Whisperings of My Heart

by It's-A-Passion

Lyla Ashgrove moved in with her cousin, George, and his two flat mates; the dark and handsome Mitchell and the bubbly, quirky Annie. She only wanted to make sure George was okay, and avoid falling for Mitchell. Instead, she was slowly pulled into a world she never knew existed; one where vampires, werewolves and ghosts were real. MitchellOC.

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Whisperings of My Heart

Pilot Pt I

Curling my fingers into a fist, I reached up and knocked on the wooden door, bobbing my head in time to Fall Out Boy's album Infinity on High playing from my IPod mini. The sun wasn't making an appearance today, and instead the street was cast in a pretty grey light. A piece of paper that had been folded many times over was clenched in my hand. It was the reason I'd caught two trains and a taxi to get here. When I got about half way through one song, I reached up to knock again, just as the door swung open.

To reveal an exceedingly handsome man. I stumbled back in surprise, both at the sudden opening of the door, and at how ridiculously good looking he was, and knocked over my suitcase behind me. And, of course, because my handbag was sitting on top of that, open as usual, the contents went spilling across the cement of the sidewalk. It also knocked over my other suitcase, which went sliding down the slight slope of the street, getting away from me.

"Oh, Jesus!" I squeaked, embarrassed, going to chase after the runaway suitcase, but the man took a couple steps and steadied it for me, grinning in a ridiculously charming way. A warm flush crept over my cheeks and I practically threw myself at the ground to gather up my handbag in a bid to make sure he didn't see it.

When I stood back up, my cheeks still felt a little warm, despite the brisk chill to the air. I brushed my hands off on my faded and ripped skinny jeans, straightening my purple and white polka dotted Minnie Mouse shirt and my green striped cardigan. I shoved my curly, fire-truck red hair out of my face with a huff. I quickly pulled the ear buds out of my ears, giving the man a sheepish grin, "Sorry about that."

He shook his head, that wide, charming grin still on his face, like he was amused. Jesus. His curly black hair was pushed behind his ears, dark stubble spread across his cheeks and jaw, and down his neck. He wore a red and white jacket, fingerless wool gloves and black skinny jeans, and on him, it looked fantastic. "Are you okay?"

"Oh." I said, as his accent registered in my mind. "You're Irish! You must be Mitchell then! So pleased to meet you!"

And I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist in a hug and pressing my cheek against his chest. He froze up and when I took a step back, he was staring at me intensely, a somewhat pained look on his face. Oh, God, don't tell me this wasn't Mitchell. How embarrassing. "Mitchell?" I asked, but he didn't say anything.

Oh, no.

"You are Mitchell right?" He swallowed hard, and his hands began to shake a little. I tilted my head to the side, "Mitchell? Are you okay?" When he didn't answer again, I waved a hand in front of his face and he jerked his head back quickly. "Are you okay? You're all…on edge all of a sudden. Your hands are shaking, and…oh."

"Oh?" He asked, the lines on his forehead deepening.

"You're suffering withdrawal, aren't you?" I was majoring in psychology; human behaviour was my thing, and I recognized the symptoms of withdrawal.

He cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah…I quit smoking."

"Good for you!" I grinned. The gorgeous guy gets to live longer and the female population rejoices.

"I'm sorry, but do we know each other?"

I blushed slightly, realizing I'd just been having a conversation with a guy who had no idea who the hell I was. He probably thought I was crazy. But I beamed at him, "I'm George's cousin. Lyla Summer Ashgrove. But everyone just calls me Lyla." I blinked, considering my own words, "Or Summer, actually." Then I frowned, "You know, now that I think about it, People also call me Ashgrove, so just take your pick."

"Oh, well," he scratched the back of his head, still somewhat at a loss and now probably even more confused by my rambling. Then he quickly shook himself out of it and gestured at the door, "Come in then."

"Thanks." I grabbed my Minnie Mouse print bag and suitcase, Mitchell with the other one, and he grabbed the other duffle bag as well. I smiled thankfully at him, going inside the house. It was nice. Quaint. A staircase was right in front of me, a kitchen to my right and a lounge room to my left.

"Mitchell, who was at…" The voice in the lounge room trailed off as a lanky form stood up from the couch, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Lyla?"

"Georgie!" I cried, dropping my stuff and leaping at him, grinning ecstatically. I threw my arms around him too, kissing his cheek. "I've missed you."

"What are you doing here?" He asked, looking at me in bewilderment and confusion.

"You wrote me a letter," I said, holding up the heavily folded piece of paper.

