# Ending 1.5 Chapter 10

Chapter 10: The Cracks
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“Welcome to McDino’s, can I take your order?”
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Raptor Jesus, please kill me now. A social retard like me has no business running a cash register and dealing with the absolute dregs that frequent this place. Slack-jawed, mumbling, and nigh-incomprehensible creatures, day in and day out, and all I can do is grin and bear it. It’s enough to make a man sick. Then again, that might be the food. Barely a week in, and I’m already thinking about bringing my own lunches. Maybe I’ll just quit; save myself the time and dignity.
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That’s usually around where my train of thought gets interrupted by a reminder of why I’m here. Why I get out of bed every morning. Two bottomless wells of shimmering amber. Two angelic blankets of shifting silver. A rough, yet soothing voice, and a warmth unmatched by any feeling on Earth. It’s enough to…
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It’s enough to make me lose focus. Again. I just have to hope nobody is noticing me spacing out constantly - not that I mind the reason. Part of me thinks I’ll get over it eventually, but the other part hopes I never do.
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Right as I begin to regret my existence again, the clock ticks over, signaling the end of my shift, and - more importantly - my first paycheck. Ignoring the pleading and offers from both my manager and the bank to set up an actual bank account, I return home with just shy of two hundred dollars after the taxes and fees. It’s not much, but it’s another step in the right direction.
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“Honey! I’m home!” I shout after throwing the front door open.
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“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Fang shouts back from somewhere inside.
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“Until I get tired of it! So, not any time soon.” She groans in response. I maneuver to the bedroom and see Fang stretched out across the bed, her music notebook on the side table. I scatter the assorted bills that made up my paycheck around her. “Got paid today. A whole two hundred smackers. Give or take.”
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“And you had to ‘make it rain’?” she asks.
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“I had no choice. This was destiny.” She huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “So, how are things going over here?”
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“Fine,” she replies, though her voice lacks confidence. She probably just needs a boost. Maybe a little cooperative brainstorming…
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“Well, let’s see what we’ve got-” I reach for the notebook, but as soon as my hand touches it, Fang lunges forward and slams her hand down against it.
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“Let’s… not…” she says, eyes wide and voice strained.
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“And… why not?” I ask, not realizing I’ve dropped to a whisper. She glances over to the book, and I get the feeling I shouldn’t have asked.
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“I tried… I just… can’t…” she mutters. I sit down and wrap an arm around her. No sense in leaving a band-aid half-torn.
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“Why not?” I ask again. Fang looks over to the notebook again, and I can feel the tiny feathers on her arms bristling in discomfort as she tries to find a response. Please don’t let things be any worse than they already are…
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“Every time I open that book, I remember what I was thinking the last time I used it. What the last thing I wrote was.” She shudders heavily. “I’m sorry…”
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“Don’t,” I interrupt. “It’s not your fault.”
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“You’re relying on me.”
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“Because I know you can do this. And if you need some help, I’m here to give it. We can get through this, just like everything else.”
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“How?” She looks at me, terror in her pleading eyes. Shit, think! What do creative types normally do for inspiration? The trip to the museum back in April comes to mind. While it was an abject disaster as a date, it obviously gave Fang something to work with for prom. Maybe something similar will help. As long as we don’t go near any museums, at least.
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“Well… I have the day off tomorrow. So, how about we take the time to get some fresh air, look around the city, and see if anything comes to mind?”
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“...Okay,” she mumbles, with nowhere near as much determination as I was hoping. It’s… it’s fine. She’s just rattled. Some sleep and fresh air should help.
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The next day is graciously overcast, lowering the ambient temperature to borderline-tolerable throughout most of Haffton. Fang and I spend a long while wandering the city with no particular goal in mind. We end up in a public park, bustling with activity of all sorts. Dogs being walked, children playing, street vendors flagging down potential customers, all bringing about a serenity I haven’t felt in months, if ever. Despite everything, I feel like I’m finally on the right path.
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Fang doesn’t seem to be doing too badly, either. A pen idly spins in her right hand and her notebook hangs from her left while her eyes roam the vista, taking in the scenery. See? I told me it would be fine. Just needed a change of pace.
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“So…” I start. “Got anything good cooking up there?”
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“I don’t know… Maybe?” Fang sighs. “Nice days at the park weren’t ever really the subject of my music.”
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“Well, worse comes to worst, you can always write about me.”
