Lily Pad
Summary: Lara is searching frantically for the entrance to Avalon-where her mother went-since she discovered what had happened. However, to make things more confusing, there's some unfinished, deeply buried business to deal with first from an unlikely source…
A loud thunderclap roared above again, in perfect time to a malicious lightning flash. In that split second, I can pick out all of her features. Her almond shaped eyes, the dark tone of her skin, even the tears running slowly down her cheeks.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," I repeat desperately, in the naïve hope that she would understand.
"So you're just gonna…dismiss this? Dismiss me-again?" she choked. I could tell that she was trying to be strong, but I also knew that I had probably just broken her heart.
"We never should have met," I say. She gives me a furious look, hiccupping slightly. She turns away toward the door to the kitchen, with her 'friends' no doubt waiting for her. I wasn't afraid of them, nor of her, or her so-called 'father'.
"You know," she begins, turning back. "I thought you of all people would understand."
"How would I understand-"
"I'm not finished!" she snaps. "When I met you, I was all 'oh my God. I've found her! I've found the one person who could maybe make all those childhood fantasies come true! Now I can see how naïve I was, that all they were was fantasy. And I'm sorry for putting you through this, but, you know, I thought maybe you'd have a heart!"
"Sweetheart-"
"Don't call me that! You have no right!" she shouts, before storming out of the kitchen. I feel inclined to follow her, but am not really sure what to do when I catch up to her. Apparently her daddy-dearest has a helicopter waiting outside for her. Either he's scarily psychic or extremely pessimistic. Of course he could just be protecting his daughter, I suppose.
Eventually, I make up my mind to follow her outside, into the grounds. Sure enough, there is a helicopter with a fancy 'R' on the side hovering above the driveway. There is a young-ish man, late-twenties, early-thirties, maybe, in what could only be described as a designer shirt. I stop dead as I get a look at his face. He's now staring down at me through his sunglasses, looking as shocked as I probably do.
'No, no there's-there's no way,' I think desperately. It was impossible, we'd never-
Was…was her father James William Rutland?
Jeez, I feel frustrated! I hate those fucking professors with all their 'ooh I'm so superior!' and they're acting all sympathetic when you get shit grades when what they're actually thinking is 'christ, how thick is this kid?'
But what I hate most is when you work all goddamn semester on a term paper and they give you a freakin' 'F'! Okay, so it wasn't Shakespeare, but damnit, I think I deserved a better grade than an 'F'! My father had to pull serious strings to get me here, and when I get home at the end of this semester, he's gonna give me 'the talk'.
He gave my brother Sean 'the talk', and guess what, the guy dropped out of college, just like that! No letter explaining or anything, just never went back. He gave my sister Caroline 'the talk' when she got herself arrested because of possession and use of heroin, and she walked out on the family the next day. I guess he coulda kicked her out, but he's not that sort of guy. He is a senator, sure, but he'd rather have her sent for a grueling rehab than have her end up in a whorehouse/crack house.
Right now, I guess I'm the only kid who's never let him down. So I'm the youngest, sure, but he's not gonna be pleased with all these fucking 'F's! I got all 'D' for my final exam grades last year, which was really unfair! So I seduced the examiner's kid, he had no right to fail me! I worked my arse off for those papers! I didn't do too good on my term papers, either, so if it hadn't been for my father's influence, well, that would have been his second son dropped out of NYU. The examiners were surprisingly nice to my father…how odd. Arse-kissing dicks.
But you know, I never really wanted to major in Politics. It was just assumed that I'd follow in my father or my brother's footsteps, who picked Law. I was never gonna make it into Law-you actually have to give a shit and be honest. At least with Politics, if by some miracle I did pass, I could just use my father to work my way up. But it looks like that 'dream's' over. Screw it-if I'd had my way, I wouldn't even have picked NYU-it's a freakin' craphole! There's loads of foreign pissers who think they fit in! There's this one French bitch in particular, Gabrielle Lamore-god I hate her! She talks in this stupid accent all the time and expects everyone to speak French around her! Too up her own arse to realise that she's in America, not Paris!
Despite this, though, everyone loves her! I see her with other guys in those crap campus shitholes they like to think of as 'bars' and she's always jabbering away in French, and I'm just thinking 'where do they pick up shit like that?'
She's here now actually, alone for once-no adoring, love-struck, arse-kissing freaks and no guys. Stupid bitch is trying to get the attention of the ignorant bartender, saying 'excusez-moi! Garcon, garcon!'
Me, I'm just sitting here, drinking all the beer I can afford. Damn, by the end of tonight, I'm probably gonna end up in a gutter again. It's happened twice already, both times after a bad term paper. You'd think those dickheads would see a connection, but they're too busy trying to get all of those students out of their butts.
"Dude, you okay?" the bartender asks.
"Sure I am. Just enjoying one last beer before I jump off the Empire State."
I hear a snort to my right. It's Gabrielle.
