This house is unfamiliar... eerie at night. Up here in the attic room, I huddle against the wall, sitting on a bed that feels like it was built in the eighteen hundreds. I listen to the wind blowing outside my window and wonder when the next shock will hit. Will I go running to him? Will the roof fall in on my head? I think of my sisters, asleep on the floor below. Will the floor cave in and crush them? It doesn't seem to matter that this house has survived the last three major quakes with barely even surface damage... I am still scared.
I slip out the window onto the balcony. Not the safest place, but I need air. I am suffocating in there. From here you can see the lights of LA, beautiful and yet also a stark reminder of what I left behind today. My own house is down there somewhere, red-stickered and scheduled for demolition. Power is still out in some suburbs - I can see the black patches.
My fingers pick at the peeling paint on the banister. The Howards obviously have not spent much time thinking about maintenance lately... That's cruel, I know. Their father works all the time and the boys have no reason to be thinking about the state of the paint job on the upper balconies. It's not like they ever come out here anyway.
The is a screech of wheels on the gravel and I notice that Dylan is home. I would recognize that bike anywhere. I duck back into my attic room before he notices me watching.
Back to the squeaky bed then. This isn't so bad. I could paint the walls... No. I am not going to get comfortable here. It's not my house.
There is a deep rumble. I tense, knowing it is coming... where do I go? Under the bed? In the doorway? I shrink back into the corner of my bed and watch the window sway in my vision. I will not cry, but I can't seem to stop shaking. Eventually, the house calms down, only shivering a little. I clamber off the bed and feel something akin to sea-sickness. Dammit, why can't you just stand still, you stupid house?
I make myself climb down the ladder. I am not staying up there tonight, I don't care if I have to sleep in Angelette's corvette. I don't want to be in the house any more.
It's on the second story that I see him.
Motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes lock with mine and I flush. I am not really dressed to be seen in public.
"Hey," he says in a soft, deep voice. "You okay?"
I nod furiously. Admitting that I'm scared to Dylan is unthinkable...
The tears on my cheeks give me away.
"You want to go out?"
I nod, betraying my own resolve before it has a chance to cement.
"Come on." He doesn't even smirk or try to make fun of me. "You'll want to grab a jacket."
Showing posts with label brady bunch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brady bunch. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Challenge 18: A brother's jealousy
Sorry this one is way over the word limit, but it didn't make much sense otherwise.
“Where the hell have you been, Dylan?” James said. “Do you know what time it is?”
Dylan looked at his bare wrist and said, “Nope.”
Charlie was curled up, asleep on the couch and the television was still blaring in the corner.
James folded his arms, leaning back against the archway between the dining room and the lounge, just staring at his younger brother. Dylan was a mess. His school uniform was torn and grimy and half of the buttons were missing. James could smell the smoke as Dylan stormed past him towards the stairs.
“Hold it,” he growled.
“Fuck off, James. It’s none of your business.” Dylan stopped but he didn’t turn around.
"J’taime amour," a silky smooth voice purred from the television set. Distracted for a moment, James glanced at the screen to see a young French woman whispering in the ear of a much older business man inside a smoky club.
“Dad left me in charge, so yeah, it is my business,” James said, trying to ignore the way the woman on the television set reminded him of Danielle.
Dylan did turn around then, his eyes stormy as he said, “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
He glanced at the television just as the older man walked out of the bar, leaving the young woman by herself.
“Look,” James said. “I know I’m not dad, and you don’t have to tell me anything, but you are scaring me Dylan… I don’t want you to be the latest dead kid on the news.”
Dylan snorted. “I can look after myself.”
James tried to consciously relax the tension in his shoulders. The French woman disappeared into the bathroom, her mascara staining her cheeks. If Danielle cried, she would look a hundred times worse. Goth chicks always wore way too much black eyeliner.
Dylan noticed. He was always the more observant one.
“You were a bastard today,” he said softly. All traces of his normal anger were gone as he sat down on the couch, shifting Charlie so that the kid’s head was on his lap. “It’s funny, I thought maybe you had changed.”
James sat on the other couch, staring at the television. Toothpaste and coca-cola competed with Viagra and the Ab-buster 2000, but all he saw was the look on Danielle’s face as he told her she had overestimated the strength of his affection for her. He had been trying to be chivalrous. That was what he told himself. No point letting the poor girl fantasize that there was any chance… Perhaps he didn’t have to do it in front of so many people… but it was just the truth.