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“Ooh, tempting,” she replies sarcastically, then reconsiders it a moment later. “Although… Might not be a terrible idea.” The hand holding the book shifts. She looks down at it, hesitates, then looks over at me. I offer her my best winning smile and a thumbs up. She blushes and smirks, then turns back to her book. She lifts it up to chest level, brings her pen to bear, and flicks it open with a claw.
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Her smile vanishes instantly. There’s a moment where I’m frozen to the spot, unable to act, with only one thought echoing through my mind. What the fuck was I thinking?
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Fang slams the notebook shut and throws it as hard as she can, stumbling backwards into me and filling my vision with agitated feathers.
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“I’m not- I’m not- I’m…” she mumbles fearfully between sharp, yet shallow breaths. I try to turn her around, but her limbs jerk and twitch violently at every touch.
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“Breathe, breathe!” I call. She takes another awkward step back, and I lose my balance, toppling us to the ground. She kicks at the ground and the heel of her boot catches the dirt. With that traction, she whips around and attempts to launch herself upright and away, tripping over me in the process. Vision unobstructed, I’m able to get a grasp on her shoulders, directing her focus towards me. She suffers a tremor that echoes through my soul, then finally locks eyes with mine.
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There’s a brief moment where nothing happens, and I fear the limited extent of my knowledge here won’t be enough. A deep, ragged breath from Fang tells me the worst should be over. She glances around, then pushes herself back onto her feet. I follow her up and wrap her in a hug that she doesn’t reciprocate.
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“How many times is this going to happen?” she whispers after a considerable silence.
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“It’ll pass,” I whisper back. It has to. She sighs, then pulls away from me.
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“Need to use the bathroom,” she mutters before walking off.
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Well, that was a complete disaster. History repeats. That damn book must be haunted, or something. I walk over and pick it up, properly looking it over. Outside of some writing and basic doodles on the cover, it seemed as ordinary as any other composition notebook, if a bit worn. Flicking the cover open reveals the remains of a few pages that were torn out at some point. The first intact page has a collection of tiny pictures, as well as some words and musical scores, struck through to the point of illegibility. A single verse remains intact.
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Control over my life you denied,
And now death approaches from the sky.
Why’d it be you had to vilify?
Goodbye, Volcano High
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To anyone else, this would be nothing more than an edgy and somewhat personal outlet of teenage angst. To me, it’s - in another world - the last gasp of someone pushed past the breaking point. Two dozen words putting a fear in me that rivals being on the wrong side of a loaded gun. A black swan song.
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I shake my head clear and consider flinging the book down a storm drain. Fucking hell, maybe it is haunted. Still - there must be a reason she’s hung onto it through our move. Shouldn’t throw the entire thing away without at least asking first. I don’t think this page in particular will be missed, though.
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I sit down on an empty bench and tear that cursed page from the book, stopping myself just as I’m about to rip it to pieces. Letting Fang see this would be a small and mostly symbolic victory, but even that counts for something at this point. Approaching bootfalls from behind let me know my timing is as good as ever.
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“Whatcha got there?” Fang asks, a hint of lingering panic in her voice.
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“Just taking care of a little something,” I reply, tearing the page into useless scraps of paper.
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“You… saw it?”
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“Saw what?”
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“Right,” she says, smiling softly. “We should go. I think I’ve had enough of today.”
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Another week comes and goes, and Friday afternoon is here again. I promised myself I’d keep up with how Fang was doing more often, being careful to not cross over from interest and support to pestering. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much real progress, but this brand new composition notebook I got right after receiving my second paycheck might help move things along.
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“Honey! I’m home!” I shout after throwing the front door open. The only response is my own words echoing back to me. Odd. She’s usually awake around now. I peer through the open bedroom door, and it’s equally devoid of pterodactyls as the living room.
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“I, uh… got something for you. Might cheer you up,“ I call. Still nothing. Did she fall asleep in the bathroom or something? The bathroom light is off and the door is ajar. I place a hand on the door, but before I can push, an unmistakable scent sends my body into fight-or-flight mode. I gun straight for the first aid kit under the sink, regretting not having refilled it at some point. Whatever’s left will have to do.
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Fang is huddled against the wall opposite the sink, her breathing deep and labored. Her arms are raked with claw marks, fresh and old. Her wings - limply splayed out along the wall - are missing patches of feathers, tiny scarlet rivers snaking down their lengths. Blood and tears smear her face, and her hair is completely unkempt.
