Scarlet

Johns POV

I groan as I remember how terrible Dave was at the quarter staff. He somehow managed to smack himself in the head. I'm not even sure how you could do that, honestly. He's hopeless at it.

I mean really, I've never seen anyone smack themselves in the head with it. Ever.

My thoughts turn to Scar. I hope she ok. It was a pretty nasty cut. I bet she's enjoying being stuck at the cave now, I thought with a smirk. She's a free spirit, she's the kind of person who hates being told what to do, and how to do something. She hates it. She's so independent, she doesn't much like being the leader but she also is not a follower.

"Hey Dave, ready to start with fist fighting? I'll give you a 10 minute break."

I see him nod gratefully, sinking to the ground, holding his head. God, that had to have hurt. Against my will, my head drifts back to Scarlet, how gorgeous she is, how brave, fierce, determined, how unusual she is.

What is wrong with me??

Why can't I get her out of my head?? She broke in my head just the way she breaks into castles, only this way is different.

She didn't pick locks, she didn't break laws. Well, I'm going to guess she did to be here, and of I hadn't met her she wouldn't be in my head, but still. She's in my head, and I don't think she's going to go away soon. But I dont think I'm in her head. I've seen how she looks at Rob when she thinks no one's looking, and I've seen the way he looks at her. It's sickening, really. It's like they want to bang each other. Well, they actually might. That's a disturbing image....

And, in a way, I think she did pick a lock to get in my head like this. I don't let girls in like this, and I didn't let her in. At least not intentionally.

But she's in there, not mattering how she did.

I bring my attention back to training Dave.

"Hey Dave! 10 minutes are up!" I holler, and force Scarlet from my head.

SCARLETS POV

My head is spinning. No, it actually feels like the world is spinning, but Robs face is the only thing that's not spinning, not a blur. I think i know the reason, although I know I won't admit it. Why? Becuase that would mean admitting to myself that I don't see him as a friend.

I subconsciously run my finger over the scar on my left cheekbone, remembering when and how I got it, and that story is something I can't say, won't talk about. Hell, I wen hate thinking about the fucking story. It's a story of pain, hurt, danger, depression, and other happy topics like that. Living on the streets, stealing what I needed to live, running from specific people. All rainbows and sunshine. I subconsciously reach up and touch my long hair, that no one ever sees, no one but me. I like that. I like that, because long hair, for me, is a memory. it reminds me of Johanna, of good times, of being happy, a carefree child. I haven't been a child in a long time, and I sure as Hell haven't been carefree in God knows how long.

I miss it. I fucking miss it. Sure, I was reprimanded, I got in trouble, but it was Hell of a lot easier. People's lives weren't in my hands then. I wasn't at constant risk of my life being in danger. The old grief begins to cut through me as I remember Johanna. She was so beautiful. I loved her so much, and still do. Tears begin to prick my eyes before I can stop them, and as a I begin to lose my eyes, her shining one hair and blue eyes, that were so full of life before she died, are the last thing I see before I fall asleep.