# Ending 1.5 Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Bridge, Part One
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Seven long and arduous days filled with studies and tests - Saturday to Friday - a seemingly unending gauntlet of academic activity that threatened the futures of Fang and myself. I put my pencil down for the last time and sigh a breath of relief after my math final, the last test I would take that semester, and for the rest of my life, if I could avoid it. At least, I would sigh, if that was the end of it. There’s a large number of people and things to deal with, and I’m out of options besides praying they stay off our backs for another week.
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Trish is the most immediate issue, and not because I can feel her death glare on the back of my skull at this very moment. Fang is planning on talking to her during lunch, and while I didn’t actively oppose it, I have no hope that peace will ever be established. Probably not even a demilitarized zone, and that’s not even getting into whatever she assuredly has planned to try and split Fang and I apart.
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Then there’s Naomi, who’s no doubt cooking up another attempt to ‘fix’ Fang and keep Naser’s attention. I’d like to think Fang’s cooled down regarding Naomi, but I have no way of knowing if it’s that or if she’s been more focused on everything else. Naser… I shouldn’t even be thinking of him as a problem, considering how much of a help he’s been over these last two weeks. Whatever Fang asks me to ask him to get, he gets it, no questions. That can’t last forever though; I know how much he cares about Fang.
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Finally, there’s Ripley, the veritable elephant in the room. I haven’t seen snout nor tail of him in over a week, and that’s more worrying than anything else. He could find something to put me in jail if he put his mind to it, and that’s just the start of it. All that’s holding him back is Fang and the fear that he’ll never see her again if he makes one wrong move.
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Fucking hell, I really am up shit fucking creek without a god damned paddle. Or a boat. Or the ability to swim.
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“Quit yammering to yourself, Anon,” Mr. Carldelewski barks from the front of the class.
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Fuck.
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The electronic bing-bong of the bell signals the end of one torture and the beginning of another. I see Trish muscling her way out of the door, Reed in tow, before I can finish gathering my stuff to leave myself. Entering the cafeteria, I wait around where Fang and I normally meet up for lunch. My stomach knots when she doesn’t show, meaning she fulfilled her promise to talk to Trish. I lean against a nearby wall, struggling to find a silver lining in all of this.
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“Yo, Anon,” someone calls, interrupting my lamentations. I look up and see Naser looking at me expectantly. “Where’s Fang?” he asks. I'm not really that hungry anyway.
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“With Trish. Trying to… smooth things over,” I respond. The irritation in my voice is obvious, and Naser sighs as he takes a spot next to me.
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“Not confident?”
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“Not in the fucking slightest. I’ve tried to extend multiple olive branches by now, and it’s gotten me nowhere. Trish hates me, and I don’t see that changing.”
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“You never know. I’ve been seeing people changing a lot recently. Like Fang… and my dad…”
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“Hmm?” Here I was, worrying about how little I knew of how Ripley was doing, when I could’ve asked Naser the whole time.
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“I dunno, it’s weird. Usually, he’s constantly up my ass about Fang whenever she does anything he doesn’t approve of. I mean, he put me through Hell a couple of months ago when she stayed at your place for an extra day.” Naser looks at the floor, the tempo of his speech slowing, like he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. “Now she’s been out of the house for two weeks, and… just, nothing. No demands to clean up your mess, no orders to go and bring her back, no shouting about how it’s my fault… it’s like he’s given up.”
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“That’s…” Relieving? Reassuring? The best news I’ve heard all week?
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“Yeah, it’s… unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Something… something happened...” His expression hardens, and he locks eyes with me. “Something happened, and whatever it was, I think it has to do with that ‘thing’ Fang stole from dad. What was it?”
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There it is. The million dollar question. I’ve got the million dollar answer.
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Focus! Fang will be back any second. I just need to stall-
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“Well?” Naser demands. Oh, God. I’m getting hot. Sweat is starting to pool. What can I say? Even if I wanted to tell him, I couldn’t do it here, and definitely without Fang’s permission.
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“I-I-I… I can’t…” I stammer, looking away. Unimpressed, Naser grills me further.
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“Why not? You were already planning on showing me. You said it was important.”
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“I just… I just can’t…”
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“Who can? Fang?” Slowly, I nod. “You think they will tell me?” Silence is my answer, but it tells Naser everything. He looks away from me and towards nothing in particular. “You’re keeping secrets, Anon, and not good ones. If you’re not careful, things are going to get out of your control, fast. And, if I’m honest, you are not a very careful person.”
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“I… yeah…”
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"Much as I'd like to, I won't force the answer out of you. Don't take that the wrong way though; it's because I trust Fang's judgement, not yours." I let out a sigh of defeat. "Besides, Fang would see me beating the crap out of you if I did." I perk up, following Naser's gaze into the room. A visibly upset and uneasy pterodactyl is currently making her way towards us. There's nothing purple trailing her, which means it didn't go well, but at least I'm done talking to people who don't trust me.
