Fairytales Aren't Perfect

Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

                Ian's feet were tersely wearing a road in the grass in front of the gathering of trees. His hands were tightened to his chest like metal bands and he had the vague feeling that his ribs were going smother his lungs. Two of his fingers patted to an unknown rhythm on the length of his forearm, he was extremely agitated, there was absolutely no doubt about it.

                He had a feeling that it wasn't specifically a certain midget blonde who was to blame. His lips pressed together in annoyance all the same at the remembrance of his brothers lingering hand on the small of Melody's back as they walked away from where he stood at this locker. At the tingling feeling that was beginning to gather in his lips, Ian released the tightly clamped hold in an attempt to grab onto what little composure he had left. With the glance up from watching his feet trek the length of the little path he'd created, he caught the dark eyes of Demetrius watching him. Then there was him. The creepy little ass that couldn't seem to stop enjoying people who were not having a good time.

                Ian knew there was something wrong with this dude, for Pete sake he wanted to hurt Melody. Ian knew that was probably why he had joined up with him in the first place. Not because he could free him, but because he could help him hurt Melody.

                It wasn't that he liked the feeling he was getting, knowing he was going to hurt her, but it was her damn fault! She with her lovely blue eyes and the expression she made whenever she would stare aimlessly into space, her hand cupping the tip of her chin.

                Ian blinked and shook his head, trying to ride that image. He needed to stop - like right now. This was not Ian Wilder. His father had been around him long enough to teach him a few things. The first was that no matter what your goal is there is only one thing that can stand in your way of what you want and those are little things called the feelings of others. Nasty he had called them, and discarded with a face that looked like he'd been told he had to go swimming in a port-a-potty. The next was that in life there are two kinds of people, the dreamers and the workers. Evidentially, the dreamers would come up with the ideas but let it slip by with the absentmindedness that they often possessed. The hardworkers, being opportunists, would simply do what needed to be done and do what was best for themselves. That had been the final lesson, there is only one person who matters and comes first to you, yourself. Not your wife, your children, or even your damn dog. It was you against the world and world never cared to kindly for anyone so why should you?

                It was a grim way to live a life, a sad existence really he had once been told. But it was so much easier. So much easier than dealing with petty things such as how you've made other people feel. How what you do affects other. It's a dog eat dog world, the only way to help others is to buy a fucking shot gun.

                "I see you've stopped digging your way to China." A bemused voice sounded from behind him.

                It had taken Ian a moment to realised two things. One he had indeed stopped moving, and the second, that had been Jez who had spoken, or at least it had sounded like Jezebel King.

                He turned around slowly, his arms still folded in front of his chest and was greeted by the sight that was indeed Jezebel King accompanied by a hairy looking fellow with auburn hair springing out of places Ian hadn't realised you could grow hair.

                "Cousin of a certain werewolf are we?" Ian said aloofly, hardly recognizing the tone is his voice as he tried to conceal the surprise that lurked there.