightly. I had only told him half of every situation Drake put me into. Arguments.
"We got into another fight." He nodded slightly.
"I know that that's not what happened." For the first time, I realized how attractive he really was. He was built, which I noticed now, since he wore a muscle shirt. Usually he wore baggy t-shirts and jeans. No, he wasn't built, he was ripped. His biceps bulged, veins ran through his arms and along his hands. He was 6'8", towering over me at a measly 5'3", and his eyes were so a stormy gray. His dark hair was in a crew-cut, and his jaw was firm and set. We had been friends since 5th grade, and I had been there for him in all of his awkward glory. In 7th through 10th grade, he was a geek. He had the stereotypical nerd glasses taped at the center, braces, acne, and wimpy, sad excuse of a body. The year before our junior year of high school, he came back to school after a summer of boot camp, which really paid off. By the time we were halfway through the school year, he was a regular ROTC boy. He was still marked as a geek, just a really muscular one, so girls weren't exactly falling at his feet despite his newly updated look.
"I made him mad, that's all." His face went blank.
"Lace...tell me he didn't hit you." He said.
"No, he didn't."
"Lace, don't lie to me."
"He slammed me into the wall," I said, "that's all."
"That's all?" His voice raised. "What, you think that's okay? Lace, I will kill him." He stood, clenched his fist, and his jaw tightened. He stood there for a moment, taking quick, ragged breaths, until he muttered unintelligible words under his breath and slammed his hands against my wall again and again.
I'd never seen him like that. He'd never expressed any emotion, but this- this was something different entirely. He half screamed and shrieked in outrage and slammed my door behind him, causing everything in my room to buzz with his toxic energy.