when worlds collide [Cass]

Tears streaked the poor boy’s cheeks. His body lay curled and bleeding upon the cold cement, his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to shield his face from the fists of fury. From her current position she could not see the severity of his injuries, but judging by few glimpses of bloodshed she spotted along with the heaving of his chest from sobbing, he was badly injured, and more so than she had been. She stared at him only for a moment when he realized that the blows had ceased. He peered frantically over his bruised arms to survey the situation, and for a moment, a swollen pair of eyes met her own. They were wide (as wide as they could be) and stared at her with desperation and terror - it was a stare that pleaded, “I need help, but you have to leave!” Indigo, meanwhile, remained apathetic, returning his gaze with one lacking any exaggerated emotion. Her presence had granted him a chance to escape, and he needed to take advantage of it quickly before Patch noticed and decided to care.

Her gaze flickered back to Patch when the boy scrambled to his feet and scampered away clutching his injured ribs. The two aspects of him that spoke to her the most - his dark eyes and his sadistic smirks - at the moment did not suit one another. Upon mentioning his failed progress in creating friendships a black flame kindled in his pupils, a flame she recognized instantly as a signal to run. A sign that she had upset him to the point that violence would be considered. His lips, however, curled into a crooked smirk; another bad signal that sent her stomach plummeting to her shoes. These were two things she had seen frequently during their last encounter when he had been busy trying to bash her head in. She shouldn’t expect any different, however. Sadistic smiles and eyes alight with flames were not strange to see twisting his features. Even if it did send her stomach spiraling, she knew deep down she hadn’t expected anything different. Patch was still the same Patch that had punched he in the eye and knocked her to the ground. To expect any improvements was foolish.

She didn’t like the way her name sounded on his tongue. It felt like a threat - everything felt like a threat when it came from him, and it turned her stiff as a board. He claimed that he did not need friends, yet she faintly wondered if he had tried and failed to create a positive relationship with anyone. It wouldn’t surprise her, after all, considering how unnaturally harsh he was to people and how instinctive it was for him to attack them for the sake of pleasure. How could someone even hope for the boy to make friends? Friendship required civil communication, and according to her past experiences Patch’s favorite method of communication was through taunts and physical force. She doubted it was even possible to have an intelligent, casual conversation with someone so brutal and crude. If anything, he was hopeless. The most hopeless human being she had ever met. Patch making friends? The idea seemed so farfetched, it was laughable. But while Indigo preferred to rely on unfiltered thoughts, she was not stupid enough to laugh at him. That was like begging for him to snap her in half and ruin her again, and she refused to allow something like that to happen after finally recuperating from the last struggle.

Indigo crossed her arms firmly in front of her chest and scowled at the boy who continued to smirk at her as if their encounter was just one giant game. As much as that ticked her off, she forced herself to remain composed and in control. ”Are you sure? Because it would really help a lot of people if you had friend. Maybe then you wouldn’t try to kill every person you saw in the street.”

Indigo stifled a grimace at his attempt to sugar coat evil intentions by addressing her as “sweetheart”. The sound of a maniac like him calling her a pet name made her want to shudder, but if she wanted to appear apathetic and at least attempt to promote her own safety she could not, under any circumstances, piss him off too badly, as tempting as it was. So, keeping her spine as stiff as a board and her features frozen in place she listened to his retort with open ears, grateful that he had yet to take a threatening step toward her. Perhaps if she stalled him with conversation she could find a successful method of escape - if such a thing was even possible this time. ”I fear the great Indigo is wrong there.” Now he was mocking her - implying that she imagined herself on a high pedestal as “the great” Indigo rather than just Indigo. She will admit to believing herself mentally and emotionally superior to Patch, judging by his tendency to feel only sadistic joy and seething anger, but compared to the general population she considered herself just another average girl. The only factor singling her out among the crowd was her past life, and that would never become a topic of discussion outside of her home.