He frowned, looking at it, "Yeah…"

"So I've come to stay with you for a while."

"You've what?" And now he was looking at me like I was crazy. He hadn't changed over the years since he left. He still had his frame-less glasses, his hair was still short and brown, and he was still wearing those adorkable clothes that said to the world he was a good guy, albeit a bit of a sap.

I sighed, placing my hands on my hips and narrowing my eyes at him in a no-nonsense, tell-it-to-me-straight way. It probably came off less intimidating than I intended, the effect ruined by the fact that I was annoyingly petite with wide doe eyes and that I was wearing a Minnie Mouse shirt. It didn't exactly scream I'll kick your ass, but trust me, the people who knew me knew that that pose meant trouble. "George, don't look at me like that. I've read that letter a million times and you know what conclusion I've come to? No, don't answer that, you won't know, I'll just tell you. You're absolutely, horribly, achingly miserable about something."

"But I - ,"

I cut him off, "I wasn't done. Georgie, we used to make mud piles together. Don't you think I know the difference between when you're happy and when you're trying to sell me a load of crap? I'm actually kind of insulted."

"Lyla, I don't understand what you're doing here."

I waved the folded piece of paper at him, "You told me that you live in a four bedroom apartment with two other people. I want to stay here with you until I can be absolutely sure you're okay and that I don't have to tell your parents." There was movement from the kitchen, and a woman with coffee coloured skin and curly brown hair – curlier than mine – came out, holding a cup of tea. I smiled and waved at her, going over to her, "Hi, you must be Annie! I'm Lyla, George's cousin."

I went to hug her too, but she stumbled back a step, her mouth hanging open in astonishment and shock. I took it as a sign that she didn't like to be hugged, and immediately dropped my arms. "I…You can see me?" She whispered, her eyes flicking to Mitchell and George nervously.

I frowned at her. "Of course I can. Why wouldn't I be able to see you?"

"Uh…"

"No reason," George said quickly, his voice slightly higher, and I turned back around to look at him quizzically.

"Don't worry," I said as I walked back over to him, gently grabbing for his hand. "I'm not here to pry into your personal life. I just want to make sure you're okay." Then my voice became hesitant and I glanced at Mitchell and Annie, "If that's okay with you two. I can help pay rent and everything."

Mitchell grinned, "Well - ,"

"Mitchell, Annie, can I talk to you in the kitchen please?" George asked, his voice strained.

As they moved into the kitchen, I sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and bracing my elbow on the armrest as I stared at the kitchen, trying to hear what they were saying. There was a lot of hushed whispering, but I managed to catch bits and pieces, out of context and confusing.

"…see me," Annie gushed, excited.

"…achingly naïve and way too trusting for her own good…" George's strained, anxious voice rose in pitch and I huffed.

"Am not!" I shouted to him, sure he was talking about me because he'd said those exact words enough times to me before. I didn't want Annie and Mitchell thinking I was some idiot who needed babying, looking after.

George poked his annoyed head out the doorway of the kitchen, "You literally took sweets from a stranger."

I rolled my eyes, "I was eight, George! And the guy was super nice!"

He also turned out to be his new next door neighbor, but that hadn't stopped an eleven year old George from telling my parents about it.

"Stop listening!" He replied, exasperated.

There was more whispering.

"…maybe she should…" Mitchell's Irish accent.

"…bad idea…" George again.

"…another girl…" Annie.

I sighed, pulling my hair over my shoulder to fiddle with it absentmindedly, twirling the ends around my fingers until they formed knots, before unwinding them and brushing the knots out. I looked around the room. There were full cups of tea everywhere; there were four mugs on the table, three on the windowsill, and more around the room randomly. When they finally came back out, George didn't look happy, but Annie looked ecstatic, and Mitchell was grinning in a way that made it look like he was about to laugh.

"You can stay!" Annie said excitedly. "Come on, I'll show you your room! This is going to be so much fun, it's been just me and the guys for a while, and now there's you! Another girl! Someone I can actually talk to."

"You can talk to us," Mitchell pointed out. She just ignored him, because he didn't get it. He was a guy.

I liked her energy. She reminded me of, well, myself. We could have a lot of fun. I grabbed my duffel bag and handbag, and George and Mitchell grabbed a suitcase each. George grumbled, "What did you pack in here? It weighs a ton!"