"Something funny, La-whore?"
"Oh, I don't know, perhaps it is the idea of you jumping off the Empire State Building."
"Sure, revel in my depression-glad someone finds it amusing." She raises her glass to me, and takes such a small sip, you'd think she was at a geisha teahouse.
This seems to attract the attention of one of the wackos in the corner playing pool, though. He's come over, and started complimenting her in French, which is why she's so easy, if you get what I mean. One word of French, she'll jump into your bed faster than an Emperor's concubine.
She's laughing like a manic, and I think of a way to piss her off-I'm that drunk.
"Hey, Gabs?" She sighs and turns to face me.
"May I help you?"
"Did you get that prescription sorted?" By now, the wacko's listening in.
"Prescription?"
"Yeah, you know. Course, the cocktail's one hell of a treat if you got HIV, but it's not so great for AIDS, you know? You mustn't blame yourself, though, Gabs, any one of you could have mistaken Professor Clarington for that cute exchange guy."
The wacko's now backed off totally.
"You bastard!" she curses. "I hope you do fall off the Empire State Building! And if you get scared and need a push, call for me!" She marches out of there. The bartender's giving me a funny glance, like a 'was that necessary' kinda thing.
"Damn!" I mock curse. "Did I just stop La-whore from having sex tonight? That makes me feel so bad!" The bartender snorted.
"You know, there is a special place in hell for guys like you."
"Yeah, it's called military school," I sigh, holding out my tumbler for a refill. The bartender reluctantly takes it muttering 'you've had way too much' under his breath, but he can't argue-the guy's underage and I'm the only one that knows it.
He passes me the newly filled tumbler and I gulp half of it down. I slam it down and allow my head to collapse on the bar.
"Hey, come on, Junior, can't be that bad," the bartender says. I look up.
"I got all 'D's in my sophomore year. I just got another term paper with an 'F'. My father's good friends with some creep who runs a military school-you do the math."
"Yeah, except these days they want smart people for these things, and you certainly don't qualify for that," he grins. I ignore him and finish off my beer.
"Refill," I demand.
"Don't you think you've had enough to override the limit of uh, I dunno, sixty people?"
"No-don't you think how highly inappropriate it would be if I were to accidentally slip something about the fact that you're actually twenty to a professor?"
"Look, Junior, you can threaten me with that, but you've had enough for tonight. Come on, I'm surprised you haven't numbed your senses so much you can't remember your name."
"You sure know your alcohol," I mutter sarcastically.
"Come on, JR, lighten up. You just pissed off Gabby!"
"It's easy to do-you just speak English around her!" He smirks.
"Well, whatever, dude, but you know what I think?"
"That you should go drown in the river?"
"You're gonna drown in alcohol if you don't stop!" he protests. "I think you should go to your apartment, and don't wake up ever!" I look up. Confusion is written all over my face. "Well, you're a total arsehole when you got a hangover-actually you're always a total arsehole-"
"I hope you're going somewhere with this."
"Yeah-my point is you ain't never gonna work off that hangover."
I sigh again, and stumble to my feet. "Want a cab?" he offers.
"Across the campus?" He shrugs.
"I dunno. The state you're in, it'd take you three hours to walk straight."
"I think I can manage two blocks," I sigh, and begin to walk, only to trip over the stool. The bartender can't manage to contain his laughter, and actually has a couple of tears running down. Jeez, he's more pissed than me! "Go to hell," I mutter, able to leave the bar with dignity. At least I didn't fall over anything again.
I stumble through the streets of the campus, trying to remember exactly where my apartment is! Cos I'm a little richer than the rest of the students, I can afford a place outside the campus. I don't actually have one, but it makes me feel good bragging about it!
Damn, was it three blocks, four blocks? Shit, which direction is it in?
Ah, screw it, I can't be fucked to find it right now. I'll just wander about-it's NYU campus. No bad guys here. (Who am I kidding?)
For some reason, out of nowhere, a picture of that prissy sophomore bitch-you know her, Gabrielle-comes back to my head. Damn, bet she looks hot naked.
'What are you thinking, JR?' I ask myself. She's a freaking slut. All sorority sisters are. Them and their stupid 'delta' names. Oh wait, Gabrielle isn't actually a 'delta' yet, I just remembered. She's applying-has been since freshman year, but hey, no luck yet. And after sophomore year, she'll be 'too old to be a new member'. Hey, it means she's more accessible. I even know which building she lives in. Maybe I'll pay her a visit. It'll be nice and police, let her know there's no hard feelings before ripping away her slutty nightgown-
'What the hell?' I think. This alcohol has gone straight to my head. So why am I standing outside her building, and making my way to her top floor apartment? They're called 'apartments' but it's just a way to make the dormers feel less patronised by the likes of me who can afford an actual apartment!
Hey, here it is! It's quiet inside, guess she's asleep. I could skip the formal bit I guess. Just a time tactic anyway.
