There must have been some sort of radioactive leak into the town water supply, because everyone was acting insane. Including Dylan.
As he was walking down the blasted corridor, smiling and waving off concerned comments about the state of his health, he prayed to the cruel god Adam seemed to love for the final minutes of peace for this break. His cheek was throbbing, Marty's slap still giving him jolts of panic that he desperately tried to mask in the locker room. His teeth still rattled from the blow, and his wrist was too swollen to bend comfortably. He gave a trepidatious freshman a toothless grin of reassurance as he discreetly probed his molar, hoping it wasn't loose.
Well, he was going to have to visit the psych ward anyway; might as well pop by the dentist and the orthopedist while he was at it. He involuntarily guffawed, spooking a gaggle of girls into a slowly filling calculus classroom.
Fucking Marty Spencer! It was as if Dylan was a red cloth to an obstinate bull. Bastard had nothing better to do than to find any excuse to harass him. Usually, he would shake it off. Keep calm and carry on, or whatever it is Jesse's people say in this situation. But he couldn't get the new kid involved in their strange vendetta on his first day.
And speaking of the new kid. Nikolai Volh… valdem… whatever his last name was. Now HE was definitely weird. That whole paint-me-like-one-of-your-french-girls handsome, but innocent I-just-want-to-make-friends vibe he had going for him got everyone's attention, alright. Tall, broad, unapproachable at first, but seemingly sweet and shy when talking about his hobbies. The whiplash Dylan got from the personality switches was not inherently sinister, but something about Nikolai made his skin crawl. Whatever he did to Marty, albeit fully deserved, was definitely not normal.
He sighed, stopping near a sunlit window, the day outside not taking the hint and being all delightfully pleasant. He had no idea what possessed him to open his fool mouth and jump in the middle of them. He should have been happy that his bully got his just deserts, but watching Nikolai… talk at him in that way. He was genuinely terrified for Marty, so he did what he did best. Put himself in the middle of a mess.
He pressed his cool forehead to the warm glass, trying to clear the darkness in his head with the rays of September sunshine. The headache wasn't going away. Painkillers honestly did their best, but today was determinedly deciding to do its best to beat Dylan down. The worst part was… Adam knew.
Which was going to be a problem. Adam floated through life, thinking the best of people, and it was easy to deflect previous bruises as results of stage accidents. Dylan handled this half-a-decade-long conflict with truly saintlike restraint. It's been about four months since Marty's last outburst, and Dylan genuinely hoped that the idiot just got bored and moved on to bigger and better things. He knew full well that assholes bullied people for the pleasure of exerting power, but mostly for the response. So he refused to give one. Until today, when Adam woke up and apparently chose violence.
His righteous, understanding, wear-my-enormous-heart-on-my-sleeve Adam. Assassinating Marty's character right in front of his cronies with surgical precision. For a second, he thought he saw a distortion in the air around him, like steam coming off a hot metal poker they use to brand cattle with.
Trying to shake off that ominous thought, he rubbed at his temples, wincing as he forgot about his damn wrist. If the rest of the school year was going to be as jam-packed as this morning, he was seriously considering having himself committed for a week or so, just to get away from it all before it killed him.
"Dylan!"
Could the universe stop shafting him for five minutes?
He turned towards Monica, practised smile wobbling desperately but holding strong. Her concerned gaze made him want to test the strength of these bulletproof windows.
"Oh, my Goodness! Are you alright?!" she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. A gesture he had no idea what to feel about. Why did she keep touching him!?
"It's nothing. Just a mishap at the theatre. Gotta beware those pesky rigging lines fraying."
She did not seem convinced. "You seem like you know what you are doing, but one must still be careful. He sends us trials enough, without us fetching them ourselves."
Jesus Christ Superstar, who even talks like that.
"I will make sure to take care from now on." He cut off that sermon in the bud. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"As a matter of fact," she started, not even bothering to mask her intent. "I was wondering if you've seen Adam?"
There it was. He remembered seeing Monica out of the corner of his eye, being pointed towards Jesse by the gossip brigade that was the cheerleading team. She seemed pretty bright, so putting two and two together, it wasn't a difficult task to figure out the situation. Well, he wasn't going to make this easy. For Adam's sake.