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"Hey, Anon," Fang says. She gives Naser a weird look, but smiles. "Are you talking about that Naomi thing like I asked?" Well…
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"Yeah, Naomi," Naser interjects, stopping my excuse before it even left the station.
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"Ah, well, I'll give you a few minutes then." Before I can protest, she walks off, finding a secluded spot to wait in. Out of the fucking frying pan-
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"So, 'that Naomi thing'. What's that about?" Naser questions. I look over and that same expression from earlier is back.
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"Well…" No, it's too early, I can't-
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"You have Fang's permission this time, so I don't want to hear that excuse." Can I get even a fucking thought in edge-wise? Holy shit.
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"Alright, alright! Just… Fang really does not like Naomi." Naser raises an eyebrow in suspicion. "Like, they want you two to break up." Naser waits a few seconds, soaking in that information.
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"I've known that since the day we started dating. Fang has told me that multiple times. What else?" God damn both of you...
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"Look, Naser, you're my friend, and I don't want to mess with your relationship this close to graduation."
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"I'll just ask Fang, then. Sounds like they'll have no qualms about it."
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"Fucking fine then, Naomi put Fang and I together." I prepare myself for the worst.
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"…?" Naser stares at me like I'm a moron.
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"Like, she thought I could help them, and get you to stop worrying so much." Still staring. This is… why did I think this would go like the last time I said this?
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"Last time?" he asks. Oh, for fuck's… "Told you, you aren't careful."
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"I… yeah. I told Fang all that stuff after prom. They… didn't take it well. We had a fight, stuff got broken, I said some things I shouldn't have. We've gotten better since, but Fang… I've been underselling it. Fang hates Naomi far more than you can imagine, which is why I've been trying to keep them separate. You don't want them getting into a fight."
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"Would it be worse than the average mating competition?" What? "Oh, right, human."
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"No- I mean, yes- I mean- It would definitely be worse than whatever dinosaurs are normally used to. Please, just keep them away from each other for a bit longer."
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"...you know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to isolate Fang from everyone. I'm sure you mean well, but that's not healthy."
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"A lot has happened these last couple of weeks. Maybe after graduation we can figure all of this stuff out, but things need to slow down first. I mean, whatever happened with Trish was today, minutes ago, and that's probably going to get worse before it gets better."
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"Just remember, Anon. Fang's got family, too. I know dad doesn’t like you, but he’ll do anything to make Fang happy, even if it involves you. Don't burn all your bridges. I'll leave you to it; don't want to keep Fang waiting. Good luck with Trish." With a quick goodbye, he walks off, and soon after, Fang takes his place.
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"So…?" she coos.
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"I, uh… wouldn't get your hopes up," I respond.
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"Feh. Oh well. Guess asking him to get a clue is a bit too much. Let's get some food and get the hell out of here."
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With lunch and music over with, the final day of the bell rings. Fang filled me in on bits and pieces of her conversation with Trish. Apparently, I'm a selfish, careless, egotistical asshole who is trying to keep Fang all to myself and lead her down a path towards ruin. While I already knew she thought that, Fang told me she got distressingly personal with some of her attacks both on me and my relationship with Fang, and that she wouldn't listen to a thing Fang said if it involved vouching for me. From the sounds of it, she didn't let our secret slip, so at least there's that.
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I know I said it was going to get worse before it gets better, but how does it get worse than this? She's already doxed me to the entire school, so short of straight up being impaled, I don't know what to expect.
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Fang and I emerge from the school hand in hand, making our way down the steps and starting off towards Skin Row once again. A pair of rapid footsteps comes up from behind us, and Trish blitzes in front of us, breathing heavily.
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"Fang… please…" she pants.
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"Yes?" Fang responds, hopeful.
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"Please… think about what you're doing…" Fang’s expression sours. No doubt she heard that one earlier.
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"I have, Trish. Why can't you listen to me?"
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"Can't you see what he's doing? He's isolating you! Making you dependent!"
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"I am not 'dependent'!" Fang shouts, a boot stomping onto the sidewalk. "I can make my own fucking decisions. That's what I've been doing. You're the one who's been opposing me every step of the way."
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"I'm trying to help you!"
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"Anon has tried to help. Reed is trying to help, and I've tried to help keep VVURM DRAMA alive. Even fucking Naser is helping me. What have you done besides deny and dismiss everything we’ve done or tried to do these last few months?" Trish scrambles for a response, but only manages a jumble of orphaned words, parts of larger sentences not fully thought of. I’d feel bad for her if she had ever made a single genuine attempt at reaching out to me and treating me like a person, rather than a threat.
