Disclaimer: Disclaimed. eerieyredd on Polyvore. I am Cassie, lovelies, it's my real-life name, and I'm making myself an extreme bitch in this, so be warned. And I don't have any accents! SOTD: Blue Stahli/Ultranumb. Title from my friend Bre, who will also be in this story. Review, lovelies!
1: Pretend It's Home
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"Jesus, it's raining buckets out there!" Exclaims a tall girl—tallest of the trio she'd come in with—with dark brown skin and hair and brown eyes; she looks the softest: the average-height girl with blonde-ish pink-ish hair and pale green eyes looks secretive, like she's hiding something, and the short one, who has dark brown hair and dark green eyes, looks just plain mean.
"No, it's raining ASSHOLES!" The short girl yells, grabbing the door before the taller one can shut it. "ASSHOLES!" Then, she turns, and smiles. Her teeth look very white and very sharp. Yikes, I think. "You must be Mr. Prior!" She says.
Dad smiles. "Yes, of course, and you're the . . . youngest one? J-"
"Oh, no, no," she interupts, and I realize she has a british accent. "Jaime's that one, really, I'm the eldest. Cassie?"
"Oh, Cassie, always my favorite." Dad says.
"I thought I was your favorite!" Exclaims the tall one.
"Well, Christina, with all your shopping-"
"Oh! Right, I'm Natalie's favorite!" Christina reminds herself.
"So, Cassie, you still a bitch?" Asks Dad, and my jaw drops. Before I can say anything, she answers.
"Always." She smiles, and nods to the door. "Your neighbour's an asshole."
"Always is." Dad says. "Beatrice, why don't you show our guests to their rooms."
I hold back sigh, and lead them upstairs.
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"Cassie gets the Skull room." I say, and she smiles. "Jaime has the Galaxy room. And Chris gets the Luxury room."
After I show them to their's, I retire to my own room—the Arctic Rose room, though it's mostly blues and whites.
It was getting late, so I slung my backpack up to the platform that held my bed, and climbed up the ladder, doing my math homework.
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Cassie took her food to her room. Chris talked enthuisastically while shoving her food down her throat, but her face was paler than usual, and there was a forced look in her eyes. At they end, her skin tinged green, and as soon as she was out of sight, I heard her running upstairs. Jaime just poked at her food, not eating a single bite.
I was confused. Our cook—Eric—though scary and tattooed and peirced—everywhere—was an awesome cook. His food was heaven.
So why did they avoid it?
I decide to investigate, and go up to Cassie's room.
"Who is it?!" She yells, when I knock.
"It's me, Tris."
"Come in." She says. When I come in, I see her empty plate on her desk, on top of an algebra textbook.
"Are you already done with your homework?!" I ask, astonished.
"Yeah. What did you want?" I look up from her desk, and see her perched on the edge of her couch. Her eyes are silvery, and her lips look like she just put on another coat of lip gloss; a charcoal-colored knit blanket that she'd brought with her—I know 'cause I decorated the rooms myself—is thrown over a half open brushed-steel rolling suitcase that I'd taken note that all three of my cousins had one of—Chris's had the Eiffel Tower on it, and Jaime's had ridges on it.
"I just came in to take your plate." I smile.
She nods cautiously, like she knows I'm lying. "Sure. Okay. Bye."
I grab her plate and make for the door, propping it open with my foot a minute. A beat before I am about to give up, I hear the click of a lock.
She's gone to the bathroom. I go back inside, not letting the door close; I can't let this go. It takes me a minute to find the steel suitcase. The fabric one with the cute print on it holds only clothes, and the duffel has a lock; I can't find her messenger bag. Her steel suitcase—opened, shoved behind the couch—has piles of letters on it. Beneath that, are water bottles, filled with red liquid-
A grabs my collar, throwing me into the wall by the door. I gasp for air when I hit the wall: she's knocked all the air from my lungs. She slams the door next to my head before I can make a sound, and a beat before I get my air back, she flys at me, one hand around my throat, not squezing, just holding me there, but the other drives three fingers in the space between my stomach and my chest, and I feel a bruise coming on—and I also struggle to breath again.
"What were you doing in my things?!" Cassie hisses. Her eyes are a very silver green. "What did you see?!"
"I didn't see anything, I swear!" I gasp, and her eyes sparkle—more.
"If you tell anyone anything, I will do worse than kill you, mundane." She snarls, and steps back. I roll through the door, forgetting her plate.
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"Remember, only if it's urgent. I can only leave once." He's staring into my eyes in that stern way he does. I nod, staring at his chin. "Tris?" He asks, grabbing my chin and making me look at him. At the sight of his dark blue irises, tears of guilt well up in my eyes.
"I'm s-sorry, Tobias—I can't—believe I did that—and now you have to-"
"I'll be fine, Tris, stop crying. Stop it. Come on, you know I hate it when you cry."
"Please don't leave me!" I sob, burrying my head in his shoulder.
No feeling could be worse than this goodbye.
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I wake up gasping, tears running down my face, and make a dive for the cell phone on my nightstand, kicking my legs free of the blanket in panic and almost falling off the platform.
"Hello?" Asks a very tired sounding masculine voice.
"Tobias. . . . " I say, and I can almost see him bolting up, as if he can hear the tears in my voice.
"Tris? What's wrong?"
"It's—it's my cousins, they . . . nothing. Nothing, it's stupid."
"Tris, you can either tell me now, or later when I get to your house. Why the Hell are you crying?"
"I just-" I sobbed, and he sucked in a breath.
"I'm on my way." He says, and I barely have time to blurt out my address before he hangs up.
My angel's on his way.