Ace had never been prouder than when that stopwatch read 4.5.
The point being that he could clear long distances in a very small amount of time. 40 yards in 4.5 seconds was nearly half of a football field. This speed remained with him even when wearing the heavy armor that was his football uniform. Even here on murder island—dragging his stuff and Angie and trying not to shoot his leg off as one hand held onto her and the other an assault rifle, the speed remained.
[Ace Beats Continued From: I'm only satisfied by the finer things in life like Rodarte and Margiela and making boys cry ]
And he ran as fast as he could and when he was far enough away he looked around only to notice that Meilin wasn’t around. Where was she? Had she been attacked? Run in the opposite direction—they had planned on getting separated, put the idea of it happening out there—but the practicality and reality of it was much harder to swallow. He had dragged Angie instead of Meilin--what an idiot! Another example of choosing someone else over her, how stupid and selfish could he have gotten? Could he wait with the idea of Quinn chasing her down by her lonesome? With the idea of Meilin running scared and abandoned? What if the worst happened and she was left bleeding and dying and alone?
The plan was to wait and so he did...
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
“Ange,” he said with a finality, “I gotta go back. Follow me but like, keep low and shit.”
He had spoken all that talk about loving Meilin and he had cheated on her with Ivy. He had talked all that rah-rah about war and he had ran from the first fight that came his way. He was all talk, no action.
All indecision.
All hesitation.
Nothing but consistently inconsistent.
He ran back towards the clearing and if there was a stopwatch anywhere, he was sure it would’ve read 4.4.
[Ace Beats Continued Back In: I'm only satisfied by the finer things in life like Rodarte and Margiela and making boys cry ]
