Sometimes Otto wished he didn't have the compulsion to back-read on Twitter. This was one of those times. Not because of petty arguments or the opinions of people he despised. He'd never really known before that morning the means in which Clerise had died. It wasn't a surprise to know who had done it, not that it didn't make him angry. Caelius was already a trigger for anger and fear. It was how. Her head, cut off. It made him want to puke, because he could so easily imagine it in his head. And over what? Her dead lover?

It was something Rep had mentioned. Coming from Rep, he was quick to dismiss it as arrogance. But it didn't go away. It nagged at him. How could she give up her life for a corpse like that? Dead as soon as she was? That was bullshit, at least to him. He'd had very important people die. Very important people. But he'd never give up his own life so easily just because they were no longer around. Clerise had friends. She had him, right? But then again, maybe not. Compared to Clarice, what? Were they simply background noise? Would she give it all up that easily because of one person?

It made him angry. Made him sick. Made him hate her. Every ounce of love he'd had for her slowly turned black.

How could she do that? Life goes on, right? Why did she rebel for something so fruitless? He knew she was passionate, and bullheaded. So he knew it made sense for her. He just didn't like it. He didn't approve. Her pointless sacrifice made him feel like he had just been meaningless garbage in her life.

Prodigy? As if. He was just a play thing in her grand scheme of things, right? As soon as Clarice died she threw herself at the scythe. That b***h. Rationality told him to think what he'd do. Nevada was dying, sure. But he wouldn't cling to a corpse in trade for his own life. It was stupid.

Clerise was stupid.

He was suddenly glad. He was glad he never visited her grave. Glad he didn't give her that kind of tribute. He was also disgusted that he'd let her in. Just like everyone else he'd let in. Besides Nevada, they'd all turned out to be completely in it for themselves. It was never about him. Never.

Clerise? He was a toy.
Eva? A pet.
Sam? A pawn.

What of Molly? Was he just some placeholder so she didn't feel useless too? She was everyone's mom, right? Peyton? He had no clue. Some delusional ideas about family being automatic friends or something. He began over analyzing every woman he knew. Calculating their intentions for him. He used to only distrust men, for the scumbags he knew they all were. But women were just as awful. Just as selfish and stupid.

He refused to think the same of Nevada. She was all he had. She understood him. They were close. Closer than anyone he'd ever been with. And in all likeliness, he'd lose her very soon.

Otto shook his head, trying to make his mind stop worrying over the things he had no control over. Betrayal and paranoia played the strings inside his mind like an off-tune orchestra. He needed to drown it out. The blond hurriedly turned on his stereo to his favourite metal band, blasting it loudly inside his apartment. He drowned out his thoughts in rapid drum work and guitar riffs. He took a long shower, and let the hot water ease away the stress. Everything was fine. Just fine.

He didn't need anyone. Once Nevada died, if she died, he'd be alone, and that would be okay. He was fine all alone. He had his music, he had his large apartment. He had his king size bed and mountains of duvets and pillows. He had his books, his drums and his skateboard. He even had his partly filled out sketchbook he'd been using as a stress reliever of the mind.

He could do all those things by himself. That's all he needed. So long as he had these things, he'd be fine. Just fine. He was always fine in the end. He had dark times, lonely times. But he managed. He was stronger than Clerise.

Right. Yes. He was stronger than her. She was weak, and depended on one person to keep on living. Otto? He'd seen countless people die. He'd had treasured friends and family die. But that was fine. Because he always bounced back. That made him stronger. For some reason, he felt better now. Much better. He'd surpassed his so called mentor in mental capabilities alone. He was better than her, stronger than her. And he didn't care about her anymore. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.
Well... except Nevada. He needed her now because he was attached. But if she died? He'd move on. He always did. Always would.

He was fine.