The Outcast - Chapter Eleven

I slump against the tree and slide to the ground, my head spinning, my mind racing, my heart thumping wildly against the inside of my chest, desperate to escape. It's just not fair, damn it...why? It's not fair....

Not my only friend, please....

Please, God, don't let this happen.

Jordan senses something's wrong. Bends down next to me, looking me over. "You okay?" he asks, his voice concerned.

I just shake my head. Can't talk. Not yet. Throat too constricted, mouth too dry. God, this isn't fair. It's just not fair, the voice within me wails.

Jordan grips my shoulder. His touch reminds me that he's my friend, and that reminds me that I don't want to lose him, and that reminds me that he's been stabbed with the needle. Damn it, not my only friend, please, God, even you can't be that cruel, please... "Kyal?" he askes, giving me a small shake. "You okay? Hey? Talk to me, buddy."

I glare at the ground. I can't speak, at least not yet. I'm just not ready yet. This is just too much to take in... First my dad, then Frank, now Jordan....it hurts.

"Kyal? Talk to me, okay? What's wrong?"

It's just too much.

"Are you going to answer me?" he asks. "C'mon, Kyal, 'fess up. What's wrong? Are you okay? Hello? Are you ignoring me? Anyone in there? Hello?" he waves his hand in front of my face. I blink a few times and focus on him. He smiles slowly. "There. Are you with me now? Good. What's wrong?" the smile fades away quickly.

"...He got you...." I whisper, gazing at the ground.

He pauses for a moment. "What d'ya mean?" he questions, looking a bit puzzled.

"Guy with the needle....he got you..." I look at him slowly, somehow hoping that I had heard wrong, that the punk hadn't gotten him.

But my hopes were crushed when he nodded. "Yeah, he got me, slugged me in the arm-"

I sigh and look away, feeling worse than before since the initial shock is gone. Now I just feel alone and tired, so damned tired.... it's just not fair.

"Kyal?" he asks, with a bit more concern in his voice. I'm touched by it, really, but I just can't respond to it. It hurts too much... "Why's it matter if he got me or not? I got him back. I'm fine. What's wrong?"

"He got you...."

"I know," he says calmly. "What's that matter? Why's that so important?"

"You'll die..." I manage to get out, before I have to squeeze my eyes closed. Not fair, that damned voice wails again.

He blinks. "I die from a hit? Kyal, what are you on? Some kinda dope? What's wrong? I'm fine, really."

"....You'll die..."

"Why do you say that?"

The needle, I want to say. It's poisonous. But I can't; my throat has gone all tight again.

"Do you want me to die?" he asks, curious.

I open my eyes wide. "No!" I say quickly. "God, no, I don't want you to die! Why would you think....?" I trail off.

He shrugs. "Because I'm not going to die, and you seem to keep implying that I will. Wanna tell me what's eatin' at ya?"

"...The needle...."

He freezes. "What about it?"

Damn it! So he really got hit with the needle...I knew it, but I was just hoping that...

That he hadn't. Damn it...not fair.

"It's...poison, it'll...it'll kill you...like..." I swallow thickly. "Like my dad...."

HE frowns at me for a long moment. "Really?" he asks, suspicious.

I nod. "Yeah. It'll kill you...."

He sighs. "Well, luckily it didn't get me."

I stare at him. "What?" I ask.

"The needle didn't get me."

"But you said-"

"You asked me what was wrong, and I said 'punk with a needle'. I never implied that the needle had gotten me."

"But you froze when-"

"That's because the needle got Joe." his voice is low and he looks away.

I frown at him. "Joe? Who's Joe?"

"Friend of mine. He was in town visiting; that's why I haven't been through here lately. We were walking down the street and this guy comes over and tries to jab me with a this pen, but I can see the needle" - I flinch - "so I dodge and the needle turns toward Joe. Gets him in the arm. The guy's mad he didn't get me, slugs me in the arm, and the runs off." he sighs.

"....Sorry about Joe," I say, but I can't help the feeling of elation running through me at this news. Jordan didn't get the needle. He's not going to die! Thank God.

He sighs again, heavily. "Yeah," he says, his voice sounding tired. "Now he'll die, if what you say is true." he glares at the ground. "Should have been me...."

I start at him. "What?" I ask. "That's not true. Don't say that."

"My fault...."

"Not your fault, the punk's fault," I say.

He sighs and gives a slight shrug. "I guess so, but...I still feel lousy...."

I nod. "I know what you mean," I say to him, for I understand what he's saying. I felt the same way not moments ago. I felt that it was my fault, because I hadn't been able to warn him, when I knew I had found out too late anyway. But still, I blamed myself for him being stabbed with the needle. I can understand what he's going through.

He looks at me. "You okay now?" he asks.

I frown. "I'm fine."

"Why were you actin' so weird?"

"...Thought he got you...." I murmur truthfully, looking away. "Thought....you were dying...."

He stares at me for a long moment, then says, "Jeez, you actually care that much? I'm flattered. Normally people would be like, "Oh, well, that's too bad", and then get back to business." He shrugs.

I frown at him. "Why would they do that? Would Joe?"

"Joe? Nah. He's a good friend. I've known him for a few years. But people at my old town wouldn't care. I mean, I had a lot of friends and was pretty popular, but I couldn't trust them at all."

"...Is that why you don't care that I'm the Outcast?" I ask.

He pauses for a moment. "It doesn't matter to me if you're the Outcast," he says honestly. "You're square with me and I can trust you. That says a lot. So you're the Outcast; big deal. I don't care. What I care about is that you're my friend and I know you'll be honest with me."

I feel touched by his confession. "...Thanks..." I whisper.

He smiles at me, a true, genuine smile. It's still contagious.

I smile back. Then I frown. "Be careful, though..."

He nods. "You too."

I nod slowly. "I know. If this person is responsible for my dad's death, I want revenge."

He looks at me. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking; his face is expressionless. "Revenge isn't the way," he says lowly, his voice distantly sad. "But I understand what you mean. Just know that revenge isn't the answer. It won't bring your father back."

I think of several ripe words to yell at him, but then think better of it. He's warning me, not putting me off. "I still want him punished."

He smiles, sadly. "So do I."

I rise to my feet and brush the dirt and mud from my pants. "I should be getting back," I say. "Sasha will be getting worried. Marina should be up by now."

He nods. "I'll stay here a little longer."

I nod and turn to leave, but then I stop and look back. I'm reluctant to leave. What if that punk with the needle is waiting in the bushes, waiting for me to leave? I open my mouth to say something, but then close it again. I'm being paranoid. "Be careful," I call out to Jordan. He looks at me and nods. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," he calls back.

I smile and turn to leave the park.

Thanks, God. You didn't let the needle get him.

You didn't take my friend from me.

Thank you.