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I waste no time, flipping open the kit and getting to work on the more grievous looking wounds. The grunts and hisses from the disinfectant application let me know Fang is at least conscious.
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“Come on. Talk to me,” I whisper. She groans, though whether it’s a response to me or the pain, I have no way of knowing. Guess I’m on my own for a while longer. Just remember what she told you last time. These are for the wings… this is for the body… that stuff is for everything… Jesus, that’s a lot of blood. A lot more than last time. It’s not too much, is it? It’s fine, it’s fine, just keep going, clean that up, ignore the stench of iron, don’t worry about getting your hands bloodied, stop shaking so much- fuck!
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“Please, say something. Anything,” I pant.
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“‘Non… we’re-” A hiss cuts her sentence short. Her eyes open halfway, and she slowly follows my movements. “Just…”
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“You’ll be fine, okay? Try and relax for a bit.” I don’t notice my rapidly dwindling supplies until there’s nothing but a few scraps of gauze and a couple of bandages left. Shit. I got all the important parts... I think. Breathe. You’ve done what you can, it should be enough.
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“What’s- what’s going on?” I ask, sitting down next to her. Her head cranes over, eyes focusing on me. She stares long and hard, and if it weren’t for her blinking and breathing, I’d be running down the halls screaming for an ambulance. She shakes her head.
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“We’re fucked,” she mumbles. I wait for her to continue, but that seems to be the extent of her explanation.
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“What do you mean? Did- did something happen?” She looks away.
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“There’s not… we’re not making enough.” I slide a little closer, wrapping my hands around one of hers.
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“We’ve still got a while before that becomes a problem,” I whisper. “And if I need to, I can work a little harder.”
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“It won’t be enough. It’ll catch up to us.”
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“I… I know I’ve been pushing you about the music stuff, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be forcing it. I’m sure you’ll get back into it soon enough; I just need to be more patient. We can’t just give up, though. Gotta keep moving. Everything will fall into place, eventually.”
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“It’s not that, I-” She stops short. She’s not looking at me, but I can tell whatever she was about to say terrifies her. I keep my mouth shut. I have half a mind to abort now, but this is obviously important for both of us. She clenches her eyes and breathes sharply, then speaks so softly I can barely hear it.
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“I’m pregnant.”
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My heart sinks, soars, and skips a beat or two all at the same time. My brain catches up soon after with a barrage of thoughts, all equally important and equally unwanted. A breath catches in my throat, paralyzing my voice. Every limb freezes in place, unable to decide on which way to move.
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Fang is looking at me. Fang is looking at me, and if I don’t do something now, this is going to get much worse.
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That one thought is enough to shake off the petrification.
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“That’s wonderful news!” I exclaim, hugging her as tightly as I can without aggravating her injuries.
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“But…” Fang trails off. There’s a lot we’ll have to talk about, but now isn’t the time.
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“We were already in this for the long haul. This… this doesn’t change that. Alright? We’ll keep going because we have to.”
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“Are… are you sure we can do this?”
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“More than anything,” I reply. Fang sighs, leaning against the wall and glancing around herself.
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“God… what a mess. You did a… pretty good job. Help me up.” I stand up and grab hold of Fang’s arms, gently dragging her up to her feet. At her apex, she stumbles forward into me, pushing me onto the sinktop.
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“Ooooh, ffffuuuuuuuck…” Fang groans.
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“Hey, hey, you okay?” I ask.
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“Y-yeah, just… need a second…” We stabilize, and Fang lets out a troubled breath. “Fucking hell… Bring me to the tub.” I oblige, slowly walking us over to the bathtub. She shakily sets one foot in, lowers herself onto the rim, then brings the rest of herself in, sliding down to a comfortable spot. Her wings lazily unfold around her, and she breathes a sigh of relief, resting an arm on the rim.
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“Turn the shower on. Hot,” she mutters.
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“With your clothes on?”
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“Don’t care. They need to be cleaned, anyway.” At least she’s not wearing her boots. I crank the faucet and yank the plunger when the water gets hot. She grins as the spray of water hits her face and wings. “Fffffffuck yes…”
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I sit down against the outside of the tub, holding the hand she left on the rim.
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“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she says.
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“I’m not going anywhere,” I reply. Her nearby wing shifts out from between us, and she squeezes my hand, staring into my eyes.
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“I love you.”
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“I love you too.”