Pocrescophobia

Honestly, I wasn't that surprised that someone confronted me in the hall because of what happened yesterday. Although, I was more surprised about how Cyan went from being the person beating me up to the person defending me from people beating me up. Yeah, he actually defended me. I still don't really know what to think of him though. But can you blame me? I mean, I'm certain of thing, and then everything changes and I'm not sure of anything anymore. I'm just happy he's not out to get me anymore. Well, unless he still is. I'm still not sure of that either. Ugh. I wish that I could just know. But I can't trust him, so nope. Nope nope nope.

Reluctantly, I walk to class with a shaken looking Cyan escorting me, nursing his fists slightly. Most of the people in the school are crowding the halls, making their ways to their mediocre classes and lives. At least half of the people stop to stare at the odd couple, the outcast and the popular guy clutching onto the outcast's arm, the grip tightening as people stare even more. I have a feeling that we'll be gossip material for months. Well, it's not like I care anyway.But he does.

Once we finally reach my first period class, he stops outside of the door, stopping me with the hand gripping my arm. It doesn't really hurt much though, fortunately. As I look inquisitively up at him, I catch the burning look in his eyes, the unwavering, fierce glint in his eyes that are now hosting a dark blue storm at sea.

"Are you okay?" he inquires in a firm voice. I just nod slightly, eye locked on his, unable to break eye contact. "Yeah, I'm fine," I reply. With a short nod, he releases my arm, letting it return to hang limply on the side of my body. "Let me know if anyone fucks with you, okay? Anything. Just tell me, and I'll make them regret it, okay?" he requests. Again, I just nod, searching his eyes.

Finally, after a pregnant pause, he reaches over with a somewhat shaking hand to gently brush my bangs away from my eyes. Without another word, he turns around and walks away, leaving me to suffer alone in this hell of a class. Time for my first real day back. This is sure to be wonderful.

=

Well, the first few periods pass without any significant conflict, just whispering and a few lame teases that I'm used to. And then it gets to lunch. While I'm walking across the cafeteria to meet Cheyenne and a few others to go outside, someone fucking trips me. And I fall straight on my face. Great. I didn't really see who it was, but from the outrageous laughter from a table next to me full of douchebags, I can tell that it was definitely one of them. Obviously.

And before I know, the whole lunch room is silent, and I raise my head to see one of the lead douches being held by the collar by none other than... yes, you guessed it, Miranda Cosgrove. I wish. But no, there's Cyan there, snarling at some bumbling little idiot trying to be cool by making someone trip. Before he can hit him though, I stand up, stumbling over to Cyan to pull him off. After a few weak pulls, he finally backs off, then tears his attention from the quivering mess of a guy. And then he turns to address the whole cafeteria.

"Whatever we've been doing for the past few years is over now. Arden is off limits, and if you have a fucking problem with that, then you'll answer to me. Do you have a problem with that?" he asks, turning to finally look at the table of cowering tools. The entire cafeteria is silent, but soon, people go back to their lunches, not being able to maintain eye contact with the furious teenager. I don't blame them, he terrifies me a little right now.

After a few minutes of everyone tearing their eyes from him, Cyan nods his head toward the doors to go outside. I just wave to my friends quickly before following him silently. We walk together in silence down a wide path to a tree that my friends and I sit under sometimes. Once we reach said tree, he plops down on the ground, and I follow him, sitting next to him.

"So, um, thanks, I guess..." I stated hesitantly. He shrugs. "It just pisses me off, seeing them treat you so badly, and remembering that I used to do it. And I wanna stop it from happening anymore," he replies. "Well, it still means a lot," I mumble, cheeks darkening slightly with a rosy blush. Fucking cheeks. "That's all I can hope. So, how has your first day been so far?" he remarks, steering the topic away to something different.

"Oh, it was alright," I state boringly. "Pretty average. I actually forgot where my classes were for a little while and almost had to ask one of my friends. My memory's shit." And then from there, we converse, trying to forget about the thing plaguing both of our minds. Will people really stop? Where do we go from here?