Chapter 2 - Lex

I growled and flopped down on my bed, grabbing the hair that covers my face right before so it would stay in place.  It couldn’t be pulled back, it couldn’t be seen, that part of me.

Shut it, I scolded myself.  I can’t think about that.

Who does that guy think he is, anyway?  I sat up and reached for his file, on the floor where I had thrown it in anger when I learned that I was getting a new partner.  Why do they keep giving me one if I don’t want one?  Can’t they see that I can fight by myself; I don’t need anyone to baby-sit or hold me back.  I opened the folder and read over his name one more time, sneering at the ink wasted on me.

Xavier Haygood.

He can just go jump off a cliff, get devoured by sharks, or keep talking and end up with my knife in his throat.  Any way is fine by me, as long as he never comes back to bother me.  It’s obvious that he’s going to try and make me cooperate, but I give him two weeks tops.

No one really lasts long with me.

They get tired of training alone and transfer after a few days; they try in vain to make me acknowledge they even exist and are another human and are gone after a week if they’re patient; they try to force me to do what they want and transfer after I hold them at knifepoint when I get sick of all their crap.  I can’t dump them as a partner anymore, so I just make them do it instead.  One day they’ll run out of people, one day I’ll be free.

I look at the pictures of him smiling at the camera, and smiling even when it didn’t look like he knew it was being taken.  He must be so happy, not a care in the world.  Well, f**k you, Mr. Haygood; I don’t want your perky little self in my life.

I’m perfectly fine on my own.

I throw the file across the room for the second time today, the papers not falling out and becoming a white mess on my floor only because they always fit my files with staples.  Not paperclips like every other person gets, but staples.  That way they don’t go flying everywhere and I don’t almost burn the building down when I try to set them all on fire just to get them out of my sight.

They didn’t really trust me with a file after that.

I don’t blame them.

When I get angry, which happens a lot, I like to go and destroy a few punching bags in the training area or throw things.  Since I don’t like to train while other people are there, I tend to throw things.  Usually the file of the partner that annoyed me.  Lighting them on fire wasn’t the smartest thing on my end, but that partner had me especially pissed.  For a week and a half I listened to him drone on and on to the door about the importance of training and keeping in shape.  I wanted to snap at him that I trained at night, but that was my secret and just put up with it for as long as I could.  I finally snapped when he called me Lexi, grabbing my lighter from the nightstand and burning his file that was strewn out across the floor.  All the others that I had never bothered to pick up caught on fire as well, and soon my small room was filled with smoke and I was pushing my way out, coughing and holding my singed hair close to me, refusing to show the left half of my face even if it would help me to breathe better.

Everything was quickly cleaned up and I said it was an accident, that I bumped my nightstand and the lighter fell, the papers around it catching fire.  They just told me to keep the lighter in a metal drawer from then on so it wouldn’t happen again and gave me stapled papers that they would collect after that partner transferred, just so it wouldn’t happen again.  I don’t think they believed my lie, but they didn’t seem to care so neither did I.

It’s not like much was burned, anyway.  Just my room, which didn’t have much in the first place.

I really wish that it wasn’t just past noon; it needs to be about midnight right now.  I need to go punch something, to go sort out my anger.  He called me Alexis, that’s not something I can just overlook.  No, that makes me want to cover him in paper and grab my lighter.  I know I’d do it, too.  I have nothing against it.

Nothing at all.

I yawned and decided it was best to get some sleep before the night comes, when I’ll do what everyone else does during the day: eat, train, and whatever else I feel like doing.

I had made myself comfortable under the covers when someone knocked at my door, and I groaned before waiting to see if they’d go away.  It must be Xavier, who else could it be?  The superiors and everyone else would be out training or doing something in their free time.  No one ever came to visit me and I liked it that way.  But I could no longer ignore him after he had stood there for a good ten minutes.  I sighed and threw the covers away, then marched to the door and checked to make sure my hair covered all of the left side of my face before opening the door with an angry expression.

“What?” I demanded.

“I was wondering when we’re scheduled to train,” he said with a slight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes and I knew he was trying to be patient.  I snorted; he would only last a few days at this rate.

“I train when I want,” I informed him, my voice dripping with hate. “I don’t care when you do.”

“But we have to train together,” he said, any trace of that forced smile gone.

“I.  Don’t.  Care.”

“I.  Do.”

“Just go away,” I said, shutting the door.  Like every time before he put out a hand to stop it, forcing me to talk to him.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he asked, the muscles of his arm bulging at the effort of keeping the door open.  It doesn’t matter that I’m a head shorter than him, I’m stronger, and I think he knows it.  Endless training and anger make you stronger.  This was a task for him, but to me it was easy.

“I’m not being difficult,” I stated, grinding my teeth. “I just don’t like you.  Or anyone.  Or training to a schedule.”

“Do you even train?” he asked. “Everyone says that they never see you in the training area.”

“I go when no one’s around, stupid,” I said. “I don’t like people, remember?”

“Why, though?” he asked. “And why can’t I call you Ale--”

He didn’t have time to finish; I had pulled out my knife, brought out the blade, and put it against his throat before he could even realize what’s happening.

