Disclaimer: I wish. I really do. But, sorry, LWD is not mine. And Michael Seater is not mine either, unfortunately. Ah, well, I can always dream.
Note: Rated M because I'm paranoid, but there's nothing lemon-y or anything. Just some (or more than some) bad language and sensitive issues such as rape (almost happens and NOT described in great detail), suicide, eating disorders, death. I would've rated it T, but I've decided to travel on the safe side, just in case. Especially this first chapter is loaded with some sensitive issues, just to warn everyone. But enjoy.
Story Song Inspiration: Shiver by Shawn Desman (not mine).
This Chapter's Song Inspiration: Take It Off by Ke$ha (not mine).
...edwin...
She has brown hair.
Beautiful brown hair that frames her face, falling in curls down her back. It's messy and unruly, flying all over the place, but it's still the most gorgeous hair that he has ever seen. He watches as she runs a hand through it, pushing the bangs out of her eyes as she scurries across the room, hips moving to a song that isn't even playing.
Me and all my friends, we're all misunderstood.
They say we stand for nothing and there's no way we ever could.
He recognizes the light hum as it leaves her lips and floats through the room, up to the stairs where he's perched himself, observing through the railings. There's no way she would ever admit to enjoying that song—that kind of music—to any of her friends, but he knows her inside and out, like a book that's been read a thousand times, and he knows that she loves that kind of music.
We keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change.
One day our generation is gonna rule the population.
A small smile crosses his lips, but he knows it won't be there for long. Because this peaceful scene before him wasn't meant to last forever. Everyone is gone. Marti has left with Nora and George to visit George's parents for the weekend, and Casey and Derek, of course, are away at college, playing the brand new roles of boyfriend and girlfriend to each other.
That leaves him.
Him and Lizzie.
Him and Lizzie and the tons of friends she's invited over that are coming any minute.
That's why she's bustling around the living room, strategically setting up a beer table and a chip table and making sure the stereo is in tack. Putting away the valuables in locked cases. She's always been more careful than Derek ever was when she throws a party.
Any minute now, it's going to start. Any minute that doorbell is going to ring—everyone's going to walk through the door, the music will turn up, they'll all be drunk. Some stoners will light up in the bathroom and some couple will end up in Derek's old room.
And Lizzie will be different.
He misses the old Lizzie. This is the only time he sees her—when she's walking around, humming John Mayer songs and pretending like the world, like her life, is at peace. This Lizzie doesn't come out very often anymore. And God, he misses her. He misses her like he's never missed anyone before. He wants to get her back, wants to find her, and tell her that he's in love with her.
Only he can't, because she's gone. She left, like a barely remembered homework assignment flying away in the wind. And with her, she took his chance.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rings and he jumps, slouching his shoulders and turning around to go back to his room. He makes sure to stick a sock on the door—even though nothing's actually going on behind his doors—so no one will enter (he doesn't have a lock). He's used to this routine now, this drill. It comes with the territory of New Lizzie. He can already hear voices, floating up the stairs and under the crack of the door, reaching his ears.
I brought some Bud Light!
Oooh, Liz, is this the new Usher CD?
Turn up the music!
And then the dreaded:
Hey, babe, I missed you. Kiss me?
It's like vomit in his ears.
...lizzie...
It smells like party.
Like beer and sweat and a little bit of pot. It's hot, it's humid, too many bodies packed into one room. There's a beer stain on her shirt, or maybe it's sweat, but she doesn't really notice. Her brain is fuzzy, the strobe lights are making her dizzy, and she's riding on an eternal buzz of happiness.
This is how she likes it. She likes it like this because she can forget. Forget everything, forget that her life is screwed up, that she screwed it up, forget that she doesn't know anything anymore.
She can forget herself.
Hell, she already has.
Alec's hands are on her waist, guiding her as they grind. Or freak. Or whatever it is that it's being called now. She reaches up a hand and runs it through her hair and Alec catches her hand in his, pinning it back against her waist as he kisses her neck, trailing more kisses up her jawline, towards her ear.
