#FallApart

Misha’s late picking up Gray.

Elias had cram school, one he couldn’t get out of today, and if Misha didn't get to the elementary school in time, Gray would probably take off on their own. Now Misha’s worried for Gray’s safety of course, but Gray often got sidetracked if left by themselves.

It could be hours until Gray showed up at Reverie Tea, then it’d be already night.

Maybe he would have asked Honey just this once. That day she got arrested, which was quite the eye opener, she handed Misha an envelope meant for Gray.

Inside was a bracelet, one of the latest editions for the SPROUTS collection.

So he trusted her. At that moment he considered her a friend. Although she was brutally beating up some teenagers while he considered this, Misha was aware that Honey cared about Gray as if they were her own sibling or at least someone she would never turn that vicious anger upon.

And he trusted her with that.

He tucks his hands in his pockets, sprinting down Royale Street because he could only close the shop as long as his break and because of Honey, the cafe had been gaining a lot of Sinstagram attention.

Maybe he was wrong to avoid her. He didn’t even explain himself at the time, he and Elias just left the Midnight Fights as fast as they could, only to spend the whole night walking through the streets until morning came.

He gave Honey this violent opportunity. It was his fault.

He should be the one to fix things. Make them right.

Maybe she’d listen to him this time and he could successfully convince her to back out of The Midnight Fights. Stay away from the warehouse and The Rankings altogether, find her fame through Sinstagram alone, maybe take Gray to the cafe every once in a while. Gray would love to go shopping with Honey.

Misha smiles at the thought. It’s been a long time since he smiled thinking about Honey.

It drops from his face as he turns the corner, just at the entrance of Royale Street where a commotion awaits him.

An awful crowd that blocks the walkway and he huffs trying to get past and around them. Must be another Midnight Fight and Misha wants nothing to do with it. As usual. So he skirts around the edge of the crowd until something catches his eye.

Gold hair. Pink cardigan.

Honey.

Except this time she’s wearing something red.

He has never seen her wear that color before. Bright colors weren’t really her style, she leaned more towards pastels or her signature pinks.

Maybe she’s had a change of heart?

But she has not.

When he gets closer, pushing forward in the crowd, it slowly dawns on him that the red is not from a new outfit choice. It’s blood.

Misha’s world tilts on its side.

He doesn’t fall. He refuses to fall. If he went down, he wouldn’t be able to get back up again and he desperately needed to stay upright.

Otherwise there’d be no one to stop her.

This is the type of ruin The Midnight Fights bring. It’s his fault isn’t it? For allowing Honey to become like this, bloodied and blind to nothing but rage. Knowing nothing but violence.

And throwing someone over her shoulder, kicking someone right in their guts, knocking someone out with a spin of her elbow were things she could live with, things she already knew all too well even before her debut at Godforsaken High.

But this. Stabbing someone with a makeshift knife or beating someone with the heel of their own shoe, came dangerously close to something she’d never be able to live soundly with.

Almost killing someone. All for the sake of her petty revenge.

Honey’s eyes don’t see anything. They can’t see anything.

Not even Gray.

Gray.

Misha’s heart is in his throat.

Gray’s holding onto a fistful of flower print bandaids as they approach Honey, a little hand reaching out to tap her on the shoulder.

Misha desperately claws through the crowd.

“Gray! Stop!”

But it’s too late.

Honey brandishes the high heel like a weapon and swings backward without hesitation. Not a single emotion passes through her eyes, not even recognition at the nine-year-old who had been offering her an innocent smile.

It’s only anger.

Smoldering hot behind her pupils. Obscuring her vision.

Misha’s hand is around her wrist. He won’t make the same mistake like their first fight, he holds fast and tight so that her terrible strength doesn’t get any closer to Gray’s hair clip covered head.

Gray’s widening eyes catch in the shoe's reflection.

Surprise melting into terror.

Pulling her body along with her arm, he tries to drag her off the boy she’s crouched over, the one with the face so bruised and bloody that it's indiscernible. Misha can’t tell what parts of his clothes were originally red and what parts had turned red.

Her eyes slide onto him.

And stare right through Misha.

