Dancing With Death (Wattys2016)

Chapter Five

Dancing With Death

"What exactly do you mean by your assignment?" I snarled.

"Well, I- uh-" He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. It was his tell. He was nervous.

"Don't even try to dig yourself out of the hole you've already built for yourself." I interrupted him, "Pretty soon it is going to be way too big even for you to get yourself out of." I always was lenient with him. Unlimitedly that was because I loved him like family. However, as terrible as it sounds sometimes there comes a point where you can't forgive them again.

Trust: it's almost like a glass vase. It's like after you worked so hard to buy this vase you have been wanting, you accidently brush it against the wall. You realize when you set it down on the coffee table that while walking down the hallway some of the paint was gone. This is fixable though right? A chip of paint can easily be painted. The vase looking much like the beginning or even getting there as you slather more paint on it.

However, let's say you are moving to a different house and a piece gets broken off? Sure, you can fix that with a thin line of glue, and put it back together. The crack is much like a scar, faint but recognizably there. It will never be the same.

Now let's say that you knocked it off of your table; the exact same vase with the painted chip, and the barely noticeable line of glue holding it together. It shatters. Into more pieces than you can count. The glue holding it together didn't save it; is broken yet again. Not to mention the spot of paint that has flaked off again with the force of the impact.

This time after you put the pieces back, the part that had broken first seems to be missing a piece. It is lost, and will never be regained. That vase will never be the same. There will always be reminders of all the scars, and a big gaping hole in the side. Devoid of any substance.

This process of a vase is much like our trust. It is gained only by the most tiresome of tasks. It is worked for, and earned. It is also that of a vase, easily broken, and chipped. Only a thin line of glue holding the weight of their trustworthiness. However, once that is broken, most of the time a piece is lost. Then sometimes it shatters completely and the result: you will never be the same again.

It's how I felt with Peanut Butter. He gained my unlimited trust through all the tiresome and tedious ways he has always been there for me. The chip of paint was the moment he asked about the whereabouts of my mother, and now? A piece of my heart has been broken off. Now only a thin line of glue holding the pieces together.

All I was waiting now was for the moment when he finally shatters it. His next words held unimaginable importance. The sad thing was that it had already been left in ruins once before by my mother. I guess the thing that hurt the most was that he promised me that he would never break it. He swore that if I gave it to him that he would take care of it.

Even more terrible was the fact that I actually believed him.

Trusted him with my entire being, and now he held the fate of it in his hands.

He had complete control, and I hated it. The power was all his; it rested on this one moment.

He sighed as I stared at him, waiting for a response. "I believe the only way you will truly begin to understand all of this," He began slowly, "Is to actually show you."

I blinked at him, waiting for further elaboration.

"Come with me." He held out his hand... waiting for me to accept it. I stared at it.

Finally, I decided to take it, and trust him just this one last time. What did I really have to lose?

I grabbed his awaiting hand, and he seemed to let out a strangled breath. His shoulders slumped like a weight had been lifted off of them. "Oh good," he responded, "I thought that you would refuse."

"Oh, I was going to," I answered quickly, and he let out a nervous laugh.

"But you didn't so-" He replied leaving the last word hanging, it was inquiring.

"That was only because I want to get to the bottom of this wild goose chase. Period, and you're the only way I can do that. It's nothing personal." My voice sounded cold.

I could physically see his jaw clench. The muscles contracting as his face became solemn. I couldn't decipher what he was thinking or feeling. He was as open about them as a blank chalkboard.

"Fine." One word was all he spoke, and that was all it took. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

He clutched my wrist in a vice grip, and tugged me into his chest. So roughly that the top of my head banged into his chin.

Then everything became blurry. I felt as if I was on the tea cups at the fair. I was so dizzy. I don't even remember what I saw other than a kaleidoscope of colors. The world was upside down, and I felt like puking.

Finally, the world seemed to stop spinning, and I could actually feel my feet under me.

I still felt dizzy, and my head ached.

Somehow I had turned in his grasp. I was facing his chest. His chest was vibrating and a husky laugh was erupting from his mouth. I gave him a glare, and he slightly sobered up. Then another round of laughs came from him.

"I- I- am- just- so- so-rry...." He laughed between words, "But- you- the loo-k on you-r face!" He stopped to give a loud laugh. "It was- just so- cute!" He huskily chuckled one last time, and took a lock of hair that was falling out of its messy ponytail. Instead of tucking it behind my ear, he loosely twirled it around his finger.

He liked to play with my hair. Especially when it was down. He was learning how to braid and he loved to practice on it. He told me that it was important to him to learn for me. He always defined it as silky, thick and long. I have mentioned cutting it, but when I caught the look on his face I immediately decided against it. He always enjoyed brushing it while we were lying in bed.

What could I say? That was one think I couldn't deny I adored about him.

However, there wasn't anything other than that. I was supposed to be mad at that liar. I hated him. Whoever he was which was something I still hadn't figured out.

Though my reasoning was: why would I ask him? He could easily lie again, and I wouldn't have a clue. No, I was done taking his word for everything. This time I was going to get to the bottom of it myself. Sometimes the only way to get things done is yourself.

I was going to use him to find out where my mother was in 'hell', and then together, my mother and I, we will figure out what the heck is going on. I was ready to get to the bottom of this. I wanted to know why my mother was taken and who had taken her. Nothing was going to stop me, and I defiantly wouldn't let some boy distract me.

I was done with all the lies.

!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!

Sorry for the shortness.

Thanks for reading!!!
Much Love,

-SwimmerVGirl