Secrets of a Schuyler Sister {Angelica Schuyler}

17

Alexander lay his head back against the hospital bed, aching all over.  He felt cuts and bruises in places he didn't realise could hurt so much, and cursed foully to himself.

I gave her my word.

He imagined Angelica sitting at home, by herself - on that same couch he had made out with Eliza on - weeping.  Or maybe thrown against her bed, weeping.

Or sitting in a corner of the school by herself, weeping.

Wherever she was, Alexander prayed she wasn't alone.  Right then, he felt that it wasn't right for anyone to be alone.

I gave her my word.

"I think you bruised my spine," Thomas's voice rang in from the other side of the curtain, jolting Alexander out of his thoughts.  He was surprised at the speaking - they hadn't spoken once to each other since they tried to rip each other to shreds.

Alexander quickly composed himself, "If I did, it was because you deserved it."

A scoff at this, "Yeah.  Maybe I did."

Silence passed between them, like falling darts.

It felt funny, hearing Thomas's voice, but not being able to see his snide and cynical look.  Alexander almost wanted to push the curtain that divided them away, so that they were in the same room again.  But then he remembered his sore arm, and thought better.

"So," Alexander said, voice steely and stiff. "Here we are."

"Finally," Thomas added.

"After so many years of verbally attacking each other," there was a bitter laugh in Alexander's tone. "We are now on sickbeds, side by side.  Blood and bruises and all."

"Well," Thomas said. "I wouldn't consider this side by side, exactly -"

"It's as side by side as it gets," Alexander snapped, irritated. "I don't want to look at your face.  Do you want to look at mine?"

"Only to relish in the damage I've caused you.  What is it? A black eye? Bloody nose?"

Alexander closed his eyes to this, breathing out a long sigh, "Oh my crap.  You are so childish."

"Hey," Thomas's voice sliced the air. "You're the one who put us here."

"Me?" Alexander shouted.

"Yes.  You attacked first.  By the way, thank you for that - you're paying the price of a fight I wanted to start myself."

"Aha! So you admit," Alexander said, triumphant. "You wanted to start one yourself."

"Well, you were being highly annoying to my date."

"For Pete's sake, you don't own Angie!" Alexander's voice rung out, loud and clear.  It echoed around the clinic, empty except for their two beds. "You had no right to put you hands where they were."

"They were on her waist!" Thomas yelled back, roaring just as loud. "And mind you, you don't own her either."

Silence cloaked them like the night.  Alexander could see the silhouette of Thomas's Afro through the white curtain, and watched it decline back onto the bed, bruised.

"No," Alexander's voice was as soft as a whisper. "I don't own her ... neither of us owned her, but somehow we both lost her."

Thomas didn't answer this, almost as if he was letting his silence agree with him.

"I gave her my word."

"About what?"

"About you," Alexander said. "I told her I would ... behave."