Wait, someone's moving-those are definitely footsteps. She's…turned on the stereo. Oh great-a Carly Simon fan! That slut just gets better and better. La-whore really is full of surprises. I hear a door slam and the sound of water running. She must have gone to the bathroom.
"'-your hat strategically dipped below one eye. Your scarf it was apricot. You had one eye in the mirror-'" are the words I hear clearly as I silently opened the apartment door and just as silently slipping in. Huh, being drunk makes me surprisingly nimble.
"'You're so vain. You probably think this song is about you, you're so vain-'"
I'm approaching the closed bathroom door. There is definitely someone having a shower in there. "You fall right into it, don't you, Gabs," I mutter silently, unable to contain my grin of excitement. You'd think I'd just barge in there, in the drunken state I was in, but no, I'll wait. Give her time to think she's all alone-no roommate, no perverted arsehole standing outside the bathroom door…just her.
Like a typical girl, she's taking forever in there! I haven't even heard her climb out of the shower yet!
The song on her stereo changes just as I hear her climb out. This must be some sick album or something, cos all the songs have been by that Carly Simon! In perfect timing, it's 'Nobody Does It Better'. Hell, I can hear her start to sing along. She's got a nice voice, actually.
"Nobody does it…half as good as you! Baby-"
'How true,' I think, sneakily turning the bathroom lock, so inconspicuously she probably doesn't even notice!
I'm in.
She's standing with her back to me, towel wrapped around her, dark hair dripping wet and checking herself out in the mirror. She's still singing quietly and by some miracle hasn't seen me in her mirror. Now I'm stumped. Do I pounce or let her know I'm here and give her a chance to scream? Hey, I'm a gentleman-I'll give her that chance.
"Hey, Gabby," I mutter quietly. She looks up into the mirror to check behind her, and opens her mouth to scream, but I'm too fast. I've clamped one hand over her mouth and the other is messing with the towel. Sure enough, it comes off in seconds. She is now completely at my mercy…
"Uh, hey, I kinda forgot my key!" someone shouts through the door about an hour later. "You couldn't get off your arse and let me in, huh?" It's another girl-her roommate probably.
Shit, her roommate! If she comes in here and sees La-whore in the heap she's in…and sees me, too…she's gonna figure everything, and the only place I'll have to worry about going to is jail!
I walk back over to the pile that is La-whore. She flinches, terrified, as I lean down toward her. "You're not gonna tell anyone about this, are you?" I whisper. She shakes in response. "Let's keep it that way," I say.
"Hey, you hear me?" her friend shouts. "Damnit, you cannot be asleep! Yo! Wake up, you slut, and let me in!" She's started laughing now, and as I expected, Gabs doesn't move. I realise that unless I think fast, her roommate will find some other means of getting in, and I'll be screwed!
Okay, I guess I gotta hide the evidence! I realise they're gonna know sooner or later what happened, but they won't be able to trace it to me. Sure there's DNA and shit, but I'm not gonna worry too much about that-they haven't even started teaching in molecular biology yet! It's nothing foolproof.
I march back over to La-whore and in two swift kicks, bundle her into the bathroom closet. She won't stop shaking, and is this close to screaming. I slap her viciously, which seems to calm her down. At least she's stopped moving.
My God, she's still crying! "Get over it, you alien bitch!" I say, slapping her again. "This is what happens when you piss me off!" I force the door closed on her fragile body. I don't hear any snapping so I'm guessing I didn't break anything. Shame.
Just as I walk out of the bathroom, I see the doorknob turning! Shit, I must have left the thing unlocked like that stupid Gabs did! I duck behind the sofa.
"Uh, sweetie, you kinda left this unlocked! What's all that about, huh?" she shouts, coming into the apartment. "You know, how many times have I gotta warn you-Kent has the biggest crush on you! It'd be so easy for him to sneak in and-" she faltered as she noticed the mess. "Although by the looks of it he's already paid a visit!" the girl giggles. She's blond and has a tattoo on her neck. She looks around, as though expecting Gabs to come charging out. "My God, why have you not come out threatening to kill me yet? Everything okay?"
She's finally sensed something's wrong! For the love of God, she's slow!
"Honey?" she's shouting, moving on through the apartment, going into one of the bedrooms. I take this as my chance to escape. Sure enough, she's so slow she gives me enough time to reach the door and get into the hall. I'm about to shut it, when I hear her moving about. Better leave it open-it's how she left it.
"Where are you?" I hear her shout in frustration. I quicken my pace. I don't wanna be seen anywhere near the building when she discovers La-whore!
Just as I'm leaving the building, I hear high-pitched screams, one after the other, coming from the top floor, right where I left her.
Right, you see that button after the box 'submit review'? Any chance you could press that and tell me what you think? If it's weird, tell me. If you love it, tell me. If you hate it and condemn me to die unless I take it off…well I'd be officially hurt, but tell me! Latersxxx