Spooky

Chapter 15

{Author's Note: Before you ask "geez Rache where the hell ya been? Why'd ya not update for so damn long?" I'll tell ya why I vanished.
Finals are hell! Finals are. Hell. School! Is hell. But I'm free for a short while now. I don't have too much free time honestly because I'm creating an art portfolio to apply to colleges and all that jazz, plus I'm going to a summer program at a...surprisingly high-end art college and holy shit I am nervous about all of that.
But! That has absolutely no relevance to the story so I'mma shut up now.
To make up for being gone for so long, I've finally started making finalized art pieces for this book. The drawing attached started off as just a doodle, which is why the designs aren't quite what I've written... but since this story takes up a whole school year and maybe then-some, it's plausible their designs will change a little. Anyways, lemme know if you like these designs. Or this art style. I've not really done anything like this piece before.}

-Shadow's POV-
Thank fuck I made it back before curfew and lights-out, I breathe an inward sigh of relief. We've plenty of time to make soup, eat it, and get to bed before the resident advisor comes by and yells at us. Currently, I stand in front of a shallow pot-looking object that seemed close to the one on the illustration of the can, watching the broth and such; Scourge is seated behind me on the counter, sheets wrapped around him. He's watching me, and I know he wants to say something, but I'm praying he doesn't, because somehow I feel like something bad is brewing in his mind. So I keep my back to him, one arm across my waist, the other resting on it and propping up my face. The soup smells really nice, and I'm actually starting to feel hungry, but I'm still not going to eat—after all, this is for Scourge. I can survive. My eyes drift to the lone window above the sink beside me; the kitchen is pretty cramped, I gotta say. Anyone standing at the stove, like I am, would have to fight for room against whoever wants to do the dishes, and anyone trying to get into the cabinets nearby would have to wait for all the dust to settle first. The moonlight emphasizes the dust on the windowsill, and I blink a few times, coming back down to earth and turning my attention back to the stove. The broth is bubbling a little, but still rather inactive.

"Hey... Stripes?" I hear Scourge finally say, and I stiffen, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder. He seems confused and worried, and I raise an eyebrow, concerned.

"Yes?" I prompt when he says nothing, and he frowns at me, brow creasing as he does. What does he want?

"Why won't you tell me what happened to your face?" He asks quietly, and I simply stare at him for a moment before sighing and turning all the way around to face him.

"Because, Scourge," I walk over to him, stopping at his feet and looking up at him. "Nothing 'happened,' I'm perfectly fi—"

"Shut up," anger flashes across his face, and I recoil as if slapped. "I know you're lying to me." He continues, the anger slowly draining. "What happened? Did..." he gingerly reaches out, and I try to refrain from flinching when he gently brushes the injured side of my face with one bare hand, "did someone here do this?" His eyes lock with mine, filled with worry and a slight bit of fear, and for a moment it feels like all the air has gone out of my lungs.

"Well, no," I admit, finally caving. My eyes drop, drifting to the right, and I wrinkle my nose. "It... happened while I was out."

"What happened?" He leans closer to get a better look at it again, more fearful now, and I take a step closer so he won't fall off the counter, looking back up at him. His slightly-nasally sick voice is a bit difficult to take seriously, but the worry in his eyes is...sobering, to say the least. The air feels too serious, his voice too soft and gentle, completely unlike him. I feel like I'm not acting 'like me' either, somehow.