Marked

I had this up before as 'possible story line...tell me what you think', just so ya'll know. Now, here's the big problem: I like this, but I've no idea where it's going or what Michael's father is supposed to be. If you've any ideas, drop me a line! Thanks!

I fumbled with the all the junk in my locker, trying to extract my lunch without having a textbook fall out. The rest of my group, probably fifteen or so people, was already seated against the walls of the lockers, starting on their food. Jenny said something to me and I nodded, brushing my bangs out of my eyes and finally getting out my lunch. “Victory!” I crowed, holding my paper lunch sack. Mariella laughed and applauded me sarcastically. I went to sit next to Jenny so I could listen to the rest of our conversation, but a hand on my arm stopped me.
I went still, noticing everyone’s half frozen expressions before turning to see whoever was stopping me. When I saw Michael, I jerked my arm away from him. The others were staring at us, concerned. Everyone in our group knew how much I supposedly despised Michael, though maybe not why.
“What the hell do you want?” I spat at him, my relatively good mood gone. Well, a good mood for mid-Monday, at least. I hated every minute of this pretense, every minute where I forced myself to do this to myself and to Michael. But I knew that it was for the best: all I ever did was get Michael in even more trouble. I was a burden, and he didn’t need that.
“Maria, just let me talk to you. There’s something important you need to know.” Michael told me, his brilliant green eyes already messing with my mind. I glared at the boy who’d been my best friend forever until eight months ago.
“I don’t want to hear it, Michael. Why can’t you just leave me alone?” These past eight months, I’d managed to avoid him for the most part, and he did his best to avoid me too—we both wanted to forget. But in the last month he was always there, always trying to get me to talk to him. I had no idea why and I didn’t want to know.
Michael’s lips tightened into a thin white line as he glared right back at me, towering at least eight inches above me: I was a measly five foot four to his six foot something. Even though we were both freshman, he was taller than most of the school. “You can’t avoid this forever, Maria. We both tried, okay? And it didn’t work.”
Everyone was still watching us, confused and curious. “Really?” I answered caustically. “It’s working fine for me.” I made sure that my need to jump into his arms and apologize for the pain I was causing him was firmly under wraps as I looked him in the eyes.
Michael exhaled loudly, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his black hair fall over them. “We can’t. Because of this.” Michael moved suddenly, pulling up his polo sweaters sleeve and baring the underside of his forearm to the lights of the hallway. I sucked in a breath involuntarily, my gaze glued to the tattoo on his wrist. My whole world seemed to be spinning out of control—again.
To me, the tattoo looked like a poisonous red spider mutant, just waiting. It really showed a dagger with a red hilt and partially red blade—blood. All around it were strands of black and red lines, perfectly symmetrical: to my mind, it was the symbol of death, and Michael had it on his arm.

