Chapter 8: Ian

Written by: Tangie Hanigan

  Chris led me to the room my sister was staying, which was directly across the hall from mine. When I walked in, she was standing in the middle of the room, just looking around.
    "Cloe?" I called to her, waving my hand in front of her face. She snapped out of her little trance and smiled at me.
    "Oh, Ian, look at this room!" She said, looking around again. "It's as if they read my mind and knew exactly what I liked! It's like walking into the Pink store"
    I smiled at her. "Yeah, isn't it something?" I looked around her room myself. And, by God, is this room pink. The walls, the bed, the dresser; even the clothes in the dresser varied from hot pink to fuchsia. "Wow, Cloe, this is...wow..."
    "I know!" she said as she flung herself down the bed. "It's wonderful!"
    "Yeah," I said, walking over to lie next to her.
    We stared at the Pepto- Bismal pink ceiling for a few minutes in silence before I turned my head to look at her. "Cloe?"
    "Hmm?" She questioned, still looking at the ceiling.
    "Do you think,” I took a deep breath. “Do you think Angel still likes me?" I asked in a hurry.
    She smiled and turned to look at me. "Ian, if you can't see that that boy is crazy about you, you might be crazy yourself."
    I gaped at her. "Really?"
    "Of course Ian! Have you seen how that boy looks at you? As if you were the only thing in the world!"
    "No, I didn't notice..." My voice trailed off, thinking, ‘then again, I was nearly killed today, so I think I may have a pretty good excuse there.’
    "Well, maybe you should start," my sister said, before turning back to the ceiling.
    She was right, of course. Big sisters were always right.
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    After a few hours of blinding myself with that pink ceiling and talking to my sister, I walk back to my room, and lay in bed. I glance at the illuminated alarm clock sitting on the nightstand beside me. Eleven p.m. No wonder my eyes feel heavy.
    I look up at the calming-colored ceiling, putting my arms behind my head, and was started thinking about what Cloe had said about Angel, when there was a quiet knock on my door.
    "Ian?" Came Angel's voice from behind the wood. "You still awake?"
    Walking over to the door, I opened it to find Angel with his arms filled with books.
    "Is something wrong?" I ask, preparing myself for whatever is going to happen next. Angel shook his head, smiling.
    "No, no, everything's fine," he said, shifting the books from one arm to the other. "I just came to warn you that the alarms are automatically set for six a.m. So be prepared for a rude awakening."
    "Oh," I started feeling strangely disappointed. "Well, alright then, thank you."
    "No problem," he told me as he started to walk away. "Goodnight, Ian."
    I was about to shut the door, when a thought popped into mind. "Angel?"
    He turned to face me. "Yes?"
    "Could I talk you?" Angel looked down at the books that were threatening to fall out of his arms. "After you put your books down, of course."
    He smiled in relief and nodded. "I'll be back in a tic."
    A few minutes had passed and Angel was back in my room, I on my bed, and he at the desk that sit in the corner.
    "What did you need to talk about? Any questions about the academy?" He asked while trying to get comfortable in the hard light, wooden chair.
    "Oh, I have so many questions about the Academy," I started. "But I'll save them for later. I was actually going to ask about...us."
    Angel stopped fidgeting for a minute, and then finally sat down. "Oh?"
    "Well, my mom seems to think that you're crazy about me, o-or something..." I look down for a moment, then back at Angel.
    He was staring silently at the floor before whispering the two words that left me shocked: "I am,"
    "What?" I blush a little.
    He continued to stare at the floor. "I am crazy about you, Ian. Ever since we broke up, you're all I think about. You're the only person I dream about."
    "Oh..."I couldn't say anything else. Angel was practically spilling out everything I was about to tell him.
    "You know, when we were still together, I used to love it when my fingers were all tangled up with yours. I loved laying my head on your chest while you slept, and listened to your heartbeat. It made me feel like nothing bad had ever happened to me, like nothing bad could ever happen to me. It made me feel safe." His voice trailed off.
    It was then that I realized that he was crying. I wanted to get up and wrap my arms around him and hold him close; wipe away his tears, something. But I was too shocked to do anything.I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to burst into flames like the kids in the Casting Room. But all I could do is sit there and watch Angel cry.
    He looked up at me, his eyes puffy and red. "Why did you bring me in here? Is this what you wanted to see Ian?"
    I shook my head and tried to say, "No, of course I didn't," but nothing would come out of my mouth.
    Angel stood up, wiping his eyes and walking to the door. With his back to me, his voice was cold and sharp. "I've got to go. Jack wants me to look through some stuff to see if we can figure out what Silus's plan is." He opened the door to leave, then, in a softer, sweet voice said "Goodnight, Ian, sleep well."
    I still couldn't move. I stared at the spot where Angel was sitting, the only thing going through my head were the words, ‘What have I done?’