Ruining Xenon

2 | Hooded Storm

c h a p t e r t w o

—hooded storm

b l a k e

• • •

I know. I f*****g know this would cost me my reputation further as nothing had been to before, but right now, that isn't enough for making me back down.

Now is one of the few times in my whole shitty existence that good is coming from me, and it was only for the girl that, not long before, I noticed the familiar darkness trailing after. That same darkness that had been haunting me since the dawn of time - that made me attempt countless amount of failed suicides and forced me to join one of the deadliest gangs found in the town. Well, two, if counting the one I exploded the entire member of.

And, the reason I'm right here was because through all of those, I wanted so bad for someone asking me that question though pathetically never found one. But I was offering it to her now. So she won't be the exact same.

So she wouldn't end up irreversibly fractured, tagged as the f*****g useless to the world; of absolutely no good and been named the beast - that one f*****g merciless monster who doesn't even know the tip of the concept humanity.

"What do you want?" She says after a while of an almost audible reluctance.

Aside from the fact that her name's Nova, that she's a wild one or a theory believing her skin complexion is fair olive, I don't know anything about her personality, thus I found it a little challenging to predict what next awaits about to come from her.

Hell, I didn't even know who in the entire world she was until I saw her this morning twisting Camilla's hand around forcefully. I have to admit, that came out screaming fierce, pretty impressive, and I couldn't help but ask my trustful second who she was.

Nova, he said, one I shouldn't get near if I wanted myself steady on the high spots of the golden chain.

It's one huge fact I don't.

"I just want to see if you're alright," I reply, patiently proceeding through baby steps along with her. "And... that bruise on your cheek, it's turning a big purple. I mean," I throw in a comment, running a hand through my already tousled brown hair as questioning eyes start giving us unnecessary attention. Most of them look away swiftly when my sharp stare landed at their flustered ones like I expected when proceeding for the move, "Are you OK?"

She doesn't say anything. Her head battle against the reflecting walls, and after a mute, tensional moment, she sucks in a deep breath, finally having decided there indeed is an existence to a better idea to follow.

Much unsurprisingly, it happened to be quickly lifting her black messenger bag off of the chair she was once unsurely settled at with her aim clearly presented for me to be aware, yet never grasping the power of changing the sequences.

And before I could say anything more to stop her from fleeing away of the world, of life, she has already waltzed out of the classroom.

Like an untameable storm made to never be ceased, the silence she felt firing out from every uneasy step she took.

• • •

"Blake," someone called out from behind as I strolled mindlessly through the empty hallways - mind for a strange reason set on the earlier brief encounter with her - targeting my next class and thankfully the last one to end my typically awful stay at the school.

I turn around. And surely enough, River appears so casual as he could be when leaning against a grey locker at the side, a soon lit cigarette caught between his slender fingers and raven hair dangling over his eyes blankly set on the ground.

"River." I nod at him. "What are you doing here alone?"

He shrugs and walks over to me, on the way stepping on the newly lit cigarette he only threw that my eyes couldn't help but trail after the breakdown of. Of course rich dudes don't give two shits about those.

"Skipped," he abruptly replies while trekking slightly behind of me. It's a usual manner of his and having been acknowledged the reasons, I couldn't argue with him not to.

But stopping midway, he sighs before saying: "Blake, I need to talk to you."

I frown in bewilderment and nod again for him to continue.

Clearly there doesn't really exist much word records between River and I to brag about - between River and anyone, actually, for the matter. He's just that guy who likes embracing his bold circle of silence to himself unless it's important, though even his best friends, Noah and I, don't know the actual reason why to.

But what I know for certain is that there's surely a reason, and maybe he's another broken, vulnerable guy underneath that 'Don't give a f**k' façade he throws for having it high up as his trusted guardian, keeping him an arm away from the doom.

Unlike many other people, I don't fall for the idea of him being just that rich emo guy who doesn't like to interact with the shitty race of human beings, he calls them, and above all, I know he has a scarring story he always tries to hold back.

Always succeeds on holding it back.

"BC," answers River's voice which was what pulled me back to present. "There's a fight today targeting you," he adds.

"And there's always a fight."

He shakes his head, making my confused frown grow deeper along with the curiosity of what He's trying to imply. "This time it's different. Noah and I met Trevor earlier and, well..." His head tilts around, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip like he was overly reluctant about the words he's on the verge of spilling to me.

"What?" I press.

"Blake. You're f*****g not supposed to know this." Finally finding my waiting gaze, his brown eyes show their slightly widened selves in a rare sort of reaction, and expression visibly agitated. "But Trevor... He- he wants to finish you, Blake. The very sooner he can."

I sigh too. "Right. 'bout that."

"You knew?" River asks obviously surprised, but after a brief glance through my deadpanned stare demanding an explanation how he didn't know that I already knew, he groans, running a frustrated hand over his face as if just noting who had informed me.

It didn't need to take a second thought even, really.

"Noah," We both chorus, but his voice sounded more of reproaching when mine only held affirmation.

"He should get banned off of the whole system."

"I tried," I agree. But once you're in, there's absolutely no hole out. Deciding to save Noah any more insults, I try to change the subject, "And about Trevor, how does it have a connection with BC?"

"Last time you were in the cages, Noah and I went to deliver the letter from the Northwest, and when we entered he was on the phone," River explains and we turn left with an unspoken agreement to skip school. One thing would be how Noah would lose his mind later on, for - said quote - 'leaving him behind'. "Whoever was on the other end, wasn't a nice one. Trevor kept explaining that it's the deadline, something incoherent about the money," there settles a word tugged back I didn't bother question because it's either River volunteering information, or staying overall mute, "and that Carson would be black crossed sooner."

Still unable to put the flowing number of jumbled pieces together, I shake my head at him, "Why-"

River being River quickly beats me to it. "We don't know. But the sooner we figure it out, the better. One way is that you could just quit every s**t to save your soul 'til then. Which..."

"Isn't possible," I nod in understanding.

He says nothing for a while, fishing inside the pocket of his denim jacket for the needed key of the black, luxurious SUV parked in front by the safer and much less crowded section - made specifically for those who are capable of paying for the cost of it.

Getting in through the steps he began through first, I ask curiously: "Any other ones?"

He shrugs as a simple response. "Well, if you'd win today's fight there would be chances of delay, or, if lucky, second thoughts through his deal. Trevor f*****g loves money more than people."

I smirk and scoff, feeling over triumphant at the weightless burden. There would be no way I would lose a fight and if this all would be on it, already count me alive. "Well that's easy."

"No. No it's not."

I tilt my head to the side at the unexpected answer from the guy who earns the biggest one with a bet on me through my every single fight. "And f*****g how?" I challenge.

"Because today, you have a legendary fight with UFC's champion, Blake," he's quick to reply, "And with the tactics your opponent has - your winning chances range from even to unlikely."

The information came out a little too fresh for me to comprehend in seconds since I've never heard of it before - the almighty opponent he was talking about that River's mostly accurate calculations thought I wouldn't win against.

"And who's the opponent?" I ask after a while.

As soon as I did the engine softly revs to such a soundly life and for the first time since we've entered the car, River turns to look at me, his face swiped of anything to present at all as he proceeds to shake his head through unawareness.

Rare awareness.

"No one knows," comes his answer on a silver platter, and a self-conscious promise sparks in me, telling no one in particular I had a mission of effectively changing the last sentence of his.

Because Carson would win. Carson always doesn't leave a battle with a ducked head, and this round was no exception.