It was never effortless to love Aaron Warner. He was a difficult teenage boy who seemed to forget a lot of the time that that was what he was-a teenage boy. He'd always felt that loving or even caring for him would be impossible for all the world to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
aaron warner.
I'M GOING TO my absolute best not to beat him to death.
Kishimoto has just used one of my guns—guns that I explicitly demanded everyone not touch—and failed to use it properly. He shot the elevator and now there is an enormous dent in it.
"Are you deaf?" I ask him coldly. I know Mara hates whenever I'm rude to her friends but this calls for it. I feel like I say something and it goes in everyone's ear and right out of it after. They are all such intolerable morons. "Do you have a mental illness I should know about?"
"Okay, chill," Kenji says to me. "It was an accident,"
"I can make your death look like one too,"
He drops his hands to his sides. "Okay, there he goes again, being a dramatic ass. You know that elevator looking slightly deformed now won't kill you?"
I narrow my eyes on him and blink slowly, trying to control my anger. Just think of Mara. Just think of Mara. A little irritation floods from my body but not enough for me to not loathe Kishimoto for this.
"Look at him, he's insane," Kishimoto comments, nudging Isaac. "He's 'bout to kill me because I accidentally shot the elevator,"
"Stop being so provocative," I hear Isaac, who is lifting dumbbells, mutter in return. He's strange. I don't quite understand Isaac Meyer and I heavily dislike things or people I don't understand. Yet, somehow, I can't find it in me to hate him. Perhaps it's because of his love for Mara. He's earned my respect because of that, that much is sure. However. . .I still can't pinpoint what it is about him that I find so intriguing.
Before I can jump in, Juliette runs towards us, panting. "Hey, have any of you guys seen Mara?" She stops next to Isaac.
He looks up at her, confused. "She was just here. She's going on a walk on the beach, she's fine,"
"A walk?" I repeat.
"She isn't," Juliette shakes her head. "I just came from there, I've been looking for her for, like, forty minutes,"
Paranoia latches onto my mind like a parasite. "What?"
Juliette shifts, uncomfortable at all the sudden attention,—inconveniently so—mine the most. "I've looked everywhere. I can't find her,"
I drop onto the evilest, darkest depths of my thoughts, every one of them convincing me that she is dead. What else could've possibly happened to her? If she's not around. . .and she only stays in our room or down here. She's gone on walks before but she's always come back after half an hour or so. She is dead. She is dead. How is she dead? She can't be dead. She is dead. She's—
She's not dead. Calm yourself. Control yourself. Mara isn't dead, I know it. I'd feel it somehow, I can't explain. But she's alive. Just not here. An irritating, mean thought pokes at my brain and I want to evaporate it the second I give it the time of day: what if she just left me voluntarily? No, no, no, no, she wouldn't. She wouldn't because she loves me and I love her too much to doubt that. I can't doubt that, it'll send me into a spiral I'll never escape from.