"Not really, no." He mused, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry I couldn't be more help. Maybe you could try the calculus class? Break is almost over, and we both know Adam is not one for playing hooky."
She levelled him with an assessing look, hand still gently resting on his bicep. Something shifted in her eyes, suspiciously akin to exasperation, as she sighed and gently probed his aching wrist. He was flabbergasted to see her pull out an honest-to-God ice pack from her purse and proceed to make him feel better.
They stood there in silence for a moment, Dylan too shocked to protest, Monica focused on her work. All of a sudden, a wave of shame hit him, making him wince and causing her to make those shushing noises one usually gives a skittish horse.
If he was honest with himself, Monica had never done anything to warrant his mental hostility towards her. Apart from being with Adam. He knew full well that his irrational hatred stemmed purely from jealousy, tainting every word, every smile and good deed in a sinister light. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Monica was a genuine, good-hearted Christian, one worthy of being by Saint Adam's side in front of God, man and the school body.
And he was just a bitter coward, pining for his best friend and being rude to his girlfriend. Great. Add that to the long list of character flaws he was collecting today.
When she was satisfied with the state of his hand, Monica flipped her ponytail back and smiled beatifically at him. He involuntarily smiled back, genuine feeling suffusing his face.
She looked out the window, perky attitude lost in the depth of her blue eyes. There was darkness there he resonated with, on a subconscious level. Not all was well in paradise, it seemed.
"You've done your best."
Yep. Definitely something in the water.
"I… I'm sorry?"
"It must have been hard. Dealing with that boy's abuse while trying to hide it from Adam."
Dylan staggered back to the windowsill, eyes wide and heart beating like a galloping horse. She was still not looking at him.
"You were so brave. It isn't easy doing the right thing. Turning the other cheek." She looked at him then, excruciating kindness and fucking pity caressing him.
"But you don't have to do that anymore. I've seen how Adam feels about you."
For a second he thought he was going to vomit.
"He is righteous, he is kind, and he will never abandon his friends when they are in need. Especially ones who are truly deserving of it. I know why you didn't tell him. You were afraid of him ruining his relationship with the football team over something you thought you could handle yourself. That is truly admirable."
Dylan closed his eyes, a hurricane of a headache roaring through his cranium. His relief at the sudden not-outing was replaced with sizzling anger. Monica was right on the money, and that made him even more pissed off.
He didn't notice when his hands got clasped in hers, those deep blue eyes boring into him with zeal.
"We are the same, you and I." She emphasized. "We put Adam before ourselves, for his own sake. We cherish him with all our hearts."
"Which is why you, of all people, understand that others will use his righteousness for their own gain."
Dylan's eyes were watering from the pain in his wrist, his head, his very soul. There was distant howling of a terrifying typhoon in his ears, muddling his thoughts, Monica's voice being lost in the cacophony of screams.
"Others like Jesse Ashford."
"I… what?"
"I know he has been looking for her all day. I know that whatever you or I say to him will not change his mind. He is too good to not forgive her for her sins. He is too kind to distance himself from her for both of their sakes."
Dylan was amazed no one else heard the fucking hurricane blasting through the school. Then it hit him that maybe he had finally gone mad for good.
"We want to prevent that, don't we, Dylan?" Her grip was undoing all the previous charity she bestowed. "We want to save him."
"So tell me where they went. If we can prevent them from having a heart-to-heart, then maybe all of this pain can be avoided."
He was so dizzy. The icy cold water was lapping gently at his heels; Monica's blue eyes, the colour of the sea, were lighthouses guiding the lost ship of his fracturing mind to a safer shore. He sighed and gave in.
"I saw them…. Outside…" the words came out of him as if in a dream. Slow and viscous. His rational mind an afterthought in the wake of the storm.
He snapped out of it long after Monica was gone, covered in sweat. Looking at the clock and realising there were only five minutes till the break was over, he swore and bolted to the equipment shed.
Today was going wrong in epic proportions. For once, he was going to try not to make a situation worse.