Hey guys, first off I'm really far ahead of the game with my other fanfic so I decided to start another one. I've never done a sad broken kind of Fang, so this may be a little horrible. I think I might do a bad boy Percy Jackson… how hot would that be?
P.S Review. I was looking at the hits this story got and the visitors compared to the amount of reviews, and I am very disappointed in you guys. (6.24.12)
Fang P.O.V
Chapter 1: Memories
I remember being 12 years-old. I remember my mom finally saying I could grow my hair out past my ears. She had run her slender, pale fingers through her curly, dark locks and sighed. She was so beautiful.
I remember being 14 years-old, and having my best friend Iggy tell me, a girl was staring at me from the back of the room. I remember thinking that it was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and no one would ever take the feeling of pride I had away.
I remember being 16 years old, and sitting in the chair at the store Claire's, and the woman, with bright platinum blonde hair, was holding a gun, and it was uncomfortably close to my throat. She pulled the trigger, and I remember pain throbbing through my ear for a moment. I remember walking away with 5 piercings on my right ear, and 3 on the left.
Today, standing at my mother's funeral, her dark curls dulled, flat, her make-up to bright, clothes too common, I know that these memories won't ever bring her back. Nothing. No matter how much I remember her, my mother won't remember me.
I feel a pang of deep hatred towards my father. She didn't deserve this. There was no light in her eyes as she signed the paper that killed her. The divorce. There wasn't a trace of her many many laugh lines. There wasn't any room on her face for comfort or warmness. She was all cold, business. She was so strangled.
"I'm so sorry for your loss Nickolas." My Uncle Ronald says. His green eyes are glistening with tears. Though he is my father's brother, he is much gentler, much nicer, and he loved my mother. I wish he was my father sometimes.
"Don't. I don't want anyone's pity."
"Just fear, huh?" He laughs at his lame reference to the Death Cab for Cutie song Pity and Fear.
"I just want to be left alone." I whisper. My voice is hoarse, from not speaking more than 5 or 6 sentences in the past 3 days.
"Well, I hate to tell you, but Ms. Delphine is comin' along. She's bringin' her girl Lissa." He says, and walks quickly away. Ms. Delphine is obsess with Uncle Ron. It's disgusting really.
"Oh Nickolas, dear!" she shrieks. My ears ache and vibrate for a moment before I can answer her.
"Hello Ms. Delphine. How are you?" I say conversationally, though I do no want to have a conversation.
"How am I? Oh sweetie, how are you feeling?" she tsk-ed her tongue and I mentally laughed at her fake concern. I though people in the south were known for hospitality, not fakeness.
"I'm holdin' up." I say, turning on my Louisiana accent. It's slight, just a Southern Twang, but she buys it and smiles sadly at me. It looks like a sneer.
"Oh hun, you come right on over anytime you need to this summer, ya hear? I'm always around for you to talk to, and so is my little Lissa." She cooed.
Lissa wasn't so little anymore. She had gotten all curvy and voluptuous. But she looked fake. Like her lypo-suctioned, BoToxed mother.
She finally walks away and I drop the Twang, muttering in French to myself.
These memories hurt so effing badly.
Max P.O.V
Post traumatic stress disorder. Really? That's what we're doing now?
I mean, what did they expect? After watching that poor woman in my mother's diner walk outside and literally throw herself off the cliff out back, did they think I was just going to recover? Did they think I'd just walk off and happily go and buy myself a $200 prom dress and get my hair done for two hours? Did they think I'd just forget?
Well the memories are there, and sadly, they won't bring her back. I didn't know her. That's what my mom keeps saying. She was just a woman.
She was someone's mother.
She was someone's sister.
Someone's wife.
She was somebody, and now she's gone.
She wasn't just a woman, she was someone's life, someone's spirit, someone's life, someone's everything, and now she's nothing but maggot food and dirt. I can't believe they expect me to just drop this.
So they're sending me off to the small town of Shanterville, Louisiana to stay with my Aunt Valencia for the summer to get a tan and get over the Woman.
I guess.
I mean, if that's what you think is going to help then I won't mind, but I can tell you right now, I won't come back cured. Not even close.