She loses herself in the loud, rowdy, explicit music, moving her body this way, that way, every way. She turns around and wraps her hands around Alec's neck, meeting his lips with her own as the song comes to a close. Only a moment later, the next song is on, a dancey-jumpey-party Flo Rida song. The music is pounding in her ears, even though she knows it's not even on that loud—to minimize having the cops called thanks to her over-sensetive-to-noise-neighbors—but the alcohol has made her brain fuzzy, heightened her sense of hearing and feeling.
This is her element.
Sometimes she wonders what Casey would think if she saw her like this, what any of her family would think—she knows what Edwin thinks, the only member of her family who has truly, really ever seen her bad side. Casey and her mom and everyone else don't see the parties.
But they see other stuff.
They see the slipping grades, the moody attitude, the baggy eyes. They see the lies when she says she's sleeping at a friend's house but is really going to a party. They see the lies, but they ignore them, she knows, because it's easier. They ignore the report cards, the baggy eyes—brush it off on stress and lack of sleep. Brush the moody attitude off on normal teenage angst. Brush everything off, because it's easier that way. She doesn't blame them, not really.
She can't pinpoint the exact point where it all went downhill. Somewhere during her sophomore year. By now, she's a senior, and she's so used to this life that she hardly remembers her old one. Tae-kwon-doe, soccer, hockey—distant memories of an even more distant past. The bond she used to share with Edwin is gone. The bonds she used to share with everyone is gone. If Casey were here, she would notice—she would know, in that way that Casey always knows everything. But Casey isn't here. Casey is home only a few times a year and she's so wrapped up in her new relationship with Derek that she can't even see into Lizzie's troubled mess of a life. And maybe it's easier, better, that way.
She remembers how Edwin tried to figure out where it went wrong, at first. She remembers pushing him away. She remembers his constant hounding, how he cared. Does he still care? She has no idea. She remembers the summer before junior year, the first time she came home completely trashed. She remembers the next morning, after he'd helped her, his questions—his concern. They still ring in her ears everytime she's sneaking back in after a party. What happened? Why, Lizzie? Why'd do you do it? Please tell me, I want to help you. Liz, tell me what's wrong. Tell me what's happening to you. Liz, why are you doing this to yourself?
Somewhere along the way, he had stopped asking questions. Somewhere along the way, he'd accepted that it was the way it was. He must still care she decides, in her hazy, alcohol-filled mind, because everytime she comes home drunk, stoned, whatever, way after curfew, he helps her. No words are ever spoken, but he helps. When she needs a ride home from a crazy party because Alec is nowhere to be found, or because she realizes she's much too drunk to drive, he comes to get her. He holds her, carries her, lets her lean on his shoulder as he sneaks her in the back door. Brings her to the bathroom first, rubs her back, holds her hair back while she throws up. He makes her coffee and helps her drink it, tucks her in under the covers and stays with her, always, always, always until she falls asleep. It's routine, him helping her at least twice a month.
But he doesn't speak. He never speaks to her anymore.
The song switches again and her thoughts are, once more, transported to the present as Alec shoves a cup of beer in her hand. She downs it in one gulp, feeling her head whirl and twirl and swish, swish, swish. It's such a rush to her brain and it makes her happy.
As the next beat starts up around them, Alec grabs her, smothering her lips with his. They're against the wall now, a little ways off from the dance area, hidden in the shadows. He's got her pinned beneath him, his sweaty hands running up and down her torso. Her own hands are entangled in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, closer.
Does she love him? She asks herself this, sometimes, when she's alone in her room with only her brain and its ever-decreasing amount of brain cells. They've been going out for almost four months now and she's certain that the answer is no.
After all, they haven't had sex yet.
She hasn't had sex with anybody.
She never stays with one guy long enough to have sex with him. It's almost time to dump Alec, actually. Next week, she thinks, would be a good time. It's not because she's scared, or so she tells herself, anyways, but it's because it's the one part of herself that she hasn't messed up. She's still a virgin. And even if everything else is screwed up, if every other part of her is gone, every piece of the old Lizzie, she still has that. In a way, it ties her to herself. And she's isn't ready to give that up yet.
