Young and Loaded

Chapter Three

   It didn't take me long to puzzle over Fun Ghoul's anger at me. In all honesty, I didn't think much of it at all. He was a book that didn't want to be read, and I didn't like books. Bam. Perfect Match. And that was exactly what we had thought, two years ago at least. When I was a fucking idiot who thought that maybe something would work out.

   Eventually, I went over to join my gang. They were standing around Doctor D, hands crossed over their chests, on their hips, or hanging loosely, waiting for me to make some sort of 'gang report.' I don't think I would even call us a gang anymore, mostly because the only person holding us together even remotely was Grace. And she was currently standing next to Doctor Death Defying with a little smile on her face. I was going to miss that smile when she grew up. When I grew up. If I grew up.

   "Poison," Doctor Death greeted, his unnecessarily reflective glasses flashing at me me when I joined them when he nodded a little.

   "Death."

   "Report."

   That was my queue. Either totally bullshit this with a shit ton of lies about the functionality of our little group like I'd been doing for the past year, or tell the truth. Telling the truth sounded easy, but I knew he might split us up if that happened. And I didn't want that to happen, as dysfunctional as we were. Possibly because if Ghoul was with another gang, I wouldn't be able to stare him down for doing absolutely nothing.

   I just wanted to look at him without repercussions.

   "They took out seven Dracs," I started, "in a horde of thirty before Jet took a shot for Ghoul. Ghoul proceeded to shoot down a good fifteen after that, and Kobra killed another six, and I got the last two."

   Doctor D nodded at that, thinking something over for a second. He always made a show out of it, resting his arm on the arm of the wheelchair, stroking the little bit of facial hair on his chin. I cringed at the dandruff that coated his lap, falling like sand from my hand as he stroked. He looked a little strange when he finally looked up again, another expression crossing the bottom half of his features — I didn't know about his eyes. "What about the supplies? Did you get that?"

   Shit.

   "No time. They overran us befo—"

   "Stop fucking lying, you red-headed idiot!"

   My head snapped to the side, meeting Ghoul's glare. He'd taken a half-step forward, body rigid and his jaw tense. He looked angrier than before, a hint of disbelief and disgust plain on his face. He probably wanted to slap me for failing to mention the little fight that he had started when we'd reached our destination. I was just trying to make us seem functional, but apparently he wanted the truth out. And wanted us separated.

   "Fine then," I growled angrily, my hand itching for my ray gun. But if I shot him, that would be bad. Blood is bad. "We started to fight on the way there," I began, turning back to Doctor Death Defying with nothing but pure fury in my expression. I didn't know if he knew I was referring to Ghoul and I, but quite frankly, I didn't give a shit. But I felt myself shaking from tension. Even my speech was tense, and usually I can fix that. But I could feel tension in the air and on my face. In my voice. In my body.

   "I don't even remember what it was about. But I guess—"

   "You're a terrible liar," I heard Ghoul mutter, only just loud enough for me and no one but me to hear. I gritted my teeth together and resisted the urge to slap him.

   "I guess we were loud enough that it attracted Dracs. We had to leave the area or we would've died. And Jet almost did."

   He said nothing. He just sat there in his stupid wheelchair, his reflective glasses offering me no emotions. Not even a clue to what he was feeling. Though I guessed the emotion was probably furious.