It’s like looking into a reflection of his past self. Stained just the same. Covered in red. Attention divided between a lifeless body and his own murderous hands.

The realization hit so hard he fell to his knees. Shaking so much he couldn’t even stand on his own two feet. It was then the dread seeped into his thoughts.

Fear.

Regret.

Devastation.

Hatred for no one except himself.

Her skate careens towards his face, aimed at his skull, striking to kill, but he catches that too. Both Misha’s arms strain against her relentless onslaught, the rest of her strength pouring into these attacks like she had no other choice.

And still she doesn’t see him.

One hit gets him square in the jaw, but he doesn’t let go.

A fist. An elbow. A whip of her head. Another kick to his face. He catches each one until she has no more limbs left to throw and eventually Misha’s able to wrestle her onto the ground, knee on her legs and both hands wrapped around her wrists.

She flails. Growling and seething through gritted teeth and red spit dribbles down the side of her mouth. Honey had bitten down so hard into the side of her cheek it tore open.

“Honey!” He says. Voice more raw and more pleading than he meant for it to be.

Then her eyes focus. The anger fades. She blinks and she can finally see Misha.

And she can finally see Gray.

He saw it. Guilt flashing across her eyes, the regret slowly blooming across her irises. Then it is snuffed out in an instant and she rips herself out of Misha’s hold.

“Don’t get in my way.” Honey sneers, but it’s lost all the vigor she used to have.

“Honey! This is what I meant when I said you’re too reckless, you’ve completely lost it!” He takes her by the shoulders as if it’d get through to her that way, but the remorse is starting to fade.

She’d be giving up her humanity if she took another step in this direction.

He can’t let this happen to her.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Misha looks towards the crowd and none of them pull out their phones to dial emergency. They’ve sacrificed themselves to this stupid game. Not caring whether it kills someone or not.

She tears herself out of Misha’s grip again, falling onto both her hands from the obvious exhaustion taking hold of her after the adrenaline wears off. Unconvincingly, she pretends her fatigue is nonexistent.

Hoisting herself back onto wobbly legs and hiking her bag higher on her shoulder although one of the straps is torn and the zipper looks busted.

It’s a pitiful scene.

“We’re not friends, I don’t have to listen to any of your bullshit.”

Misha pulls Gray closer to himself, the nine-year-old badly shaken up, unable to do more than watch Honey slowly put herself back together although she’s still splattered with a pattern of red.

The victim right at her feet.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re friends, but is this really what you want? All for what? Revenge?”

Honey makes a face he hadn’t seen on her before. All her familiar rage, her overconfidence and her unparalleled scowl. Except this time she looks ready to cry.

She grits her teeth and the look is gone.

Her eyes don’t even meet his anymore, they watch the ground and the pooling blood staining the pavement. Like she wants it to disappear from her sight, but the scene only grows more and more morbid the longer she stares.

Words push out of her mouth like they didn’t want to be said.

“I want to be King.”

Misha’s fed up with betrayals. This one would be his last.

She never wanted to destroy The Midnight Fights in the first place. Honey wanted the fame, the glory, the throne the title gave like all those before her and all those following her now. Greed is a selfish bastard.

Misha holds onto Gray a little tighter.

This was all a waste of time. Did Misha really think Honey would be so willing to help him for the sake of getting revenge on one girl? Was he that stupid? Or was he just too hopeful, too gullible, that someone would finally put an end to something he could not.

How could he ruin someone’s life again? Why did he always make the wrong decisions?

But she glares back, resolved and unflinching. Honey wouldn’t change her mind now, even if he tried to convince her. Would she have changed her mind back then, maybe Misha never really knew Honey.

Maybe they were never friends.

Fine.

Misha gives her one last look before he turns his back on her. 

If he wanted to get rid of The Midnight Fights, he’d have to do it himself.

And he’ll do it before Honey ever gets to taste the royalty.

Gray faces Honey, still clinging to Misha, and there’s more regret, more pain in her face the more she tries to swallow it. But she says nothing. Not even an apology.

Gray’s words seem to stick to her like it’s nailed to her flesh.

“Honey, you’re a bad person.”