The Silent Threat
Others moved aside as Kayden stepped forward, his friends lagging behind him in his wake. He walked with unnaturally stiff shoulders, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, a silent, lethal aura around him. The air around him appeared to grow colder with every step he made.
"My Kayden!" a girl breathed out from among the group, her voice full of awe.
Everyone was staring at him. Kelly's hand was still in mid-air, a pathetic, comical thing. Aria gazed at Kayden without blinking, as though she were the one being in the entire world who understood the magnitude of his presence.
Kayden stiffened inches from Kelly's face. He was not shouting; he did not have to. "I told you that might be the last thing you ever do with that hand. I was wrong. It will." He crept closer, his words descending into a low, icy whisper only Kelly could hear. "I'll amputate it, chop it up into little bits, and shove it down your throat."
Kelly gritted his teeth but didn't flinch. He tried to drop his hand, but Kayden's eyes held him there. "I did not tell you to drop it," Kayden replied, his voice as cold as a frozen lake. Kelly's arm hung suspended, a puppet on strings.
Kayden then looked at Aria, the iciness in his eyes thawing only for her. "Finished with her?" he asked, a flick of amusement running through his tone as he glanced at embarrassed Quinn.
"Yeah," answered Aria, a smile lip-flicking on her face. "For the moment."
Kayden smiled inwardly, a parched, inner sound.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked.
"Long enough to tally up each of those beautiful slaps," he replied. For one fleeting instant, a genuine smile touched Aria's mouth, something no one had ever seen.
Nelly's jaw dropped open. "Did Nix just smile? What the heck is he doing to my Nix?"
Kayden's gaze never left hers. "Your friends are waiting," he said to her.
"My friends are in the same class," she replied. "So are yours. I'll see you later." She nodded her head once, with a show of respect, and started to turn away. "And thanks for yesterday."
"You do know how to thank a man," he growled.
"I think. It's just your luck," she said as she turned away.
He watched her go and turned to his friends, who stared at him in shock and bewilderment. "What's the look?" he inquired.
"As if you'd tell us," Levi snarled.
Kayden shrugged and walked away, leaving them wondering with questions that were not answered.
A Graveyard of Memories
In the quiet of his apartment, Kayden ignored the calls and messages. Numb to the world around him, only the calendar on the wall mattered. July 10th. He knew where he was supposed to be.
He sat on a piece of grass, a grave his lone guardian. A nearly empty bottle of Scotch lay on the ground beside him, the others littered around him like fallen soldiers. No matter how much he consumed, the liquor was not enough to find its way to the pain that had rooted itself deeply within him. He only desired a night of forgetfulness, a night in which he would not be able to sense the ghosts of his childhood, the shadows of the pain and the suffering.
He placed a new bouquet of flowers on the grave, a tradition that he shared alone. He was the only one ever to do so.
He caught sight of a shadow approaching. He slowly rolled his head, his mind trying to recognize the familiar form.
It was Aria.
Her eyes, opened wide with the same sadness, confronted his. "Kay?" she breathed.
"Followed you here?" he grated.
"Please. Like I had any idea you'd be here," she laughed mockingly. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you do in a graveyard?" he snapped back, sneering.
"The same as you're doing, I suppose," she replied, her gaze dropping from his face to the bottles.
"Did you drink all this?" she asked.
He laughed, the laughter minus humor. "And still not drunk. It's maddening."
"Do you want to die?" she asked, her tone unexpectedly, out-of-character concerned. "That's at least fifteen bottles."
"Stop screaming," he snarled, standing. He swayed, his equilibrium on the point of leaving him, but steadied himself before she could grab hold of him. "I'm fine. Don't touch me."
"Why don't you like being touched?" she asked, her voice a soft echo of her own past.
"Why don't you?" he snapped. "As you have no answer, neither do I."
He moved towards her, his voice dropping to a threatening level. "You don't like men. I'm a man. You knew I was present, and you came to me anyway. Why?"
She did not move. She could not. The unanswered question hung: why him, the exception to the rule?
"Did you come alone?" he growled, his gaze incinerating hers.
"No, with my aunt, she's in the car though," she whispered, her breathing caught in her throat.
"Good," he answered, and in that single word, he took another step forward, pushing her against a headstone. "Because I'm getting you out of here. I'm taking you to my cabin. And I'm going to keep you there."