Somehow, they're now on the foot of the stairs. She's sitting down and he's straddling her. It's almost uncomfortable, but she doesn't really notice because the alcohol numbs all the pain—doesn't it always?
After about ten minutes and a lot of making out, she somehow finds herself being pulled up the stairs. Alec's lips are still on hers and the sudden realization hits her as they stumble up the last few steps. He wants to have sex. She can't make herself say no, can't make herself pull away. It's as if someone has taken over her body and is refusing to let go of Alec.
He pauses outside Edwin's door and oh God, oh God, oh God runs through Lizzie's head as he pulls away for just one moment to reach for the doorknob. Please, please, oh God, no, please.
And then he sees the sock. He chuckles and mutters something along the lines of 'someone's already getting busy in there' before leading her to the next door. Casey's old room. She doesn't want to have sex, lose her virginity, to Alec in her house. In Casey's old bedroom. In the room right next to Edwin's. Her stomach churns, but she still can't pull away as he pushes her down on top of Casey's pink comforter and starts attacking her lips with his, climbing on top of her.
No. She thinks the word, but it can't leave her lips. No, please, no. No, no, no.
Her eyes are wide open as he trails kisses down her neck, his hands already reaching to take her shirt off. Her eyes linger over Casey's desk, the neat stack of old notebooks that sits there.
No, no, no. Her shirt is off now and he's reaching for the button of her jeans.
She stares at the cute pink jar with all the pens and pencils and highlighters in it. Casey's favorite pencil-holder, decorated with stickers of stars and butterflies and flowers.
No, no, no. Her jeans are unbuttoned now and he's about to slide them off.
Finally, her eyes linger on the family photo that Casey keeps propped up on her desk. She can't see it very well in the dark, across the room, but she can picture it in her mind because how many times she's seen it, stared at it. It's a good five or so years old, with sixteen year-old Derek and Casey on opposite ends of the couch. George and Nora behind the couch, leaning down to hug their respective children. Marti next to Derek, hands behind her head and stretched out completely. She, herself, Lizzie, snuggled up next to Casey, the happiest of smiles plastered across her face.
And then Edwin.
Twelve-year old Edwin is in the middle, smiling enormously and looking as, well, Edwin as possible. And it's with this image of Edwin that the words finally leave her lips.
"No." It's so quiet at first that Alec doesn't even hear, continuing to pull down her jeans until they're nearly at her knees. "No." It gets louder. "No, no!" Alec pulls back, pauses for a second, looking at her.
"What the hell are you saying, Liz? I thought you wanted this." He doesn't wait for an answer as he leans back in, reaching to pull down her pants all the way.
"No! NO!" He doesn't listen to her cries as they grow louder. "NO, PLEASE, NO! GET OFF! PLEASE, NO!" She tries to push him off, but he won't budge, reaching for her bra clasp instead. She wishes she could remember her tae-kwon-doe. "NO, NO!" At this point, tears are running down her face, trickles turning into rivers turning into avalanches. "PLEASE, NO!"
And then the door bangs open.
Before she can even process, in her drunken state, what is happening, someone is ripping Alec off of her, tossing him to the ground.
"What's your problem, man?"
She pulls up her pants hastily, buttoning them as a feeling of security overwhelms her. She looks for her shirt, but can't find it.
"MY PROBLEM? WHAT IS MY PROBLEM? NO, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? SHE FUCKING SAID NO!" She recognizes the voice immediately as Edwin's, though his face is hard to make out in the darkened room. She watches, horror-struck, as Edwin lunges once more for Alec, who is just standing up. "GET THE HELL OUT!"
"SHE'S MY GIRLFRIEND! I'LL DO WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT WITH HER!" Alec is screaming too, now, shoving Edwin away with a large amount of force.
Edwin punches Alec's nose.
She screams.
Edwin's automatic response is to turn towards her and Alec uses this opportunity to deck him hard across the face. Blood spills.
She screams again.
In a daze, she runs up from the bed towards Edwin, pulling him back before he can hit Alec again—or before Alec can land another punch. She stands in between them and pushes Edwin even farther back.
"Baby," Alec purrs, reaching for her. She flinches and, instantly, Edwin pulls her behind him.