“Because I said so,” I said, scraping the blade against his skin just enough so he would know that I would cut him there, I would slit his throat.  He glanced between the blade and my face--well, what he could see--and swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing.  He slowly raised his hands in surrender in hope that I would lower the knife, but it stayed put.  I want him to leave, to leave me partnerless for a few glorious days before they give me a new one.  It’s an endless cycle that I doubt will ever stop, but I don’t care.  I like not having a partner.  They just get in my way.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered, his breathing uneven.

“Try me,” I spat. “Go on; call me by any name you want.  I dare you.”

His mouth opened and formed a word, but it was too quiet for me to hear. “What?” I demanded.

“Lex,” he said, his gaze meeting mine. “Your name is Lex.  Why would I call you anything else?”

My anger subsided slightly and I tore the blade away, sheathing it and sliding the pocketknife back in my belt.  I walked over to my nightstand and picked up the glass filled halfway with water and threw it against the opposite wall, the rest of my anger disappearing for a few moments as I watched the water drip down the wall and the shattered pieces of glass lay on the floor, helpless.

“Why are you so angry?”

“You’re pissing me off,” I snapped.

“No,” he said, taking an experimental step into my room. “You’re letting yourself be bothered by the smallest of things.”

I looked over at him and took in his appearance, different from any other person I had been partnered with by both looks and personality.  While most of the guys and girls had dark features, he had dirty blonde hair that was thrown this way and that.  His brown eyes were the darkest thing about him, even his clothes were brighter.  He wore a light blue T-shirt and blue jeans, looking as though he really didn’t care what anyone thought about him.  Normally I’m paired with someone who’s either way too sweet or way too stupid and forceful, while he was a combination of both.

“Just because they’re little to you doesn’t mean that they’re little to everyone else,” I stated, looking away to avoid his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said. “But not everyone gets this angry at someone calling them by their name.”

Anger swelled inside me as I turned to look at him, seeing red.  I surged forward and pushed him out of my room. “That’s not my name!” I shouted, slamming the door and locking it right after.  Why can’t he just accept it?  It’s not my name, it never will be.  Never again.

I just--I can’t.

It’s not.

I curled up against the wall and hugged my knees to my chest, trying to calm down.  A tear escaped me and ran down the cheek that’s not hidden by hair, settling on my arm because I didn’t bother to brush it away.  I knew that Xavier hadn’t left, he was right outside the door, so I didn’t dare let out a sob.  Memories I didn’t want to remember flashed in my brain and I forced them away, sniffling.  I let out a shaky breath that ended with a small sob, so I covered my mouth with a hand.

“Are you okay?” I heard him ask from the other side of the door.

“Fine,” I choked out, obvious that I was lying.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said gently.

“Just go away,” I said quietly, not quite sure if he heard me.  He hesitated for a moment and then I heard his retreating footsteps.  I’m just glad that he chose this time to actually listen to me.  I can’t stand it when people know when I’m weak, it doesn’t show who I’ve let myself become.  My numb, uncaring self does not get weak; she does not cry, she does not get soft, she does not give in.  She pushes forward past it all.

 

I fell asleep in that position and woke with tear-stained cheeks around ten that night, standing up and stretching out my cramped muscles.  Training by myself would make me feel better, it always does, so I changed out of my gray T-shirt and jeans and put on a black tank top and shorts the same shade of darkness, slipping on my navy blue shoes before grabbing my training bag and silently heading out.  I didn’t want to wake anyone in case they said I shouldn’t train alone against my protests.  That, and I’m pretty sure that I looked like I had just cried.  I wouldn’t know, though.  I have no mirrors in my room because I asked that they be removed when I first got that tiny enclosure.  They’re in all the girls dorms, and there’s normally one somewhere in the guys, but for me there are none.  I refuse to look at my reflection.

I snuck through the hallways, setting my feet down on the tile so there would be no echo, and eventually made it to the training area.  It’s one of my favorite places, and I only have two.  The other is my room, for obvious reasons.

I closed the door and turned on all the lights, the darkness being pushed away as light flooded in to replace it.  I set my bag on one of the benches and looked around, wondering what I should do first.  I normally just go straight to the punching bags, but that didn’t seem fit.  I’m not as angry today, probably because of my stupid little crying fit, so I searched for something else to do, biting my lip.

I took out my brush and ran it through my hair, being especially thorough at the front where it covered my face.  I brought all my hair to that side and bunched it together a few inches below my chin and tied it with the ponytail holder around my wrist.  Even when I’m sure that I’m alone, I can’t show that half of me.  I just can’t.

The image is burned in the back of my mind, and uncovering it to the empty room would only bring it forward where I don’t want it.  I don’t want to see it whenever I close my eyes like I used to, I don’t want those memories.

I want to forget.

With that I took out my wrap and bound it around my hands, the punching bag seeming more appropriate now.  Every one of those thoughts made me angry, made me want to beat the memories out of me.  I don’t care what it would take, I just want them gone.

If only that was possible.

I finished and walked over to what I always beat my anger out with and shook out my muscles, but I didn’t have time to even throw a punch when I was interrupted.

“Do you really fight like that?”