In the midst of his response, Patch mentioned a valid point. ”If you had forgotten, you would be dead if it wasn’t for me.” Upon absorbing this the flash of glimmering silver reappeared, wielded by a strange man twice her size with dark eyes too drained of life to be analyzed. In that moment when the blade’s sharp edge had pressed against the tender flesh of her throat, she had experienced unimaginable terror that withdrew a painful scream from inside her chest - something that hadn’t happened in years. And who decided to appear with an sudden change of heart? None other than Patch himself, playing some sort of conflicted, heroic villain that pummeled one bad guy minutes after proving himself one as well. If he hadn’t so conveniently stepped in, she imagined the man would’ve slit her throat, or worse; he could’ve kidnapped her. Just like mother. And while she was grateful for his strange and sudden rescue, it troubled her to know that she was in debt to him for saving her, even if had had tried to bash her skull into the cement only minutes before. To owe something was bothersome enough, but to owe something to Patch? That was a terrible thought. She immediately erased it from her thoughts and focused on the situation at hand.

She despised the idea of agreeing with the boy who tried to kill her, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t lie - he was absolutely right. ”I realize that,” she muttered, casting her gaze down for a moment to avoid staring at the stupid smirk he would never wipe off of his face. ”But why did you save me?” Curiosity dominated her yet again. She was no longer stalling or toying with him (well, maybe stalling). She honestly wanted to know. Returning her eyes to meet his stare once more, she took a few cautious steps forward and lowered her arms to her sides. ”Is it because I’m a girl?” She furrowed her eyebrows. That seemed like a ridiculous reason, seeing as how he had no problem striking girls. But what other reasons could there be? He had called her interesting; a fighter, someone who wasn’t a coward. And while that was all true, it was no logical reason to keep someone alive…was it?

If there ever was an experience more puzzling than what she had endured with Patch, she would never remember it. With just a few words uttered by his eternally-smirking lips, he had repeated their previous encounter with the exception of an actual physical conflict. Upon first glance he had appeared intimidating and flaunted a threatening demeanor, yet by the end of the confrontation her brain was fuzzy with false information and misinterpreted signals. How could one’s attitude shift from something so exaggeratedly deadly to something completely opposite? It was literally as if someone had drained the anger, hatred, and sadism (not completely, but enough to change his black hole of a heart temporarily) and replaced it with an emotion desiring friendship. It wasn’t even that - he had tried to kill her. The stump of his right arm had connected with her skull enough times to bring stars into her line of vision, enlightening the world with twinkling dots ranging from the blues of the sky to the reds of the blood she drew from his face with her nails. By the end of their brawl - the obvious victor being Patch for dealing the most trauma and damage - she had endured migraines and one, giant, puffy eye that if darkened with enough purple would’ve resembled an eye patch. She had managed to land a few mediocre blows on Patch’s body along with a decent scratch to the face, but it wasn’t enough to faze the heartless statue of a human being.

Then, as if the idea had emerged from within the depths of his soul (if he had one) and conquered his heart, he had changed his mind and decided to release her before she ended up a bashed up corpse lying sprawled upon the cement. Immediately she had wondered why, but at that point he had made it crystal clear that it was time for her to depart if she still wanted to remain on her two feet with a beating heart and a living soul. The scene ended for the millionth time in her head once Patch subdued the criminal and claimed that he admired not only her courage, but her determination to fight back. And again, he was repeating it. ”Maybe I did it because you had done something, said things and behaved in a way none of them ever have.” But what did that mean? Was he implying that the other victims never fought back? That they simply surrendered to his painful and evil touch without at least trying to win him over and escape to save their own life? How could that be possible? Human beings were not supposed to be so submissive. It was human instinct to survive, wasn’t it? Or maybe they give up because they realize he is too powerful Giving up - it was such a foreign concept to her. She did not understand it. After being imprisoned within a warehouse for eleven years of her life with a man who starved them and ravaged their mother, there was no such thing as hopelessness in her new world. There was always hope - it would always thrive somewhere within Indigo’s beating chest. Hope was eternal, and perhaps that was why she could not compare to the rest.

She was cautious when she reached within ten feet of him, but the close distance did not stop her from continuing. She paused at a close but safe distance - out of his arm’s reach - and crossed her arms once more as she contemplated the words that never ceased to baffle her. ”I dunno, you were different…I like different.” ”Are you saying that you like me?” Again with the repetition. Was the subject of friendship about to be discussed once again? If he liked her, was that a good sign? Did that mean he wanted to create some sort of weird, awkward friendship with her even though she’d rather dive off of a cliff first he had claimed he didn’t need friendships to excel? She couldn’t even guess. The boy was difficult to read beneath all of the violence and sadism. It was like trying to peer into a painted mirror. ”If you do, does that mean you won’t try to kill me this time?” She tried not to sound too hopeful. It would be comforting to know that Patch had no interest in beating the hell out of her - if that was what he was considering, of course. After all of the steps she had taken to avoid another unnecessary duel she did not want to be taken down by the same person a second time. It would be ridiculous. Unfortunate. Terrible luck, as if it were a storm cloud following her everywhere she traveled. She hated her luck, actually, but it was something she would have to bear for the rest of her life.