“You really were just messing with her, eh.” Dylan shook his head. The French woman dialled someone on her cell phone but no one picked up. She slammed the phone shut and splashed her face with water.
James clenched and unclenched his fists. This was none of Dylan’s business. “What does it matter? If I screw up my relationships, you can laugh. It’s not like you are doing any better.”
“It’s not just you you’re hurting though, is it?”
“What do you care? You hate her.”
“I never said that.”
James blinked, trying to remember why he was so sure that his brother had hated the Goth girl in his class.
“I said she hates me,” Dylan clarified. “Until today, I hadn’t bothered having an opinion.”
The French woman put on some more lipstick, puffed up her hair and pasted on a vindictive smile. She opened her shirt a few buttons and hiked up her mini skirt until the bottoms of her stocking suspenders were visible. Out in the bar, she sidled up to one man after another on the dance floor, searching for someone who would take the bait.
James made a face, unimpressed with her sluttish behaviour. Dylan leaned over Charlie and grabbed the remote, turning off the television. James glanced at him, surprised. Dylan extricated himself carefully and then lifted Charlie into his arms, heading for the stairs. James followed like a lost puppy. When had Dylan, the troubled teen delinquent, turned into the mature one in this family?
Once Charlie was tucked up in bed, Dylan said, “There is a reason why Goths are a minority group.”
“Huh?” James followed him down the hall. “Did you see Dee tonight? Is that why you were out so late?”
Dylan walked into his room and shut the door in James’ face. James just stood there, stunned, trying to process his brother’s words. Minority group. Goths. Suicide. SHIT. He turned the handle, but Dylan had locked the door.
“Is she okay?” he hissed, not wanting to wake Charlie up with a yell.
Dylan didn’t answer. James turned away and began to pace the hall. Surely someone would have told him if Danielle had gone and done something stupid. Angelica would have… No, Angelica only thought about herself and Kitten didn’t speak at all, so she was hardly going to use a telephone. There was nothing for it. He would have to call her.
James pulled out his cell phone and then realized he had deleted Danielle’s number. Idiot. He tried the phone book, but they weren’t listed. Of course not. Their mother was the Head of Security at the Bank of America, she wasn’t going to have a listed number. It was three a.m., but James knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing that Dee was okay. He raced down the stairs, two at a time, and hauled his Tiger motorcycle out of the garage and then glanced up to see Dylan watching him from the second story with a smirk. Damn him. He knew just how to push James’ buttons. Danielle was probably fine. For all James knew, she and Dylan had cooked up this story to make him feel guilty. Despite that, he knew he had to check on her.
Wordcount: 987
“Where the hell have you been, Dylan?” James said. “Do you know what time it is?”
Dylan looked at his bare wrist and said, “Nope.”
Charlie was curled up, asleep on the couch and the television was still blaring in the corner.
James folded his arms, leaning back against the archway between the dining room and the lounge, just staring at his younger brother. Dylan was a mess. His school uniform was torn and grimy and half of the buttons were missing. James could smell the smoke as Dylan stormed past him towards the stairs.
“Hold it,” he growled.
“Fuck off, James. It’s none of your business.” Dylan stopped but he didn’t turn around.
"J’taime amour," a silky smooth voice purred from the television set. Distracted for a moment, James glanced at the screen to see a young French woman whispering in the ear of a much older business man inside a smoky club.
“Dad left me in charge, so yeah, it is my business,” James said, trying to ignore the way the woman on the television set reminded him of Danielle.
Dylan did turn around then, his eyes stormy as he said, “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
He glanced at the television just as the older man walked out of the bar, leaving the young woman by herself.
“Look,” James said. “I know I’m not dad, and you don’t have to tell me anything, but you are scaring me Dylan… I don’t want you to be the latest dead kid on the news.”
Dylan snorted. “I can look after myself.”
James tried to consciously relax the tension in his shoulders. The French woman disappeared into the bathroom, her mascara staining her cheeks. If Danielle cried, she would look a hundred times worse. Goth chicks always wore way too much black eyeliner.
Dylan noticed. He was always the more observant one.
“You were a bastard today,” he said softly. All traces of his normal anger were gone as he sat down on the couch, shifting Charlie so that the kid’s head was on his lap. “It’s funny, I thought maybe you had changed.”