"Books," I said simply. Annie clapped when we made it to the top of the staircase and she flung open a door a little too hard in her exuberance. We piled into the room, and it was immediately cramped. It was a small room, a bare mattress on a metal bed frame shoved in the corner, and a wardrobe pressed against the wall at the end of the bed. I dropped my bags on the bed and grinned. "Fantastic."

They left me then, except Annie, who perched on the end of the bed, and chatted to me as I unpacked my stuff. I actually hadn't been kidding when I'd said one of the suitcases was packed with books. My university textbooks and favourite novels filled the smaller suitcase, and I brought them out, putting them in piles against the wall, their spines facing out so I could see which ones were which.

I made the bed with Minnie Mouse sheets, instantly feeling like this room was mine. I'd been obsessed with Minnie Mouse since I'd been little. It was a phase I hadn't grown out of yet. Then up went the white Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling in loops, and away went my clothes.

Annie talked so much to me, that she immediately made me feel welcome. I felt less like the person who had barged into their lives and demanded to stay with them, and more like someone who was actually invited. She talked to me about random things, funny things, until we were laughing so hard our sides were sore and my eyes got watery. Until we worked ourselves up into that excited hype girls having sleepovers had.

I'd always felt a certain responsibility for George, even though he was older than me. He was never really into the things other boys his age were into. He didn't have fun in the same way, in fact, he didn't really have fun at all. And it never seemed to bother him. I'd felt guilty, in a way, and responsible to make sure he was happy, that he laughed. I was the one who convinced him to play in the mud, to run around until we were breathless for no real reason.

I still felt responsible now, even though he was all grown up.

.::~*~::.

We bounced our way back down the stairs like kids on a sugar high. Or, like two teenage girls about to have a sleepover that would involve chocolate, movies and girl talk. Either way, we were giggling when we reached the bottom, and Mitchell and George looked at us oddly from the couch, before George turned to Mitchell and said, "I call it the Lyla effect. You'll see soon enough."

"And by that," I piped in, "he means I'm super fun. Everyone wants to party with me."

"Really?" Mitchell grinned, seeming to perk up like he'd found someone to go clubbing with, because George was more of a homebody and Annie didn't seem like the type, and George shot him a look.

"No. I'm a dreadful bore, but we can pretend." I plopped my jacket up on the rack by the door, placing my hands on my hips and looking around at the apartment. "This is going to be so much fun."

"What do you mean?" George asked apprehensively.

"I mean," I emphasized, rolling my eyes and looking at Annie. I'd already told her, so we shared a knowing look that made her giggle happily. I got the feeling she didn't have a lot of close girlfriends. "For the last couple years, I've been working two jobs to put myself through college and I've been saving to move out of home, and the first place I move – at least for a while anyway, god, don't freak out like that George – is here. I've never lived with friends. I think it'll be great."

"That's the spirit," Mitchell grinned and George just looked at him.

"The Lyla effect. It's already starting."

"Does anyone want tea?" Annie asked, going towards the kitchen. I glanced at the mugs of tea still sitting around the lounge room, but shrugged.

"Please."

Both George and Mitchell didn't answer, and I guessed there was something going on there about tea, but I didn't make a comment, just going over to sit in the space between them on the couch. They took up a surprisingly large amount of space, and as soon as my butt hit the cushion, Mitchell subtly shifted away from me. Okay, he wasn't comfortable with me yet.

That was fine. I got it. Human contact was the most natural thing in the world to me, and even from a young age, I'd be hugging people, taking their hands, linking their arms through mine. I just craved it. Not everyone was as comfortable with it as me, though, and I knew when to back off. I didn't even realize I did it sometimes though.

I stared at the TV, trying to figure out what Mitchell was watching, because George was reading a book, but I couldn't really focus. I wiggled back into the chair to get comfortable, leaning my head onto George's shoulder. I sighed deeply in contentment, "I've missed you."

George and I used to be close despite him being a couple years older than me. My mother was George's father's sister, and we were both the only kids in each family. We'd grown up living just down the road from each other, so we'd always been together at some point. It was comfortable with George. It reminded me of home. It hadn't been the same since he moved out and left home. He hummed quietly, "Still like Minnie Mouse I see."

"Minnie Mouse is awesome," I said defensively and he turned the page.

"And how old are you?" He asked, like he didn't know, pointing out that I was probably too old to like Minnie Mouse.

"Shut up," I grumbled.

Annie came back in, handing me a cup of tea. I grinned at her gratefully, and she went and sat in the single chair beside the couch, watching us rather than the TV.

"So," I said after taking a sip and burning my tongue painfully. "How does this whole," I flapped my hand about vaguely, "situation work?"