"Don't come near her," he hisses.
Finally, she speaks again, still half-hiding behind Edwin. "Alec, go, please," she begs. He makes no motion to move. "Please," she begs once more, eyes welling up with tears, "Tell everyone that the party is over and just—just go." He doesn't move. "Or I—I'll call the cops." It's with these words that Alec sighs.
"This isn't over, Venturi." He hisses the name like it's venom. "Monday, the usual spot, four o'clock. Be there. And if you don't know where there is, be sure to ask Lizzie. She'll fill you in." Neither of them move as he leaves the room. She hears the music turn off, hears the boo's and the footsteps as people leave. Finally, when the house is completely silent, Edwin turns towards her.
"Are you alright?"
...edwin...
His eyes scan over hers concernedly. He tries to ignore the fact that she's not wearing a shirt, that she's standing in front of him in only a bra. His heart is jumping in worry and fear and all he wants to do is pull her close and kiss her tears away and sniff in the intoxicating smell of her beautiful, brown hair.
"I can't find my shirt," she whispers. Her voice nearly cracks.
His heart breaks.
He leans down on his hands and knees and looks under the bed, all over the now messed-up comforter. His hands come up blank and her lip wobbles. "Let's get you another shirt," he whispers. Lizzie doesn't move, reaching a hand out to clutch Casey's bedpost.
"Alright." He's still whispering, scared of talking too loud and scaring her. "I'm going to go find you another shirt and I'll bring it right back, okay?"
She doesn't answer and he makes for the door when suddenly, "NO!" The word echoes around the room and he's instantly by her side again.
"What's wrong?"
She sniffs and her lip wobbles again and his heart breaks in four this time. "Please don't leave me," she begs, "Please, Edwin, don't leave me."
"Alright, I'll grab one of Casey's—"
Lizzie shakes her head, adamantly, reaching for his arm. "No, I can't, I can't wear her shirt. I—I can't stay in her room. Let's go to your room, please?" He nods and gently begins leading her towards his room, guiding her lightly with one hand placed on the small of her back. His hand is tingling the whole time.
When they get to his room, right next door, she crawls down onto his bed, clutching the comforter in her hands. He opens his drawer and pulls out a black tee-shirt that'll probably be four sizes too big for her tiny frame. She doesn't care, gratefully pulling it on when he tosses it to her. It nearly reaches her knees.
And then, before either of them can process what's happening, she's crying.
Big, giant sobs spilling out of her. His heart wrenches and, on instinct, he pulls her into his arms. She buries her face into his chest, clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt while her body shakes with sobs. He doesn't know what to do, his heart twisting and breaking with each tear that falls down her cheek, each anguished cry that leaves her lips. He strokes her back and holds her close and buries his face in her hair, placing feather-light kisses that he knows she can't feel all over the top of her head.
Lizzie cries and cries and cries.
He holds her and he doesn't let go.
They sit there for a long time until, finally, her tears die out and her breathing evens out and he knows she's asleep. He tucks her under his covers, resting her head gently on his pillow. He debates, then, looking at her in the bed and at the chair in the corner and just as he's about to head to the chair, her eyes blink open and she grabs his hand. "Stay." The command is quiet, but sure, and so he crawls under the covers next to her and gathers her in his arms. Her eyes are closed again instantaneously, her breathing evening out once more. He stares at the ceiling, hyper-aware of the way he's holding her, the way their bodies are touching.
He only wishes the circumstances were different.
Eventually, he relaxes, his own eyes closing as he subconsciously pulls her closer and drifts off into his own sleep.
...shiver...
A/N: Adive, please, would be welcome. I know this story is different, more serious, darker, but I'd like everybody's feedback. And, no, don't worry—this isn't going to be one of those cliches-oh-you-saved-me-Lizzie-falls-madly-in-love-with-Edwin-right-away-and-they-live-happily-ever-after stories. Trust me. You'll be in for a surprissssse next chapter. XD I know it's not Dasey like everyone wants—and, trust me, I LOVE Dasey too—but don't you think we need more Lizwin stories on here? So review, pretty, pretty please? I'll love you forever and ever and ever if you do!