Patch’s perplexing response prompted her to raise her eyebrows. The king of hatred - mister “I don’t need friends” - was admitting that he liked her? That was not a response she had anticipated. She had been expecting something along the lines of denial or a flash of anger. But an agreement? Indigo could only stare silently in shock as her brain processed the words and attempted to formulate a logical sentence in response. The only word to escape her, though, emerged faintly in the soft flow of a monotone. ”Good,” she said through an exhale, trying to conceal the surprise within an apathetic tone, but to no success. He liked her. He was not going to hurt her. The wave of relief that washed over her system like a salt-water tidal wave flooding the land was almost too much to bear, and the temptation to smile and sigh with relief immediately compelled her to purse her lips and bite her tongue, seeing as how she still wanted to maintain her composure. She couldn’t leap for joy and overreact just because of one statement. Patch didn’t seem like the type to understand or handle emotions well, so she didn’t need to be flaunting them in front of him. Still, she felt her heart flutter in glee. She was victorious.

An eerie silence lingering in the moist air of the alley reminded her that she was still standing alone with a dangerous boy, and possessed no words to spare for him. Now that she had achieved this victory, what was she supposed to do next? Walk away? It was the most logical solution her brain could muster, but therewas still that spark of curiosity in her system that was thriving to become a wildfire. Here the bastard was, vulnerable and unable to admit any hatred toward her while they faced each motherly stiffly. It seemed like an opportunity to do something. But what? A portion of her pleaded her to take advantage of his weak state and flee the scene before he magically “changed his mind” like he had during their last encounter. The rest of her, however, desired to stay. She wanted to talk to him, she realized with a start. She wanted to attempt a civil conversation. To “make nice” as others would put it, even though she was practically playing with fire near an oil spill. She wasn’t quite sure how to start the next conversation, and contemplated for a moment just what exactly she wanted to discuss. What she wanted to know about him. It wasn’t everyday she met someone as baffling as he. So, what was there to inquire?

She reanalyzed the situation for a moment. Patch was mean, he was strong and ferocious and capable of taking human lives effortlessly. Indigo was his opposite - in the general aspects, at least. She could be mean, but chose not to do so unless it was necessary. She could be emotionally strong and ferocious, but not physically. And she certainly wasn’t capable of stealing a human life without feeling at least one drop of regret. What she could do, however, is hurt someone like she had attempted with Patch and the man that wielded the knife. She swallowed anxiously when she again pictured the gleaming silver lunging for her throat, and she had to shake her head to banish the thoughts. He could’ve killed you. But he hadn’t, because Patch had appeared to play hero. She had to rely on him to save her life.

Maybe that’s what she needed. To cut her ties with reliance and find independence. With an idea suddenly in mind - an idea she had a terrible feeling about, as if it were something she could end up regretting - she shattered the silence with her small but determined voice, and once again met the gaze of the figure standing taller than she. ”Can you teach me how to fight?”

It was as if the words had stunned Patch into silence, and Indigo couldn’t blame him - she had even stunned herself. Itsy bitsy Indigo learning to fight? She was surprised to hear herself basking in silence rather than scowling at the cackling she had expected to follow. She was scrawny from years of mistreatment and malnutrition, something she figured she would never recuperate from after her body failed to meet its requirements during the most crucial years of growth, and she was without any real fighting ability. Sure, she could claw at her opponent’s eyes and flail at them with her bony limbs, but what would that accomplish in the end? Petty injuries would distract her enemy for a few moments or so and perhaps grant her some time to escape, but wouldn’t her attempts just fuel their anger? People tended to fight with more force and less accuracy when overwhelmed with strong emotions such as rage, and although a decrease in accuracy was an advantage it would take only one direct hit to leave her small form sprawled upon the cement. If she solved this dilemma by learning how to defend herself properly, perhaps the issue would never serve as too large an obstacle. Bullies like Patch wouldn’t be able to boss her around anymore. She would frighten them all away with her abilities. That’s why she needed this.