“Jesus.” I whispered, staring. Sam got up from where he was sitting against the wall, the first of my friends to make a move. Unlike the others, he didn’t know that I took care of myself.
“Maria, I’ll take care of it.” He said, striding forward. I tried to say something, but I was still in shock, staring at Michael’s tattoo. And then his sleeve jerked down to hide it as Michael wheeled to face Sam. Sam cleared his throat, looking nervous suddenly. He and Michael were about the same height, but Michael had an air around him that made it clear he wasn’t someone to be messed with. Everyone got that message, and they all steered clear of him.
Except me. We’d been neighbors since first grade, and since the first time we met, we were friends. Michael went to a different school then, but I still talked to him every day, whenever possible. And then something had happened. I didn’t know what, not then. All I knew was that Michael couldn’t hang out with me. We were in eighth grade then. Michael didn’t leave his house for five months, and I’d been stopped by his father when I tried to see him. I wasn’t even sure if he was home.
And then he’d come back, or come out. He’d been different—tougher. Where before his stride was loose and free, now it was wary and full of tension and strength and willpower. His laughs were harder to draw from him, and there were moments where he’d fall silent in the middle of a conversation and get this look on his face, like he’d already seen too much of life.
So I’d just sit with him in silence like that, knowing that he’d tell me when he was ready. And he did. His story had been wild, unimaginable. And I knew it had been true. That was where I made my mistake. I couldn’t stand what he’d been pulled into, what had been done to him.
I had tried to get him to stay with me, to forget about his family. But he had said it wasn’t possible. Still, he’d switched schools, come to mine. I tried to hang out with him, but he made it clear from the very first day that we couldn’t be friends at school, not ‘when he was being watched’.
Then he’d left school for a week. I was worried, frightened for him. So I snuck over to his house and let myself in. I’d thought it was empty or that only Michael was home, and I started for the stairs to his room. I’d almost been there when I’d passed his fathers study. The voices I heard had made me stop.
I took a deep breath and snapped myself back to the present. I wouldn’t think about that time again. Michael and Sam were still staring at each other, a silent stalemate. Finally, Sam spoke. “You heard Maria. She doesn’t want to be around you, so leave her alone.” He said coldly. I opened my mouth again, about to say something, anything to stop this. That wasn’t true—no matter what, Michael was my best friend. None of this was his fault.
“Or what?” Michael asked before I could intervene.
“Sam—” I started, not wanting this to get any worse.
“Or I’ll beat you until you learn your lesson.” Sam threatened. Wrong move. I nearly winced. Sam was okay, when he wasn’t going all over-protective or puppy dog on me. What he didn’t understand was that I didn’t need other people to speak for me, and I wasn’t interested in dating him.
“Sam, don’t—” I said again.
Michael cut me off. “I really wouldn’t threaten me, not now. I’m close to my breaking point.” When Michael got really quiet and calm like that, his voice was like warm, smooth honey, trapping you. It was also his most deadly voice, one that said you were seriously screwed now.
“Hey!” I finally shouted, claiming attention. “Sam, I appreciate you trying to help. But there is nothing you can do. Michael,” I mentally braced myself and looked him in the eyes. “You’re right. You and I need to talk.” Michael’s body seemed to relax, then he tensed again, looking over my shoulder. I turned and saw his father.
He was heading towards us, his expression intense. I felt fear make my legs weak, and suddenly it was all I could do not to collapse in terror. Michael stepped up next to me, expression guarded. He took my hand reassuringly and I let him, too scared to bother being strong. “Michael…” I whispered.
Then his father was upon us. Mr. Madison was a tall man, and his frame was as solid and strong as his son’s. When his green eyes raked my face I looked down, trying to calm the stutters of my heart. He can’t hurt you. Michael is here. You can’t get hurt. I told myself fiercely. I needed to believe it. “Ah, Maria. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Mr. Madison asked.
I looked up at him, his condescending tone sparking my pride and fury deep inside. I used it to stand tall. How could he mock me, when he knew exactly how long it had been and why it had been so long? “It has, sir. I’m afraid I’ve been really busy of late.” I told him. How about you, sir? Still murdering innocent people?
Mr. Madison smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. They spoke the hard, cold truth. “Is that so? What were you and Michael talking about?” He asked, the malice barely concealed in his voice. To the others, though, he must have seemed like the man he’d always been: polite, slightly old fashioned, distant. None of them could see what was really there.
I bit my lip, trying to think of something. Michael let go of my hand and I placed it on his forearm. The muscle was tense, and when I dared glance at his face I saw that his expression was one of strained formality. “I was… that is to say, we were… um, just talking about… school.” I muttered lamely.
Of course, Sam the Annoying Puppy decided to speak up at this point. “Actually, sir, your son just came up to Maria and was bothering her, saying they needed to talk. Then he showed her something on his arm to try and convince her. He even had the audacity to threaten me when I tried to step in. Don’t worry Maria, you don’t have to cover for him.” I closed my eyes, feeling faint. Sam might as well have signed our death papers.
Michael snapped. Whirling, his fist swung out fast and connected with Sam’s face, definitely breaking a couple bones. “You idiot!” He hissed, completely enraged. Making sure not to look at Mr. Madison, I grabbed Michael’s arm and hung on tightly as he got ready to punch again.
“Michael, don’t! Calm down!” That was hard to say when all I wanted to do was strangle Sam myself, but I knew that we were screwed as it was. Michael paused and looked down at me. He stood still for a long moment, and then he let his arm drop to his side. Then we turned to face his father.
“Michael, I’m ashamed of you.” He said softly, tutting. Was it possible for your blood to freeze even as your heart went triple time? Apparently, it was.
“You will come home with me now. You will not argue. Maria, maybe you’d best come too.”
“No!” Michael took a defensive step forward. “Not her.” He told his father. Mr. Madison have him a cold look.
“Do as I say.” The warning was clear in his eyes. I stepped in.
“I’ll come.” My hand came to rest lightly on Michael’s arm. “It’s okay.”
His tight lipped look said otherwise, but he knew as well as I did that we couldn’t argue. With a nod, Mr. Madison began to walk towards the entrance. I took one look back towards the others: most of them were staring in shock or trying to help Sam, who was on the floor, out cold and bleeding all over from his nose. And then I turned to look up at Michael. “I’m sorry.” I whispered to him.
He shook his head. “I’m such an idiot.” He mumbled to himself, and then he put an arm around my shoulders protectively, following his father. I tried not to think of the mark on his wrist: the mark that his heritage had cursed him with, the mark that held so much power and fear. Please let this turn out okay. I prayed silently. Yeah right. I couldn’t expect another miracle like the one that had saved my life eight months ago. All I had to protect me now was the arm around my shoulder, and I wasn’t even sure if that was solid protection. If Michael had to choose, would he pick the father who’d always controlled every aspect of his life, or his best friend?

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