The Best of Friends Part 15-A Terrible Tuesday

a quick note before this part-I just finished the ending to this story today. It's kind of interesting, follows along the lines most of this has. Part 20 is the ending. My friend has been reading this story, I send it to her everytime I write a new addition to it, and she thinks it's a good ending. Then the guy who's the "he" in here is also reading along, he likes it mostly because it gives him a lot of insight as to what other people see in him. so, here's 15... enjoy.

As she woke the next morning, she heard him talking to himself. Her best friend had left by then, most likely she went to school. She moved over to him and asked him what he was doing. He motioned for her to move closer, then showed her the piece of paper he was reading. He said his ex came by and threw the crumpled mess at him. She read the words, but the ink had bled almost too bad to read it at all. She assumed it was tears from his ex, instead of him since he didn't appear to have cried.

The words were of a depressing poem. It was a very twisted, very innocent, interpretation of the actual events of the last week. She was worried about this now. She realized she was the faultline and break of the relationship she swore she wouldn't interfere in. She rethought her actions. Was it really her who had broken that? Had he possibly done something, even a little thing, that would've thrown all of that out? He turned to her and said he had spent too much time with her, but if he hadn't the consequences could've been worse. He knew the other consequences.

Around noon they finally got down from the dugout. They walked to Wendy's again and bought lunch. They went back outside and to the dugout. He watched her eat wondering what was on her mind. She had blocked his telepathic signals, so he couldn't find out either. She also ate silently, ceasing communication. Just after she finished lunch she decided to go over to the nearby playground. He followed her there. Then suddenly they both heard an explosion. They turned and watched as one of the older buildings began to fall. Then she heard footsteps and spun around. She came face to face with a crack addict with a knife. The addict asked her if she had any crack, and she said no. Then he watched as the addict raised the knife, but he hurried over just in time that the addict could only pierce the skin on her arm. Then he chased the addict off while she tended to her wound.

When the addict was gone he came back to find her crying in a huddle next to the slide. By now she had blood dripping off her arm. She then began drinking up her blood again. It had an odd taste, but it was good nonetheless. He ripped off part of his shirt and tied it around her wound. She looked up at him crying again. He opened his arms for her and she crawled over to him. The wind started picking up, but his sweatshirt covered both of them just enough to keep warm.

That night they spent in the dugout. He sat down in the corner in such a way she could sit in front of him and lay back with her head on his chest. He put both of his arms around her as he spent the entire night protecting her from harm.

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