The Trench

Chapter 14 - Bad Blood

"What the fuck, Mae?" I blurted out, I've never seen this side of her and frankly I didn't ever expect her to be this rude. The shy and awkward girl was now cold, eyes vicious as she looks Aimee up and down.

I glanced at Aimee, she crossed her arms and had one eyebrow risen in a defiant and challenging way and I took a quick look at her outfit.

She had on a bright mint crop top that matched her hair; she layered it with a black open vest with gold buttons. She also wore a chunky gold necklace that matched the multiple studs in her ears and several rings on her fingers, this girl loved her jewelry. She was wearing a black short skirt with fishnet stockings that lead down to a pair of black boots with a gold buckle. The outfit was stylish in a way, and everything matched well, but to others it might seem a bit eccentric.

She has her own style, that's certain; however it wasn't completely out of this world for it to make that much of an impression with Mae.

Static filled the air between them; it was so thick you could almost choke on the tension.

I grabbed Aimee's phone from her hands and finished typing my name and number in and handed it back. She tore her gaze from Mae and smiled at me before saying bye and walked out the front door. I watched her leave and slowly turned back towards Mae, whose face was even more pale than normal and her mouth was pressed in a thin line.

"I asked you a question, Mae. Mind explaining?" It's like she didn't even hear me and she kept watching the door so I clapped my hands loudly in front of her face. That seemed to snap her out of whatever the fuck she was doing and finally made her look at me. Her eyes weren't cold anymore; they were filled with something much different. Sadness? Remorse? Guilt? I couldn't exactly put my finger on it.

"It was nothing." Her voice was small and feminine, back to normal but it sounded strange compared to the viciousness of a few minutes ago. "We went to high school together, never got along, that's it. End of story." She shrugged like it was no big deal and waved before she headed off to her next class.

-

The week goes by without incident. I've spent most of my free time after hours with Aimee working on our project. She has an attitude just like mine, and she's sarcastic as shit. We get along pretty well and have quite a bit in common.

I think there's more to her and Mae's history than she tells me. I try to hang out with them both, but Mae gets upset and says she can't and Aimee just changes the subject when I ask.

A few days prior I was studying with Aimee in the school library when Mae walked in, she pretended she didn't see us and left.

It doesn't make sense, and if I'm going to be friends with them both I'm going to lose my damn mind.

-

I lie on my back and watch my fish tank; something about the way they glide through the water is calming. I have four German Blue Ram Cichlids; their blue and yellow coloring brings light to the tank as they dart between the rocks and plants. Out of all the freshwater fish, I think these are my favorite.

As I'm watching them chase each other I hear a knock at my door. I furrow my brows and debate whether I want to get up or not. I check my phone and neither Mae nor Aimee have sent me anything, so my visitor is either selling something or preaching something. I muted my TV in hopes they would go away if they thought no one was home, but it didn't work and another knock followed a few seconds later.

Professor Michaels is leaning against my door frame with one hand and the other raised, indicating a following knock. He looks at me and a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Good afternoon Riley, are you busy?"

All I could manage was a shake of the head and I opened the door wider, inviting him inside.

I shut the door and turn around; he's standing in the living room staring at a framed picture of me and Titan at our first cutting competition. Our red second place ribbon is pinned to the side of the frame and he runs his fingers over the silky fabric in a nostalgic way.

"When I was little I used to want to be a jockey when I grew up." He said and laughed at the memory. "But then I had my growth spurt in 7th grade and never stopped, now I'm taller than most of the horses." He turned around with a small smile on his lips and looked me up and down.

I chuckled at the idea of him being a jockey. "You know, they do have draft horse racing. You could still fulfill your dreams, it's not as fast paced though." I crossed my arms and stood there for a second, I'm not even sure if this guy heard me. He's still just staring at....my shorts?

"Hey!" I yelled and clapped my hands in front of him and he snapped his head up. What is up with this family? "Keep staring, I might do a trick."

"Yeah, draft horses. That would be fun!" So he was listening. "What kind of tricks are we talking about?" He smiled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.

He's always leaning against something. Is one leg shorter than the other? Does he have vertigo?

......That's rude, don't ask him that.

His laughter caught me off guard and I looked at him questioningly.

"No, I do not have a bum leg OR vertigo." He's still laughing and shaking his head at me and I realized I must have thought that out loud. I slowly cover my face with my right hand and bust out laughing, I could feel my face turning red.

"It's just a habit I have, but I was thinking about how much I love those shorts on you." He said with a sly smile.

I glance down at my attire, which I hadn't thought much about before answering the door. I was wearing a black tank top with a pair of leopard print silk shorts, emphasis on the SHORT. I self consciously tug down at the hem to no avail, then cross my arms to hide my chest. These damn shorts came with a lingerie set I surprised my ex with years ago; he came in the room and said he hated leopard print and left. I kept them and wore them every night just to spite him.

"So, you asked if I was busy." I subconsciously tap my thumb to my fingertips under my arm. It's almost how some people tap their feet, or chew their nails; I usually never realize I'm doing it.

"Yes, I did. I told you at the club that I wanted to take you out."

My thumb stops tapping and I'm frozen, staring at him waiting for him to continue.

"Would you want to grab some dinner with me tonight?"