Page 7 of Killer (Project)

Today was yetanother bad day. Roger had ended up beating the shit out of Diesel in gym class, and somehow, I had known something was wrong once he didn’t show up to class. I excused myself to the restroom but headed straight to the boys locker room. There he stood leaning against the far wall of the bathroom his arms clenching his midsection. His eyes grew large as he took me in.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Maggie.” His voice was weak, he was sweating profusely, and he looked more exhausted than I had ever seen him.

“You didn’t show up to American Lit, so I assumed something was wrong. Looks like I was right.” I tried to keep my tone out of the smart-ass area, but it didn’t work. From the look on his face, he didn’t seem to find it funny either.

“I don’t need your help. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that?” He was as livid as he was most times I came running to his rescue. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it was that made me come back for more. Every time I helped him, it was like being stung by a bee. Every time I stuck my fingers into the warm honey, I would get stung. Eventually, the pain subsided and didn’t feel nearly as bad as going without the honey. I guess I looked at Diesel like that.

“Looks like you’re going to have to tell me one more time because I didn’t hear it the last thousand other times,” I joked, walking over to him. He stared at me a darkness settling into his eyes. This was the part where he would try to threaten me. Try to convince me how being friends was a weakness he couldn’t afford and if I didn’t stop, he would hurt me.

It was always a lie. I could call his bluff by now. Sometimes, I would think the tumor was finally getting to him, that he was actually losing parts of his mind only because he would tell me the same thing every single time I did something for him.

“Don’t,” he growled as I reached a hand out to steady him. His clothes clung to his sweaty body as a groan sounded from deep within his chest.

“Just let me help you,” I said ignoring his shoves. He was weaker than I was—that much I knew.

“I said no,” he yelled, his voice hurting my ears. His hand reached out and grabbed my arm gripping it in a manner that would’ve scared me—should’ve scared me.

“I said yes.” I gritted my teeth gripping him under the arm as I lead him to the bench. His grip on my arm slacked as I sat him down, his head leaning back against the tiled wall.

“Go back to class, Maggie. We go through this every fucking day. Every. Fucking. Day. You tell me I need you, I tell you I don’t. When are you going to understand this infatuation you have with me is going to get you hurt?”

Infatuation? What was he talking about?

“Infatuation? Are you kidding me? I help you because it’s the right thing to do and because regardless of how the others treat you, I know you deserve more than just to be picked on and beaten. I mean, look at you now…”

“Fucking Christ, Mags, just leave. Leave while you still can. I’m dying. Hell, I should already be dead. I’m losing my mind, my memories, and my thoughts every single day. Every breath I take, every morning I wake up, I’m that much closer to death. So please cut the shit and walk away. It’s been years, and I’m barely hanging on by a thread. A fucking thread, Maggie. A. THREAD!!!” he bellowed. His face was red in frustration as I took a step away from him, my back hitting the lockers. I had seen him angry. I had seen him cry, but I had never seen his hate turned on me.

“I just wanted to help you,” I mumbled. It was the plan the whole time—to be a friend to him when he needed one most.

“Don’t. Stop helping. Stop caring. Stop it all. Because if you don’t stop, I will force you to stop.” He stood, breathing heavily.

I wasn’t sure I could handle a day without Diesel. Maybe that was the problem he was getting at. I was using helping him as an excuse to hide the fact I was already attached to him. He never wanted me to get attached to him because you can’t attach yourself to death. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to protect me.

I jolted awake, a sheen of sweat covering me. Fuck, another memory. Another nightmare. I felt as if I would be plagued by them for the rest of my life. As if not knowing what happened to him was my own personal hell.

He died, Maggie. He fucking died, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do.

Tears threatened to spring from my eyes. I loved Diesel with every piece of myself. I just wish I would have been strong enough to tell him how I felt much sooner than I did. That way, we could have spent more time loving one another, showing each other in every aspect how deep that love ran. Suddenly, my cell phone started to ring. My mind was a boggled mess as I searched the bedsheets for it.

My hand landed on it as I pulled it out from under my pillow. Kandace. Fudge sickles. I hit the answer key and waited for the bitching to ensue.

“Don’t tell me you were taking a nap…” she yelled into the phone.

“I…”

“Actually, you better have been taking a nap. You’re pulling an all-nighter.” She interrupted me not even giving me a chance to speak.

“Thanks for telling me what I’m doing tonight,” I said in a smartass tone.

“No problem. You best be ready in T-minus thirty minutes. I will be at your apartment to pick you up then.” Thirty minutes? She had to be kidding.

“Really, I just wanted to stay in and—”

“Read a fucking book. I know, I know.” She finished my sentence for me. I needed to come up with better excuses.

“Whatever. I’ll be ready,” I said giving up. There wasn’t any point. I had no other excuses. It was time for me to socialize a bit, to step out of my comfort zone.

“Good,” was all she said before hanging up on me. I slithered from my bed and walked to the bathroom, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans along the way. It was only eight. I had slept for three hours… crashing the moment I had walked into my loft apartment.

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