These Paths We Tread (Autobot x OC)

III. Rage Against the Machine

"Not really," she hummed. "What about you guys? Did you find the furniture you wanted?"

"Still looking," he rumbled back, unwrapping the newspaper.

"But we're not going today," her mother chimed, pulling down a cereal bowl from the cupboard. "We plan to go see Spider-Man three since we forgot to when it came out."

"Hmmm.... You guys have fun. I still feel a bit bad to be honest."

Her mother pressed her hand to Catherine's forehead, her mouth in a worried frown, "You don't feel hot..."

"I just feel a little drowsy. I'll sleep it off, so you guys go have fun. Besides, I already saw it with Sam and Miles," she added with a reassuring smile.

"Okay," the blonde woman sighed and then smiled playfully. "You just want to get out of wearing make-up, don't you?"

"And you're trying to get me to wear it again, aren't you?"

"You'd be able to get a boy that way. Especially if you wore a dress or something," her Dad replied, and Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Like always—not gunna happen."

"Oh, you always have to be so difficult! Alright then. The movie's at four, so if you feel better and change your mind..."

"Got it," she replied, nodding again. 

Their conversations dulled then, as did her thoughts, as her parents went about their business. She joined them in breakfast, and that was done without much heart in it. She went to watching television when they left the kitchen to wash up and prepare. She let herself numb on the couch, petting Bandit without really thinking about it and watching the screen without much interest. She occasionally tried to nap, only succeeding once in a while in having short, dreamless sleeps. It went on throughout the day, and the hours until the movie counted down. She vaguely recognized when her parents shouted they were leaving, nor when their car peeled out of the driveway. Her mind was elsewhere, and certainly not on the yellow sponge pulling some outrageous stunt on the screen.

In truth, she was consulting her thoughts from the night before, and tempering them into something usable. The hurt with them was gone and spent, and only anger and bitterness remained. The lesson had been taught and she kept it close to her and used it to reconstruct her emotions. First she sealed the love, and then found her happiness and serenity, which sh used it to mask everything else. She let herself think it was sincere, but a part of her knew she was forcing it and that thought made her work dangle on the edge of disaster. That was where it stayed, though; dangling. She was mostly whole again, and that was enough to make it through the day and for the unimaginable amount of time it would take to heal the scars.

When the clock read five Catherine's cell phone buzzed. She looked at it lazily and felt a stab in her chest when the name on it was the one she wanted to see the least. She opened the message anyways and waged war in her mind over accepting the invite, going over to his house, and staying where she was to mope in despair and self-pity. Pride won over, however, and, sending a quick message back, she got up and left the house with far less vigor than the two days before.

She found it almost unfathomable how, barely twenty-four hours ago she had been brimming with excitement about going over to Sam's house, and now she dreaded it with each step. Such a large part of her screamed and pleaded for her to just go back and not face him, but she knew she needed to. She couldn't tell him, of course—to tell him the truth after suffering would be too much, and she didn't want what they had right now to change if it couldn't become something more. But she needed to speak with him to keep what she at least had now. So went she did.