"Well," George started, putting the book down and rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. "We take it in turns doing chores like shopping and washing up and cooking, and that's pretty much it."

"Interesting. Cohabitation seems remarkably underrated so far." I nodded, bringing my knees up and resting the cup of tea on them. We lapsed into silence, George reading his book, Mitchell watching TV, and Annie watching us. She was kind of quirky, and it made me smile to myself. But the silence was comfortable, rather than strained, and it made me feel like they weren't entirely put out by my arrival.

A little while later, Mitchell made a comment about ordering a pizza, and I asked if he could order me one too. I was starving, now that I thought about it. When the doorbell rang, Annie jumped up to answer it, and I ran upstairs to grab my wallet for money, coming back downstairs again to find Annie laughing breathlessly. I handed Mitchell the money, and he paid for the pizzas, taking them from the guy and leaving Annie at the door talking to the delivery guy.

"…And could you drive a moped before, or did they teach you?" I could hear Annie asking when Mitchell handed me one of the pizzas, going back to sit on the couch, the box in front of him. I shrugged, following his example.

Oh, pizza. Gooey, stringy cheese, tomato paste and pepperoni. I glanced up to find Annie still talking to him.

"…I bet you're like not pizza!"

I snorted a laugh. "Is she always like that?"

"Lately, yeah," George said.

"She's awesome," I grinned, taking a bite of the pizza.

"He could see me!" Annie said excitedly once she'd closed the door. I frowned. What was up with her being able to be seen thing? Maybe she felt invisible to the people around her, and was now realizing that people did actually see her.

"He could so see you," Mitchell agreed.

"Ahh!" She cried joyfully. "It's happening all the time now, and not just with people like you, but normal people too! I was outside putting out the recycling and a van drove past and the guy shouted 'slag!'," She laughed. And she seemed genuinely pleased with that too.

"Yeah, but that was rude," I frowned. And it suddenly went really quiet. George, Mitchell and Annie looked at each, faces serious, like something was dawning on them. Fantastic. I'd moved in with a bunch of weirdos with their own secrets. "What do you mean when you say that he could see you? Of course he could see you."

"Oh, I just meant…" she trailed off, her face kind of pale.

"Can I tell her?" Mitchell asked Annie and she nodded helplessly. "Annie used to be bullied. Yeah. Pretty much invisible. People just…didn't see her."

"That's horrible," I wailed, looking sympathetically at Annie. "People can be so mean!"

"Yeah, but I'm over it now," she assured me.

"That's very big of you," I said, just as a big dollop of oily cheese and pizza sauce dripped onto my shirt. "No!" I said quickly, jumping up and putting the box of pizza on the chair. I hurried to the kitchen sink, pulling my shirt off over my head as I went.

"Lyla!" George called out, incredulous.

"What?" I called back, running the faucet and scrubbing at the mark on the light coloured material. Oh, please don't let it stain.

"You can't just take your shirt off like that!"

"Oh, George, don't be such a prude! This is my favourite shirt! My favourite! And it wasn't like I was facing you guys. I'm sure Annie doesn't mind, and I'd wager that Mitchell has seen boobs before, right Mitchell?"

I was glad he couldn't see my blush. I tried not to snicker like an idiot and embarrass myself further. I'd just said 'boobs' to an absolutely gorgeous guy I got to see every day. Please, don't let me make a fool of myself, especially when I'll have to see him every day.

"Yes!" He chortled, sounding very amused.

"See?" I told George, relieved as the mark slowly came out of the material. "I didn't corrupt anyone's innocence. And now my shirt has been saved. It's win-win."

I slipped the wet shirt back on to head upstairs as Annie asked if anyone wanted tea, even though she'd asked an hour or so ago. I quickly changed, grabbed my psychology textbooks and bag, slipped on my shoes and headed back downstairs. George looked up at me as he and Mitchell started to stand from the couch as well, "Where are you going?"

"To look for a job and then to the library. I have a paper to write and I wanted to start it because I'm already behind everyone else. I only just transferred to the University of Bristol, and classes have already started. I probably won't be back until early morning. Where are you going?"

"To work."

"You have a job?"

"As a porter at the hospital. Same as Mitchell."

I frowned, "A porter?"

George was intelligent. He spoke multiple languages. He could do anything he wanted just about, and he was working as a porter? But then, that wasn't any of my business. I shrugged into my jacket, "See you later, then."

I stepped out into the chilly air, zipping up my jacket and debating which way I should walk first.

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