The Quirky Tale of April Hale (Quirky Series #1)

2.7: Crazy Eyes and Crazy Mind

There were things that I was absolutely sure would induce aghast horror to my core:

1. The total annihilation of the Star Wars franchise. I prayed and prayed so that the new film would only suck at least half as bad as the extended trilogy, and my good prayers were answered with a respectful heroine and race diversity.

2. The total annihilation of my family. I would miss my mom's bone-crushing hugs so bad that I was positive I would pay big-boned people to hug me when I were in need. I would also miss my father's 'dad jokes'. Plus Quentin, along with all the 'what ifs' of what would happen if I were born male and neurotypical.

3. The total annihilation of my rock, Ryder Black.

What I was seeing today was pretty close to Aghast Horror #3.

2.7: Crazy Eyes and Crazy Mind

My whole body system was dead. My body was running in pure 100% unadulterated instinct.

And my first instinct was to run as far as possible from the person who was supposed to be precious to me.

Logically, I knew Ryder wouldn't hurt me. But logically, I knew what he had done was beyond the definition of normal. I mean, Ryder had always been known as the kind of guy who wouldn't hesitate to throw a mean punch or two to the people he deemed worthy. The problem was, the majority of people would consider violence something that shouldn't be done at all cost.

Ryder had crossed the line when he knocked out three people all by himself.

By all definitions, I should find it hot. It wasn't the first time I saw him fight, and upon further inspection, nobody was hurt that bad, nothing that a few days at the hospital could fix.

I was surprised at how bad other people take it, though.

Thorough Ryder and I's way to Alex's front door, I could hear the word crazy 8 times, scary 10 times, and what is wrong with him?! 3 times.

These university students didn't bother to cover their mouths or anything, which was actually quite stupid considering that they were badmouthing one particularly violent man who had just singlehandedly beat three other grown men on his own.

I waited until we reached his grandmother's truck before I asked him anything. "So which one was the hardest to beat?"

Ryder looked at me wordlessly for about five seconds, which was honestly, actually something that I had usually done to him but not the other way around. And then he bowed his head, as if to hide his smile. "The blonde one. He's the smallest but damn if he's not a quick motherfucker."

My ears burned at the bad word. "I had thought that the dark haired one would be problematic."

"He just dropped and stayed down thorough the rest of the fight. I suspected that he didn't faint, he's just a major pussy."

"That's another bad word," I commented.

"Oops," his voice held neither inflection nor regret. "It took me my whole willpower to not lash out and just punch everybody in the room when we walked out. They kept looking at me as if I was some zoo animal."

"Can you hear anything they said?"

Ryder's face changed, as if he had just heard some new, groundbreaking information, and then his fist balled into white force of muscles. "I didn't."

"I'd tell you... but promise me that you wouldn't hit anything anymore," I said, and then I remembered one crucial detail. "Including me, the messenger."