Break of Day

18) Why Friends Kill

I may just kill Theodore Coileán.

"Come on, sleepy." His laugh was far too loud for half past four in the morning. The enjoyment he seemed to get from my scowl as I leaned heavily on the handrail, not sure if it was worth making it down the last few steps, only fueled my desire to hurt him.

Brutally, I think. Maybe some light waterboarding.

My father offered his hand to me. "Come on, Aqua. You made such a deal about it yesterday, you can't go back to bed now." Though his face and tone were kind, his eyes drooped slightly. I had a feeling, he just got back from work not that long ago. The exhaustion pulling at him shattered my grudging acceptance.

"Yes, I can," I grumble, taking my father's hand and following him away from the stairs. "This is child abuse, you know. I could call the cops on you."

My father's laugh reminded me of a cat's purr: low and deep, resonating from deep within, with the powers to heal the broken. It had always been a calming thing as it vibrated through the air like the lapping waves against stones. "Don't worry, kiddo. The police are already here and won't rest until they resolve this dispute." With a warm kiss to the side of my forehead, he passed me off to Theodore. "Don't forget this," he reminded, handing me my pale pink overnight bag that I had packed with all of my notes, books and everything I would need for the day.

Pulling its purse-like straps over my shoulder, I gave a quick kiss to his check. "Love you, Dad. I'll see you tonight—" with a curt nod and a salut I added— "And that report better be finished by the time I get back, sir."

"Yes, ma'am." He returned my salute, before waving us off. "Make sure she gets something to eat, Theodore."

With a nod to my father, he opened the door for me. "Of course, Chief."

The moment he closed the door behind us, cool December air filling my lungs, my complaining returned. "Why four in the morning, Theodore." A shiver rippled across my skin. Even under my jacket, the chill of winter before the sun rose found me. "Can't we be civilised and leave at eight?" Adjusting my bag, I stop next to Theodore's car. "We have the whole day."

"How long does it take to get to Port Angeles again?" Slipping my bag from my shoulder, he moved to his open trunk. "Several minutes over an hour?" The thump of the trunk closing hummed through the air, making me twitch. "And how long does it take to research and write a 10, 000 word paper? If we were just writing the paper alone it'd take five hours at least. With the research?" He tilted his head, watching me over the opened passenger door. "And what time did you want to be back by again? Five?" There was a softness to his eyes that had been missing since he returned from New York. He was the boy I met at the beginning of the Trimester again: confident and all too bemused by me.

"Okay, well, you're..." Crossing my legs as I buckled, I searched his face. Even in his heated car, a shiver washed over me as he held the door by the frame, his uneven smile gracing his face once more. "British, so there." As I stuck my tongue out at him, images of Allie flickered through my mind. To her, the meanest way to show her displeasure was that childish action. Lex was less than amused when Candy and I taught her to do it playfully. Now, whenever she wants to emphasise her tone, or an action, she sticks her tongue out.

I miss her.

I miss holding her in my lap during a movie or when she's getting in the way of our studying or when she was too small to swing by herself. I miss her sitting on my hip as we walk down the street or around an amusement park because she gets tired of walking. I miss doing her hair when I spent the night over at Lex's or during a sleepover where she'd end up asleep on Mel's lap within an hour after her usual bedtime.

After she was born, she became a part of almost everything we did. Even if Lex wasn't there, one of us was probably babysitting Allie.

"I'm British?" Something lit in his tone as he sat in the driver's seat, letting a rush of frozen air into the heated interior. It wasn't quite amusement or confusion. The statement awoke something deep in his mind and left him slightly defensive, hesitant to allow me in. Perhaps it was surprise?

Leaning my back against the door, I shrugged, "New Yorkian. Close enough." His eyes swam with laughter as he watched me, waiting for reasoning to my thought. "They both have accents, are arseholes, and live in cities where no one gives a shit about other people, but are overly romanticised anyway." Pulling my framing hairs behind my ears, I wrapped my arms around myself, waiting for his heater to begin doing its job. "So, same difference." The coconut scent was faint, more overpowered by a warmer smell. It wrapped itself around me like a cat, leisurely waiting for me to find the name.

"Well, would you find me any less unpleasant if I handed you this?" Placing the warm metal cup in my hand, his smile widened, emphasising the scar. Curiosity kneaded at me, as he buckled.

Opening the lid, steam wafted through the air. The warmth and familiarity of the floral scent floated through the air like a perfume. "Is this tea? Is it caffeinated?"

"Clarisse always has herbal teas on hand." Placing his hand on the back of my seat, he watched the road behind us, careful as he pulled from the driveway. "And, you can choose the music on the way there, if you'd like."

Surprise curdled through me as I screwed the lid back on the cup. "What's the catch?" The warm liquid caressed my tongue with the gentle sweetness of honey.

"There is no catch."

"Of course there is a catch." As the sweetness lingers, the distinct mild earthiness of lavender curls its way to the front of the flavours. "Teenage boys aren't this nice for no reason."

There was a nervousness that began to bubble up as he rested one hand on his lap, the other loosely holding the bottom of the wheel. "There is no catch, but I am doing this out of pure selfishness." The warmth that had been missing from him for the last week or two flowed beneath his skin, transforming him. An air of uneasiness never left me when I was near him or Jo, but it lightened now.

"What did my father tell you?" Suspicion flowed through my question.

"He just wanted me thoroughly prepared for the day." Fear contracted my lungs, expelling all its air with a soft gasp as he stretches behind my seat. I raised my hand towards the wheel, almost as if I were to take it over. "Which is why Clarisse filled my backpack with snacks." Quicker than I assumed he could have done so, he dropped the back on the seat and moved his hands back to the wheel.

Breathless from the panic ghosting over my skin, wrapping me like a dusting of spider webs, I pressed my hand against my chest. My heart thrummed wildly underneath my palm. "You're aunt must love me."

"She and your father talk about a lot of things when he's over." With a glance at me, he tightened his hands on the wheel. "You and your sister have always been his favourite topic."

Feigning hurt in my voice, I searched the side of his face. "Is that why you became my friend? My father?"

"Unfortunately for me," he risked looking over at me for a few seconds. "You are the sole reason I'm your friend. The Chief had nothing to do with this." A tenseness returned to him as he slowed at the stop sign, hands tight against the wheel.

"Yes, you are so unfortunate, Theodore." Glancing over at me, his smile radiated across his pale face, highlighting the scar as he so often tried to hide. Leaning forward, I began to adjust his radio until a song I liked came on. The silence between us as we watched the road was gentle, softer than the blanket of heat that wafted through the car, a barrier between us and the late December air outside. There was comfort in the humming radio as the rain fell leisurely against the windshield, quickly removed by the wipers.