The Battle Within An Angel

Seventeen | Claire & Wesley

"Let go of me!" Claire struggled against the weight of Wesley's tatted arms, but his grip was steady, urging her forward.

As they neared the edge of a tall standing pine tree, Wesley threw Claire over his shoulder and rushed toward Chaos's warehouse with his newly acclaimed ability of speed.

They arrived within seconds, though the warehouse was miles away from the wooden shed Claire had spent the night in. The sun hadn't begun to rise yet, though the temperature inched closer to 100 degrees as time passed.

As the roof of the warehouse came peaked into his sight, Wesley slowed down, beginning to walk toward the place. Though hard to see because of the mounds of desert-like sand and the fact that the building is halfway underground, Wesley pointed out the place with ease.

He couldn't get any closer by running without being caught and thrown into the laboratory.

Claire found no use in struggling against him any longer, as the cause became hopeless. There's no way she could fight off a man nearly three times her size with just as much muscle to aid him.

And there's no way she'd try, either. She might be stubborn, but she isn't stupid.

With each step Wesley took in the steadily increasing heat, his shoulder rammed into Claire's stomach. She lay limp across him, not bothering to move.

Oblige now, defy later, she'd mumbled to herself.

With his arm halfheartedly holding her in place, Wesley tapped his fingers against her leg.

"Do you mind?"

"What?" Wesley looked over his shoulder, seeing a mess of curly brown hair turn toward him, but with no avail to see his face.

"Tapping my leg. Why are you doing that?"

Wesley hadn't opened up to anyone outside of his family about his ADHD, and he didn't intend to start now. It wasn't a big deal, and he wouldn't let anyone tell him otherwise. He'd take his Adderall when he could and he'd deal with it.

If only he hadn't gotten addicted to the nerve-soothing drug.

"Just bored. Keep your mouth shut, we're almost there. Can't have you stirring up trouble."

Claire scoffed. "Who said I was stirring up anything? I just asked why you were tapping my leg. You have mood swings, too. Must be bipolar or something."

"I am not bipolar!"

Claire lifted her hands in defense, still being thrown around like a rag doll across his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Cap'n."

Reaching the door and slinging it wide open, Wesley stepped into the rugged warehouse, only to be greeted by Jet, who's camouflage jeans hardly fit around his waist. Holding his pants up, he ran toward Wesley.

"Man, you gotta stop running off like that. Pres is getting ticked about that." Jet adjusted his jacket, which he had haphazardly torn the sleeves off of.

"I don't care about the 'President,'" Wesley mocked the old man, who, unbeknownst to him, stood in a far corner, watching the two.

Nodding his head toward the girl on Wesley's shoulder with his brow furrowed, Jet met Wesley's gaze.

"Who's that?"

With a smirk, Wesley pushed Claire off of his shoulder. She barely managed to stand straight on her feet, as her legs nearly caved in from going numb.

"This is the girl."

Jet's eyes widened, nearly growing as big as quarters. Stumbling over his words and trying to gain his composure as he stared at Claire, he looked back at Wesley.