James sat on the other couch, staring at the television. Toothpaste and coca-cola competed with Viagra and the Ab-buster 2000, but all he saw was the look on Danielle’s face as he told her she had overestimated the strength of his affection for her. He had been trying to be chivalrous. That was what he told himself. No point letting the poor girl fantasize that there was any chance… Perhaps he didn’t have to do it in front of so many people… but it was just the truth.
“You really were just messing with her, eh.” Dylan shook his head. The French woman dialled someone on her cell phone but no one picked up. She slammed the phone shut and splashed her face with water.
James clenched and unclenched his fists. This was none of Dylan’s business. “What does it matter? If I screw up my relationships, you can laugh. It’s not like you are doing any better.”
“It’s not just you you’re hurting though, is it?”
“What do you care? You hate her.”
“I never said that.”
James blinked, trying to remember why he was so sure that his brother had hated the Goth girl in his class.
“I said she hates me,” Dylan clarified. “Until today, I hadn’t bothered having an opinion.”
The French woman put on some more lipstick, puffed up her hair and pasted on a vindictive smile. She opened her shirt a few buttons and hiked up her mini skirt until the bottoms of her stocking suspenders were visible. Out in the bar, she sidled up to one man after another on the dance floor, searching for someone who would take the bait.
James made a face, unimpressed with her sluttish behaviour. Dylan leaned over Charlie and grabbed the remote, turning off the television. James glanced at him, surprised. Dylan extricated himself carefully and then lifted Charlie into his arms, heading for the stairs. James followed like a lost puppy. When had Dylan, the troubled teen delinquent, turned into the mature one in this family?
Once Charlie was tucked up in bed, Dylan said, “There is a reason why Goths are a minority group.”
“Huh?” James followed him down the hall. “Did you see Dee tonight? Is that why you were out so late?”
Dylan walked into his room and shut the door in James’ face. James just stood there, stunned, trying to process his brother’s words. Minority group. Goths. Suicide. SHIT. He turned the handle, but Dylan had locked the door.
“Is she okay?” he hissed, not wanting to wake Charlie up with a yell.
Dylan didn’t answer. James turned away and began to pace the hall. Surely someone would have told him if Danielle had gone and done something stupid. Angelica would have… No, Angelica only thought about herself and Kitten didn’t speak at all, so she was hardly going to use a telephone. There was nothing for it. He would have to call her.
James pulled out his cell phone and then realized he had deleted Danielle’s number. Idiot. He tried the phone book, but they weren’t listed. Of course not. Their mother was the Head of Security at the Bank of America, she wasn’t going to have a listed number. It was three a.m., but James knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing that Dee was okay. He raced down the stairs, two at a time, and hauled his Tiger motorcycle out of the garage and then glanced up to see Dylan watching him from the second story with a smirk. Damn him. He knew just how to push James’ buttons. Danielle was probably fine. For all James knew, she and Dylan had cooked up this story to make him feel guilty. Despite that, he knew he had to check on her.
Wordcount: 987
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Challenge 17: Moving in
It was strange to think, as we pulled up outside the Howard mansion, that I was actually going to live here. I clambered out of mom’s Ferrari and waded through the heat, hoping the place would have air conditioning. A butler hurried down the stairs to greet us, but I insisted on hauling my own luggage out of the trunk. My little sister Kitty needed more help with her bags anyway.
“Danielle?” There he was, standing in the doorway of his very own palace. Prince Charming himself – James Howard. His voice tasted like chocolate and strawberries. I squinted up at him, an awkward half-grin on my lips.
“What are you doing here?” a second voice said.
My smile fell. Dylan had just joined his older brother and I could almost smell his scorn. Barbara, my mom, tackled the stairs with a bag in each hand. By the top, Dylan looked like a frozen crème puff, sweating in the knowledge he was about to be eaten.
“Not a chance,” he said desperately. “They are definitely not moving in!”
My mom lifted her massive sunglasses and gave the bastard her best ‘I’m going to be your new mother,’ smile. Arthur emerged then and gave mom a massive hug. They actually kissed in front of all of us… Ew!
Mom and Arthur had suddenly sprung their engagement on us all about a week ago and now here we were, saving money in this recession by moving out of our four bedroom house right next to school and shifting into a bloody 10 bedroom mansion in the middle of nowhere. Great.
