Behind These Refuge Walls

Vallin hadn't asked me to return his book.

Thus, in the detriment of A Midsummer Night's Dream, I dove into the pages of Mythology and Supernatural. Shakespeare's works lay untouched on my bedroom's floor. Vallin's book, a print published in 1954, was filled with details of supernatural creatures.

And the children fought, for in their sins they were repented. And their mother loved them ardently. She broke her soul in two and each piece fell in the arms of each son of God and each son of God took it upon himself to protect it from one another.

But then a war was raised, for the two halves were so different, that they pained each other. One half fantasized, the other lusted. Then there was pain and suffering and in the middle of them all, kings of old passed away and words of wisdom faded.

Then the Two were forced to become One.

Okay, so maybe the texts turned out to be quite...odd, but that didn't stop me from wasting my time reading the book.

Yet, even though I felt all tingly by just touching that weird-ass knowledge, part of my brain was debating the sincerity of the choice I had made.

What the hell? I was eighteen, in dire need of adventure and complexity of life. But did I want to jump at the first opportunity - an opportunity that anyone else would have considered it a joke?

Like any other teenager, I figured that by the age of eighteen I'd be out of my parents' house and on the way to a bright career. I'd only accomplished one of those things. Because by the end of the day, the dreams I'd made as a kid didn't sound so appealing anymore. The truth is that, as long as we're young, we dream. We let our minds wander and we let ourselves think that we can do anything. Why? Because the people in our stories can.

And then time passes by and you no longer have the same casual outlook on life. You don't have the same enthusiasm about your brilliant career and your perfect family. You realize it takes a lot more than predicted to survive.

So what or who was to say that I hadn't signed up for death?

Unspoken rules claim that one must not challenge a high ranked demon or angel...

"Fuck life."

Instinctively, I yelled "Language!" after my brother, then realized that I was eighteen, he was fourteen and life seems a lot cooler when you curse.

"Why the sudden epiphany?"

"I'm a teenager."

"Right."

I placed the magic book aside, having reached a chapter that no longer made sense. I had skimmed through the remaining pages with a quick 'I'm-interested-but-bored' outlook and found that I understood nothing, because it no longer continued with details about supernatural beings, but with Biblical references and riddles.

Nathan's gaze fell instantly on some of the paragraphs and while I began making lunch, his green eyes were absorbing the words.

"Charlie, have you read this?"

I didn't pay attention to the oddity of his tone or to the frown on his face. Instead, I offered a nod. And after a very long time of trying to make him put the book down, we were found in a wrestling session, laughing like idiots.

My brother could not have been more of a goofball.

"Avast! Charlie, oh my God, I though I saw a bu-hug!"

He landed on the ground, trying to fight off the invisible bug. I burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"You sound like a monkey!" he exploded and that only made things worse. "Brian says his cousin has a crush on you."

My heart skipped a beat, or possibly three. "Ryan?"

"The blond guy? Military haircut? Yeah, that's him. Drives one big effing Navigator." The only reaction I had was cold feet and a heart doing peter-pater. I asked him if he was sure, if the information was correct, but I had long lost belief in rumors that circulate in school corridors. "Yeah. He was talking to his cousin the other day...I was there, too, and we got talking. And then Brian tells me Ryan's into you and I think the dude heard, but he just went red in the cheeks and was like, looking away from us. Dude, what the hell?"

He snickered, as if his older sister's amorous adventures were simply that hilarious - which, partially, they were. Meanwhile, some sick part of me was doing a happy dance, while the other part (logic, in all its purity) slapped me twice, pulled an Al Pacino and reminded me that Ryan McCarthy wasn't serious. He wasn't Damien, but he wasn't serious about the things he was doing - not even fighting. To him, it was a way of exhibiting his abs.

It did not stop me from beginning to warm up to him, though.

"Well don't you look dashing today."

Ryan wore his usual pair of jeans and a green polo t-shirt. The blond individual was actually easy on the eyes, though not amazingly fetching in that manly way many girls (read: I) would fantasize over. He offered me a grin. He had straight teeth...and a black eye.

"I decided to take on some of your pals," he answered when he saw my amused expression. What pals? "You know Cobra?"

"Cobra? As in the Cobra who slips through your fingers like bloody jell-o?" Ryan nodded. His blue eyes took a dull tint and by a nod of his head I understood: he'd gotten his ass kicked. I felt like commenting that it was to be expected and what the hell was he thinking when he went in the ring against him? My respect for him diminished as I glanced at the determined look on his face and the overall feeling that he was blaming someone else for his failure.

"You have to beat him on his own ground." I sighed.

If Dave "Cobra" was a star when I joined The Underground, he was a veteran now. The one thing that came to my mind when I met the guy was 'sleazy'. And that's just how he is. During the match, he keeps talking, teasing you and distracting you with the stupidest things one can imagine. No matter how strong you claimed to be, it only took one short, millisecond movement of your gaze and he hit you - most often, under the belt. Because he never was the buff type of fighter. Not tall, either. He was possibly a very few inches taller than me, with a rather skinny figure, but he had always known how to use his brain in a fight.

We sat on a bench on the boardwalk. The sun made my back burn and the black wife beater I wore did little to help. At the time, I told myself that I had no idea why I agreed to wasting my time with McCarthy, but inside a colored soul, I thought of Ryan as a healthy distraction, a reason to feel normal.

Because, honestly, how can you say you're having regular quality time bonding with a witch? Or any other creature, at that.

A pudgy boy with combat boots and baggy jeans attempted to strut his stuff for the three younger girls passing him. He puffed his cotton covered chest. His t-shirt read the clichéd "Labels are four soup cans!". Annoyed, I found myself dropping sarcastic comments.

"That's right. Originality, kid. Screw them haters."

Ryan chuckled beside me and lightly nudged my arm. I was about to respond, but a light bulb went off in my head.

"Hey, Ryan?"

"Yeah, babe?"

I tried not to let the pet name me get to me, I really did, but it hit me straight in the forehead.

"Do you know...if Cobra is in any way connected to a guy named Abdul Azim?"

He paused, took a bite of his Snickers and nodded. "Mhmm, I think I saw him there last night." Mentally, I slapped myself. "I think Cobra is somehow related to him." I gave him a look. "Don't ask, I just got the vibe."

...and that was all I needed to know, I decided as a smirk overcame my poker face features.

A woman rushed by us, giving glances to every person she passed, her pencil skirt and dress shirt neatly covering her body.

"Overachiever."

"What?" ventured Ryan.

"Unorganized," I dubbed a middle aged man who struggled to keep his suit on him.

Ryan gave me an odd look. "You're weird."

In return, I shrugged, because after all, this was just a weird habit, and even though everyone who knew of it found it stupid, I was fond of it.

"Hey, Ryan."

"Yeah?"

He took a long gulp of his beer. My hands twitched.

"Do you like anyone at the moment?"

A deafening silence ensued and I began wondering what had possessed me to ask that question in the first place.

"I think I like this chick, but I'm sure she doesn't feel anything for me."

"How so?"

Ryan's blue gaze turned towards the pavement. He'd gone terribly thoughtful - an image of him that I was in no way used to. His hand suddenly moved from his side. For a short moment it caressed my cheek. A wicked grin took over his boyish features.

"It's complicated." I blinked in reply and watched him give me an undecipherable look. "I'll explain it to you sometime."