The Anchor [Brallon-ish]

12

When I almost kick down the door to the room, Dallon is rolled over on his side, sifting through a package of colorful sharpies. The bandages wrapped around his ring and middle finger on the left hand makes it a little difficult to hold the package steady. They're pretty much healed, but they're taped together as more of a safety net than anything. Better healed right than wrong.

But I don't think I remember bringing so many assorted markers. Maybe he brought them, or maybe Taylor gave them to him. He can't go anywhere.

That's the least of my concerns. That doesn't matter. Stay on track, Brendon.

The sound of the lock clicking in place gets his attention, giving me a lazy glance over his shoulder. "Hey. How did it go?"

"Fine, just fine. Show me your stitches."

He frowns but peels off his shirt. The bruising has gotten worse, but the cuts are scabbed over, and the main troublemaker is depending on the stitching to heal right, something you have to pay attention to in the first week or so. "This one," he points to his forearm, where a patch of skin has started to turn yellow, "hurts really bad. I got that one today."

"Aw, poor baby." I pout, take a seat beside him, and take his hand. Sure enough, there is a small bruise taking shape on his arm.

If I'm going to do what I'm about to do, I need to distract him; so I press my lips to his arm, hook my finger underneath the string holding the cut shut on his chest, and I yank that motherfucker out as hard as I possibly can.

I stand up and take a step back when he pulls his arm away and takes a wide swing for my cheek. It probably would've hurt him more than me, because he swung the fist with the fingers taped together. "Was that necessary?! Can I have," he sinks back into the pillow and starts trying to sop up the blood with his new sheets, "an explanation, before I rip your head off?"

"Did you know Icicle and Miss Stone are in a relationship? They've been sneaking around for six years, and his name starts with the letter 'J'."

Dallon's eyes go wide and he sits up like he isn't bleeding buckets. "Ooh, really? Can we all go on a double date? We should — hey wait, don't sidetrack me. Why did you do that? Is everything okay?"

I sneak a peek at the drawing pad. He's been drawing pictures of dogs in neon green marker. "We fucked up, okay? You can not, under any circumstances, go to another training session with Icicle."

He grits his teeth against the pain and pushes the drawing pad away from the blood dripping down his side already. "Go get Taylor, please, and tell me why. Why do you do these things to me."

I turn back and face him with my hand on the doorknob. "Training sessions are recorded and assessed by the head of Council. You chose to be a shapeshifter when you got here, my dad still thinks you can harness electricity. Big. Fucking. Problem."

His eyes go wide again when he finally processes it and I slam the door shut on him before he can freak out on me. Taylor opens her door before I can even knock.

She stops an inch away from my face, pissed as hell. Behind her is her roommate named Josh and his friend — well, I guess they're friends with benefits. "Oh, thank god. I need to leave my room immediately."

She stalks off into our room and kicks the door open with her boots for me to follow in. I slam it shut real quick as soon as Dallon sees me and starts screaming bloody murder at us.

Taylor jumps in surprise and whips her head around to give me a look. "Did you rip the stitches out of his body? That's hardcore. I like it. I like it very much."