When I finally made it inside, I was taken aback by how clean and shiny everything was. This place even smelled white. As a dedicated Goth, I officially considered myself to be in hell.
James’ fingers whispered over my hand, making my heart wobble excitedly. Oh, this was so wrong. James took my bag and I didn’t even think of stopping him.
“Come on,” he said, winking. “I’ll show you your room.”
Gods above, I almost melted on the spot. I followed him, doll-like, up the wide colonial staircase and away down a corridor.
“I made sure you got the darkest room in the tallest tower,” he said with a delectable, syrupy laugh. “If you ever open your curtains, you’ve got a great view of the estate.”
He put my bag down on the bed, the duvet cushioning the impact. I didn’t even hear the clink of my crystals crashing into each other, but then I had packed them inside five oversized socks each. I crossed over to the window and peered outside, breathless with the awareness of him, still there, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“So ah…” I said, not brave enough to look around. “Where is your room?”
“On the other side of the house,” he said, a slight tang of regret in his voice. “My dad’s not a complete idiot.”
I did glance at him then. His smile was a sunbeam, breaking through all my shadowy walls.
“I’m here now,” was all he needed to say. In the next moment, he was standing and I was wrapped up in his arms, losing myself in the aria of his kisses. How could I have been so lucky? He should never have even noticed me, hiding in the shadows everywhere I went. How could I be so unlucky? Sure, now we were living together, which was great, except that in three months, when mom and Arthur married, what we were doing was going to be so very illegal.
Wordcount: 607
This is a continuation of New York Girls (my challenge 7), and is part of a story Nightfire and I are developing which has been code named 'The Brady Bunch'
“Danielle?” There he was, standing in the doorway of his very own palace. Prince Charming himself – James Howard. His voice tasted like chocolate and strawberries. I squinted up at him, an awkward half-grin on my lips.
“What are you doing here?” a second voice said.
My smile fell. Dylan had just joined his older brother and I could almost smell his scorn. Barbara, my mom, tackled the stairs with a bag in each hand. By the top, Dylan looked like a frozen crème puff, sweating in the knowledge he was about to be eaten.
“Not a chance,” he said desperately. “They are definitely not moving in!”
My mom lifted her massive sunglasses and gave the bastard her best ‘I’m going to be your new mother,’ smile. Arthur emerged then and gave mom a massive hug. They actually kissed in front of all of us… Ew!
Mom and Arthur had suddenly sprung their engagement on us all about a week ago and now here we were, saving money in this recession by moving out of our four bedroom house right next to school and shifting into a bloody 10 bedroom mansion in the middle of nowhere. Great.
When I finally made it inside, I was taken aback by how clean and shiny everything was. This place even smelled white. As a dedicated Goth, I officially considered myself to be in hell.
James’ fingers whispered over my hand, making my heart wobble excitedly. Oh, this was so wrong. James took my bag and I didn’t even think of stopping him.
“Come on,” he said, winking. “I’ll show you your room.”
Gods above, I almost melted on the spot. I followed him, doll-like, up the wide colonial staircase and away down a corridor.
“I made sure you got the darkest room in the tallest tower,” he said with a delectable, syrupy laugh. “If you ever open your curtains, you’ve got a great view of the estate.”
He put my bag down on the bed, the duvet cushioning the impact. I didn’t even hear the clink of my crystals crashing into each other, but then I had packed them inside five oversized socks each. I crossed over to the window and peered outside, breathless with the awareness of him, still there, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“So ah…” I said, not brave enough to look around. “Where is your room?”
“On the other side of the house,” he said, a slight tang of regret in his voice. “My dad’s not a complete idiot.”
I did glance at him then. His smile was a sunbeam, breaking through all my shadowy walls.
“I’m here now,” was all he needed to say. In the next moment, he was standing and I was wrapped up in his arms, losing myself in the aria of his kisses. How could I have been so lucky? He should never have even noticed me, hiding in the shadows everywhere I went. How could I be so unlucky? Sure, now we were living together, which was great, except that in three months, when mom and Arthur married, what we were doing was going to be so very illegal.
Wordcount: 607
This is a continuation of New York Girls (my challenge 7), and is part of a story Nightfire and I are developing which has been code named 'The Brady Bunch'
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