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Bereft of a response, Fang sighs and pushes past her, pulling me along. We stop abruptly and I glance back, seeing Trish’s hand wrapped around Fang’s free wrist. Her tears contradict the desperate attempts to hold her emotions in. What’s stopping her from apologizing? Fear? Pride?
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“Are- are- are you… really going to pick him… over me?” Trish cries. Fang goes deathly quiet, staring into Trish’s eyes, searching for an explanation for this outburst.
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“Trish...” Beneath the betrayal and shock, I sense white-hot rage as she grips my hand tighter. “Is that an ultimatum?”
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“Y- yes. It is. And if you-”
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“Let go.” Trish’s mouth falls open, no sound coming out. “I’ve had enough.” Fang tugs on her restrained arm, and while it pulls her out of her stupor, she doesn’t budge. Trish’s brow furrows, her breaths leveling out despite the tears still streaming down her face.
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“Let go, Trish. Let go of my life.”
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“No! I-” Fang’s wrist twists around, sending her obsidian claws through the yellow sleeve and into Trish’s arm. She screams, pulling away and clutching the fresh wounds. The moment Fang is free, she takes off with me close behind. I look back one last time, watching as Trish rolls up her sleeve, running her fingers over where the claws pierced her hide.
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“Fang-”
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“Shut up. Please, just…” Fang trails off with a shaky breath.
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The walk back to my apartment had been long and quiet. Fang sits on the edge of my bed in silent turmoil, eyes to the floor. Fang leans into her hands, the feathers on her arms bristling lightly. I glance around the room, looking for something to take our minds off of this. Maybe we could…
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I’ve been here before. My apartment, horrible day, distressed girlfriend… the way her hands are crawling up the sides of her head as she tries to make sense of everything. I can’t look away. Not this time. Not again.
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I take a seat, pulling my legs onto the bed, wondering what I can actually do. No talking, probably no touching… Hopefully, just being here and ready will do. My hope is strained as I watch Fang’s mood deteriorate. Her wings slowly unfurl to their full span, the longest feathers along the edges pointing out like dozens of spikes, trembling with the rest of her.
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“God… DAMN IT!” she screeches. She leaps to her feet, grabs the desk chair and throws it across the room, sending it clattering to the floor. I clamber off the bed, pulling her into a bear hug. I wince as ten claws press into my chest, threatening to tear me to ribbons. She painfully pushes me away, claw tips getting entangled in the fabric of my shirt. Growling in frustration, she yanks, completely slicing through the thin article in one swift motion.
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Not having any other solutions, I lunge forward and pull her into another hug, pushing her outstretched arms around my sides. There’s a moment of serenity where all we can hear are our hearts racing in unison. Fang lets out a horrid, raspy breath, the final seal holding in her tears. Clutching me tightly, emotion pours from her. Every shudder is a rack of tiny knives pressed into my back, and every sentence is left half-finished, cut off by heavy sobs. I feel my tears joining hers, staining each other’s faces.
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“Why… would she do that…” Fang manages through strained breaths. I struggle to remain upright as she leans into me, completely spent. I gently walk us over to the bed, watching as she attempts to put the pieces together. “I don’t understand…” she sighs morosely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. It never was…” I try to think of something, anything, but I find myself mentally paralyzed again. My general inexperience makes itself known as well; I’ve never lost a friend like she has...
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A harsh buzzing sounds from my pocket, shattering any train of thought I could have claimed to have. I ignore it, but Fang takes a particular interest in it.
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“Who’d be calling you? Naser?” she asks, to which I nod. “What- what if it’s important?” Naser’s never called me out of the blue like this before. Maybe. I pull out my phone and sure enough, it’s Naser’s face and number on the display. I answer the call and put the device to my ear.
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“This better be important, Naser,” I grumble, sounding way more pissed off than I mean to.
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“It is,” Naser responds with a harsh whisper. “Trish is here, she’s talking to my dad, and it’s not a friendly visit. I’ve only heard parts, but if even a single thing she’s saying is true, dad’s going over there and you’re going to disappear.” A chill rockets down my spine, every hair on my body sticking out. “Look, I’m going to see if I can do something about this after she leaves. If I can’t, I’ll let you know.” A pathetic squeak is my only response. “Yeah, I don’t envy you. Talk to you in a bit.” The phone clicks, the call ending. Fang looks at me in a horror that rivals mine.
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“W-what did he say?” I stammer out the best explanation I can manage, considering the pants-shitting fear of Ripley calling a SWAT team on my ass. “What… what the FUCK?!” The sound of a pair of boots slamming the ground echoes through the apartment as Fang throws herself upright, feathers bristled and wings outstretched, pacing around the room. “She knows how much I fucking hate my dad. Why? Why would she even talk to him, much less sic him on us? Oh, God, this is so much fucking worse than I thought, holy shit… Trish…” Her fingers tremble, clenching and unclenching as her breaths increase in frequency.
