<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)">Ah, there it was again; the Dry Mouth, the Difficulty Swallowing. Miles found that he couldn't even muster a glare at his friend's incessant jeering, let alone form words. He did wince though, when Ash gave him a mild chest-pat. The bruises were sensitive there. Relief eased the tension in his body when his father left though, but he knew Ash wouldn't let up on the interrogation anytime soon. His speech had been restricted when his dad was here, and he'd been on the verge of breaking out in a cold sweat at the prospect of having to answer all of Ash's queries under his father's dubious, expectant eye. Now though, he only had himself to rely on; no one signalling that he was giving away too much or acting too suspicious. He didn't know what was worse. Having to guess what his father wanted him to say, or having to rely on himself to decide what to say.<br/>
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Amid this whirlwind of thoughts, he looked intently at Ash when the other boy was relaying his encounter downstairs. His eyes marginally narrowed and he felt indignation at the conversation topic Ash and his father had decided to indulge in, but otherwise relented in his abuse of his friend. He noticed that Ash was giving attention to Miles' room, and wondered if he was looking for something in particular. The previous conversation about 'porn mags' suddenly came to mind, and his hand felt around the mattress' edge for that glossy paper; it was wedged safely under the mattress, in no danger of being seen by Ash. Good. He didn't need more fuel for his embarrassment.<br/>
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He found that he was looking at Ash a little too intently. His friend's attractiveness was no secret in their school, and Miles often found that he liked looking at those facial features, at that nice head of hair. Something that he often chastised himself for, because there was no way he was a fag. But he couldn't deny that underlying feeling he had started getting with Ash recently, that feeling of -<br/>
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Oh, and the interrogation had commenced.<br/>
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Truly, Miles remembered nothing of the fight or what followed. The only reason he was so nervous was because of the murder that he knew had taken place the same night, and the connotations Ash might draw up about Miles. But he figured Ash would wring it out of him eventually.<br/>
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"Pff, I don't care if dad's here or not!" He huffed, annoyed that Ash had hit the mark and made such an accurate assumption. He rolled his eyes at the rush of questions, knowing that he didn't remember enough to answer most things. But he'd try.<br/>
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"Ya know Macey's bar, the one a few streets down from your house?" Miles and Ash had gone there on a few occasions to blow off some steam and try out the several wacky cocktails. Miles often tried his hand at creating new concoctions, adding brandy here and a splash of rum there, but the final results were always revolting. The workers let him do as he pleased though, because he paid for all the wasted alcohol at the end of the night anyway. Casper didn't care much about how his son was spending his time or money, as long as it was from Miles' pocket and not Casper's. Miles had actually gotten the habit of making his own cocktails from his father; Casper often mixed new drinks when they were out together, making a show of it and pretending to know what he was doing. It was funny, because he looked comical and dramatic when fixing his concoctions, but they ended up tasting quite pleasant. "I was drinking there. With a few... new friends." He said this warily, because Ash was his only friend and might be somewhat hurt that Miles was expanding his social circle without him. But it's not as if that had been Miles' intent. He huffed again, deciding to divulge everything he could remember.<br/>
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"Okay, right, so... uh, I was walking down that street near Macey's, right, just passing time. Minding my own business. Was planning to maybe have a drink or... four." He grinned stupidly before continuing, clearing his throat. "Anyway, I didn't want to bother you. Ya know, 'cos you've got those stupid extra classes and shit, and you... you know... <i>actually</i> study. Whereas I... you know... don't. So anyway," He realised he was fidgeting with the bed sheet, for some reason. It wasn't as if he was lying. He had no reason to feel uncomfortable. He stopped his hand from moving and looked at Ash again. Bad idea. That nice face was distracting. He looked off to the wall, staring at the plastering. "I went into the bar, 'cos you know, maybe I'd find some drinking buddies in there. And... I did. A whole group of these bulky young guys, looking real tough, invited me over. Paid for my drinks and everything. They kept giving me more and more and... heck, who am I to refuse free alcohol?" He smiled goofily. But then it was replaced by a disconcerted look. "And... I really can't remember anything else."<br/>
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By God, did he try to remember. It was terrifying to think that anything could have happened in that drunken haze, and he recalled squat. But if he focused and strained his brain, he sometimes recollected fragments of that night. The bright red hoodie that one of the guys had been sporting; the large beer mugs clattering on the oak table; the hot girl that their group had been gawking at. And... there was something else. Something vicious and quick and aggressive. But that's where his memory really failed him, because he could never evoke more than the memory of violent movements and screaming. But he did remember something else.<br/>
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"Oh yeah... I remember this other group literally like, <i>ambushing</i> us in the back alley. I mean, god knows what we were doing there in the first place, but next thing I know I'm being beaten up nine ways to Sunday!" Ash had taught him that phrase. Miles wondered if he'd used it correctly. "Kinda blacked out after that. Next thing I know I'm in hospital, with my dad looking like he wanted to finish me off himself. He even told me he was going to pull out my IV lines if I didn't shut up! What an asshole!" He fumed for a bit, but his facial muscles were starting to hurt from all this expressive chit-chat. There was still that nauseating concern that Ash knew about the murder. Obviously Miles had had nothing to do with it, but Ash still might think of him differently. He <i>had </i>to know about it, right? The Macey's murder had been all over the news, and although Miles hadn't been named, Ash would probably link the two events. <i>Shit, especially since I just told him this had all happened at Macey's!</i> There really was no hope for him now.<br/>
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To perhaps stall Ash's train of thought, Miles pulled at the open backpack.<br/>
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"Wow, can't believe you lugged this heavy shit around just for me." He said with a snigger. Digging through the contents of the bag, he found several copies of several textbooks. His brain was already starting to throb from just looking at all these pages, all those words. There was something else further down in the bag; he groped around for it before pulling out a novel. He looked blandly at the cover and flicked through the pages.<br/>
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"Ugh, too many... <i>words.</i> Why would you read this boring crap? Don't you get enough to read at school?"<br/>
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Somewhere in the house, water continued to spurt out from a shower head.</span>