To her complete and utter surprise, Patch agreed. Well, that was easy. But then, she wondered to herself, how easy would it be from that point on? Fighting viciously like a career was not something that could be learned without physical discipline and a large amount of work and energy. What if she couldn’t do it? What if her weakness made the task impossible? She was miniature compared to Patch, like a small kitten standing beside full-grown dog. She carried little to no muscle mass and used her long nails and bony knees to inflict harm upon bullies like Patch (not she encountered them often). But didn’t people say there was always room for improvement? Yes, she shouldn’t be worrying. Even if she was a pathetic little twig that could barely lift something that matched her own weight, she could at least learn the moves and improve her coordination. A few decent strikes in sensitive areas was all it usually took, after all. If she could master the moves, perhaps she wouldn’t need the strength.

There was one problem with that, however; the location. ”I have everything that you need at my place, I’ll show you.” His place? Shit, she didn’t want to visit his house. It was dangerous enough sharing his presence in an alley way, but within the boundaries of his own home? It was like inviting herself to hell! In his house, she would have nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide, and nobody to scream to if she needed help. The only way she’d have a chance was if she fought back, and last time that hadn’t worked out too much in her favor. There was only one question she could ask herself: how desperately did she want this? Was she willing to trust Patch’s word that he wouldn’t try to kill her, or should she turn away now like a coward and save herself the risk? The answer arrived quicker than she expected. ”Very well, lead the way.” She prayed that she wouldn’t regret this decision and hesitantly began to follow the him.

Indigo felt it unnecessary for him to maneuver through every twisted alley and narrow, suffocating path district nine had to offer. It was bothersome enough that she was intimidated by his very presence, but to be trapped within shadows between two walls that threatened to steal every breath out of her lungs until she turned blue was brutal. Indigo and tight, enclosed spaces did not get along very well at all. They were, in fact, mortal enemies, and the sooner she emerged into a wide open space the better. She was forced to regulate her breathing as she trailed behind him, wondering if making a last-moment decision to abandon ship and flee the scene would be a wiser idea than what she was about to dig herself into. Then and there she almost considered halting and slipping away in the other direction before he noticed, making up the excuse that she was “lost” rather than a coward, but before she could decide or act upon her own suggestion he suddenly paused in his footsteps and whirled around to face her.

Instinctively she drew back and felt her heart leap frightfully in her chest, expecting his reason for halting to be to change his mind and attack her. No such blow came, however, and she relaxed her tensed shoulders when he began to speak. He mentioned a promise - a promise that Indigo had to keep (shouldnt he be the one promising something?) and judging by his hesitation there was something severe about whatever promise he wanted her to uphold, and perhaps something that Patch was afraid of being unveiled. What it was, she could only make an educated guess, but it must’ve been in relation to the house he would be leading her to - that was, of course, if she decided to agree to this promise rather than turn in the opposite direction. He claimed he would never harm her or even speak to her again if she left, and that sounded like a hell of a great deal (she would certainly feel a bit safer in the streets knowing he wasn’t trying to hunt her like an animal) to her. Did she honestly want to surrender, though, after the effort she just put into avoiding injury and moving through narrow spaces without suffering a panic attack? There were benefits she would meet if she did agree to keep a promise and let him teach her how to defend herself. She realized she couldn’t make this decision so quickly on the spot - not until she heard what exactly she would be promising.

The house. She knew it had something to do with the house. ”Promise me you will not speak a word of anything you see.” What did he have in his house that was so special to him? It must’ve been either sentimental or something he gained from grueling efforts, especially for him to call it “his life.” And whatever it was, if she spoke of it to anyone he could possibly have it stolen away from him. What the hell was he keeping in there? Something illegal? That wouldn’t surprise her. Corpses hanging from the ceiling, perhaps? Or was she exaggerating a bit too much? Probably. But what other possibilities were there? A collection of weapons? That wouldn’t come as a shock to her either. Actually, that seemed more logical than anything else she could think of. Weapons - that wasn’t such a big deal to her, as long as he decided not to test them out on her. And they would be taken by peacekeeepers if they were found in his home. Yes, that made perfect sense. Weapons. She could live with that. ”Don’t worry, I don’t plan on telling anyone about you, let alone what’s in your house,” she said with a quirked brow. It was true; she was never going to tell her mother or her twin sister or anybody about what was about to happen. There was no reason to worry them. She could take care of herself. ”I promise.”