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The entire situation has me stunned in silence as I ponder every bad decision that led me to this exact moment. Trish and Ripley, working together to fuck us over. What’s next, Naomi getting to Naser and cutting off our last lifeline? This really is just fucking fucked, right up the fucking-
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“Anon!” Fang shouts. “Stop rambling, we need to go, right now.” Wh- what- where am I? Oh shit, Fang’s dad. Right. Fang grabs my wrist and yanks me to my feet, motioning to the door.
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“Wait, wait. Naser said he would try to defuse this. Let’s give him a minute,” I say. Fang sighs, clearly exasperated.
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“Fine, sure… if we’re going to wait, you should at least change shirts. Sorry about that, by the way…” I look down and inspect the damage. Ten jagged tears run down the length of the article, going straight through the bottom. It’s completely ruined… but it looks kind of cool. At the very least, I won’t throw it away. I wrestle off my jacket and unceremoniously drop the tattered shirt to the ground. I hear a gasp from behind me. Come on, you’ve seen me shirtless before.
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“Wait, stay right there,” Fang requests. What, gonna take a picture? I smirk as I reach into my clothes drawer, picking out a near identical shirt and jacket to the last ones. Fang pokes into the bathroom and quickly reemerges. Before I can ask, something cold smears against my back, eliciting a jolt of pain from my entire body.
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“FUCK! The fuck?” I shout, twisting my neck to Fang.
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“Your back is a mess. Kind of my fault, so I’m fixing it. Hold still.”
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“Wait, is- GAH! Would you- agh- slow down?”
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“We’re on a tight schedule, so no. Would you hold still?!”
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“That shit hurts! How bad is it back there?”
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“It… could probably be worse.” A wet rag dabs spots across my back, and Fang applies several square bandages to me. “Yeah, those are gonna suck to take off in a couple days. Oh well. Turn around.” I oblige, showing my bare and somewhat bloodied chest to her. She gets to work with more stinging chemicals, but much more gingerly than before. “God, I’m sorry, I just…”
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“Hey,” I whisper. She turns her head up to me and I lean in, planting a quick kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s been a rough day.” She smiles, blushing lightly before returning to fixing my chest.
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“Dweeb…” she mutters. My phone buzzes twice, indicating a new message. Shit. As I fish it out of my pocket, it buzzes again.
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‘He’s coming.’
‘Said if there was a chance of that stuff being true, he has to do something.’
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“Alright, time to go, right the fuck now!” I declare, pulling the fresh shirt and jacket on. Fang packs up the rest of the first aid kit, we stuff some essentials into our pockets and rush out the door, hastily locking it behind us. “Uh, where are we going, exactly?” I ask as we exit the apartment complex into the midafternoon Volcaldera sun.
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“I don’t know. Let’s find some place to lie low for a bit,” Fang responds. Just a couple of high schoolers wandering around Skin Row, evading the police. Probably a more common occurrence than I’d think. “Do you, uh… know any good… food around here? I mean, you’ve lived here for almost six months, right?”
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“Fang… there’s a good reason I don’t know this area very well. Quite a few good reasons, actually.”
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“Right, the knife…”
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“God, this place… uh, how about there?” I point out what looks to be a restaurant, or at least as much as one could be around here. ‘Pizza Time’ is painted on the window, accompanied by a pair of small pizza slices. Hearing no objections, we make our way across the potholed road and into the dim establishment. The place is quiet, nearly devoid of customers outside of a couple at different tables. We plunge into the heart of this dingy pizza joint, picking a table with as little line of sight to any windows or entrances as we could manage. A quick order brings a pair of drinks around and we wait with bated breath for the inevitable.
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As we idly nibble on some cardboard-quality pizza slices, a familiar harsh buzzing sounds from Fang’s pocket. She sighs, knowing this was bound to happen eventually. Ripley’s probably standing at our front door, banging on it and calling our names. Fang answers the phone silently.
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“...Somewhere else…” she hisses in response to whatever question was posed. “...No, I won’t… You know enough already. You know exactly why I’m doing this… I don’t care what Trish said, she’s lying… I don’t know why, she’s gone nuts… I’m not defenseless, I could tear him to pieces… I don’t give a shit what you want… No, I don't think we will." She ends the call with a huff, stifling a wayward plea from the other side.
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"Fucking unbelievable. God…" she groans, burying her face in her hands. "Wish there was somewhere we could go to just chill out for a few hours or a day or whatever." I'm sure plenty of those places exist, just… not around Skin Row. At least, not safe ones. I try thinking of all the people I know that could possibly help, but turn up empty. This sucks…
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After a couple of hours, we hesitantly make our way back to my apartment, taking great care to scan the parking lots for anything that would indicate an irate father in the vicinity. Satisfied with his absence, we return home.
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Two weeks down, one to go.