One Word | H.S.

Chapter Forty-Eight

And then suddenly, it all begins to click.

This is my favorite chapter.

~

Levi's POV | Present Day

~

Alive.

~

Butter me up, marmalade my cute ass, and call me burnt fuckin' toast.

Jesus Christ, when I was planning to set the entire place on fire, I wasn't expecting to fringe some of my damn hair. My beautiful hair that has tragically grown longer than desired, though never as long as Goldie Locks.

I'm pissed, and I hate everything.

I remain knelt behind the bricked wall, peering my head out ever-too-much as the annoyed sighs behind me prove I'm being obvious.

"They'll see us if you keep doin' that." Ryder stands with his arms crossed against his chest, fiddling with the joint I graciously rolled before this whole escapade. Lucky Bastard should be thanking me, this son-of-a-bitch. "I'm not lookin' to get slapped, or shot. Oh, sorry. Too soon?" He's so fucking annoying; I want to kick him.

Remind me again, how the fuck have I been hiding away in this fuck's house for the past two years? God, I should've just stayed in Maine when I got the chance, started a fish market or something.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I accompany my speech with the rise of my adored, middle finger as Ryder narrows his eyes. "If you keep babblin' that nonsense, they'll hear us. Hush-up, you're gonna make me break my toe." I look back towards the flames, making perfect sense to those who truly understand.

"What? Break your toe?" This lunatic, what a fool. I meant exactly what I said, "Yes. I'll break my toe willingly if you keep talkin', several times too." Answering his question rather quickly, I stand to my feet as I remain ducked fairly low, taking his advice.

Already tried burning down this shit-show before, roughly three years ago if I remember correctly. I was on my way with Daddy Glock to pop Elijah, take him out like the king I was driven to be, but then fate decided to be stupid and shoot me in the fucking chest.

I'm good, though. No stressors, no biggie.

The scar has actually healed quite nicely, fading as each day passes. Just a simple hole right above my heart, though I took it upon myself to get a large tattoo of the Cheshire Cat on top of it, spice it up a bit.

"You know, I feel like there's a better method other than burnin' down buildings." Ryder flicks the lighter in-between his fingers, not even bothering to gaze up at me. "Maybe, a nice chat? A peace offering? Oh shit, I know. A fruit basket," He exhales the smoke as I shake my head in irritancy, nobody understanding my ways.

Please, let me hand Jensen a wooden basket filled to the brim with cantaloupes, blueberries, or mangos. Any of the three, I'm sure it will solve all of our problems, maybe even world-peace.

I pinch the bridge of my nose with my dirt-ridden fingers, adding the tar to my skin as my inhalation process is becoming difficult. "I'm not givin' Jensen fruits, nor am I askin' him for fuckin' peace." The words crave to be heard, digested in the brains' of the ignorant.

"I mean, I feel like you should apologize for killing his dad. You never did. You just kinda walked away, or I dragged you away. Either-or, not important." Ryder motions with his hands, displaying the past scene in his mind as though it's happening in the present.

The mild twist of my stomach snaps me alert to the nostalgic feeling of overridden guilt, stuck firm within the walls of my heart as I remember. A tragic night filled with pressing lies, overruling urges to live, pained tears.