Covens and Proxies

19

You don't even realise your were thrown until you hit the ground, your back slamming hard into the rough earth, knocking the air from your lungs. By the time you managed to draw breath again, he's standing over you, pinning your down with a hand on your chest.

"Don't. Touch me. Like that. Again." He growls, pushing off and stalking over to the bags.

He picks them up and starts walking, not looking to see if you're following. Your chest and back ache, your lungs throbbing as you push to your knees. You bury your emotions again, following him back to the car with a blank face and stoned heart.

You shouldn't be hurt. You knew he has issues with being so close. You're lucky you aren't dead. You're lucky he didn't do worse. You should be on your knees at his feet, thanking him for sparing you. So why does it feel like he just kicked your heart?

You pull your spellbook from your bag, letting it enlarge in your hand. It automatically flips through its own pages, landing on something to preserve your image. The stains of dirt and grass disappear from your shoes and dress, your hair falling clean and brushed.

Before getting to the car, you draw a small smile to your lips. Nothing in this world can affect you. None of it ever has. None of it ever will.

The ride home is tense and silent. His grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white, every muscle in his body is wound tighter then the fibers in his jeans. You don't move. You don't make any sound. Just sitting, straight as a board, watching the road be sucked into the headlights and under the tires, spit out into the black of the night.

He pulls up to your house and stops, not looking at you. You don't move. Not yet. You have to find a face that Zemra will believe. He opens his mouth to say something, but you turn to him with a bright smile, lips pulled too tight, and wrinkled eyes with no shine of pleasure.

"I had a great time tonight. Thanks, Toby. I'll see you later." With a too-chirpy voice, you get out to the car and bounce up to the door. It might be a little much, but she won't know that. She's never seen you after such a long date.

When you open the door, you see the house is dark, and her music is playing loud. The light is off, you can see from the crack under her door. Good.

You slide into your room, immediately letting your clothes hit the floor and kick off your shoes, sitting on your bed in your robe. You let the night replay in your mind, up until the kiss. You freeze the memory, just before he'd closed the gap. His eyes had been so soft and warm, you could see the child that had lost his sister. The boy that was bullied and went home crying. The man struggling with every stain his past left him. Soft and warm and sweet. Human.
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Toby's POV
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I watch her walk to the door, the apology dying on my tongue. I don't know what to make of that. I'd thrown her across a clearing after kissing her, snarling in her face like she'd stabbed me. I guess she did in a way. Metaphorically. And she still said she had a good time?

No. That was fake. She had the face of a statue, hard and cold and perfect, the whole way back. She was hiding her real reaction. Getting into that fake cheer for her friend.

When the door shuts, I rev the engine and take off, barreling down the street, twice as fast as the speed limit. It's four in the morning. I don't give a damn. I'm to pissed at myself.

How the fuck could I have done it? I take a sharp, screeching turn onto a highway.

I barely stopped myself from fileeing her there in the grass! I turn onto the freeway, gunning the speed to triple what is was.

How stupid am I?! I'm the one that fucking kissed her! Weaving in and out of traffic, my vision goes red.

She hates me, I know she does. Damn it! Fucking dumbass! I swerve off the freeway, straight into the forest. The trees are thick enough to make maneuvering hard, but not impossible.

I should've killed her that night. None of this would've happened then.

Memories of her warm magic; her small arms around my waist or shoulders; her perfect, subtle smile; when she made me lay on her lap, her fingers running through me hair while we drink beer and talk.

The night I tried to kill her. When she poked too deep in my head and I pinned her to the counter, ready to bite out her neck with my bare teeth if I had to, just to shut her up and stop the pain. And tonight. When I threw her across the field, knocking her breath away, maybe bruising a rib or her back or her head, pressing down hard enough on her chest that I could've crushed her lungs, her heart, in one easy motion.

She's better off without me.

My vision blinks away as the sound of metal screeching along more metal, a tree cracking over, the front folding in on itself as I'm flung forward and whipped back. The last thing I'm aware of is a the strange replacement I have for pain in my head and neck.