Hey guys.
So as you can probably tell by my recent activity on FanFiction, DeviantART and even Twitter, I have been doing a LOT of Zoke shipping lately, and this is a FanFiction I've been planning for quite some time now.
And while I was browsing some fanart, fanfics, all that good stuff, I suddenly thought "Hey, what causes Multiple Personality Disorder anyway?" So I went ahead, looked it up . . . and I have to say, I got some pretty heavy results. Go ahead, look it up yourself, it's pretty damn deep.
So yeah, this idea entered my head as a result and would not leave. This story will probably be a lot more mature then my other fics, less hyperactivity towards the end, certain characters might seem a little more intense, but I want to try and keep this one as realistic as possible. Again, this is all going to be told in Zoey's POV because I think it adds to the tension I hope to get across here, moments of uncertainty, all that good stuff.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter.
The Backstory
Chapter 1
The Parents
Sunday, March 27th, 2016
2:57 PM
I took a deep breath and tried to keep my focus on the passing grey roads and neatly trimmed green bushes and dainty little trees. The people here all looked so perfect, especially the girls. Every girl we passed seemed to have the perfect hourglass figure with slender legs and super flat stomachs. Their outfits were so fashionable, stylish shoulderless crop tops with colourful designs, and tight shorts or jeans with the perfect shoes and accessories to go with them. The girls who wore shorts on them had just the right amount of fake tan on their legs- in fact was it fake? It was so neatly applied, you couldn't tell. And their hair! Nearly every girl we past seemed to have perfect flowing blonde highlights down past their shoulders with no single hair out of place. And while I didn't have enough time to tell, I could see that their makeup was professionally painted on their doll like faces. They were all so attractive, it was kind of ridiculous.
Looking at these perfect "supermodels", I couldn't resist pulling down the mirror above me yet again. Is my makeup okay? I had gone for the "natural look" and seeing it now, I hope it didn't look too plain. My eye shadow might be smudged a little. I rubbed just between my eyelid and my clumsily plucked eyebrow, dusting off any excess golden eye shadow that might look out of place. Should I apply another coat of lipstick? It does look a little faded since I first put it on . . .
No. It looks fine. If I put on too much, it will just look weird on me. And the last thing I need to do is look weird to anyone. My lipstick is fine. Then again, the last girl we passed had been wearing a LOT of dark lipstick that brought out her doll face and fashionable outfit. It suited her . . . would it suit me? No, the dark reddish brown wouldn't go with my hair. I don't think so. No it won't . . . would it?
Actually, how was my hair? I quickly ran my fingers through the red locks, fixing it perfectly into place. It's times like this I wish I hadn't dyed it- if one itty bitty bright red strand was out of place, everyone would notice. I ran my fingers through it again, making sure it flowed perfectly down my shoulders. Ugh, I think it clashes with my outfit. Does the black leather jacket make me look rough? Does it clash with the white frilly dress? Is the dress too short? I gave the lacy skirt a small tug so it just reached my knees, as far as it would go. I think my black tights make the outfit too dark. And these light brown ankle boots are a bit on the bulky side . . .
Am I wearing too much jewellery? The gold hoop earrings, the gold locket that goes down to my chest, the bead bracelet of white, gold and dark brown . . . Does it clash with my ring? Oh God, I have no idea if I'm trying too hard or not and I hate it. I think the ring on my finger is the only real part of my outfit I actually feel comfortable about. Mike claimed it was made of real diamond. While part of me didn't believe him, the romantic side of me just had to play along. Besides, we still had the good part of a million dollars between us that we hadn't really spent yet. The only really "big" things we had brought were our private house and the nice car, and even then, we still had a good lot of it left. I had no idea how diamond rings cost but was always a possibility . . .
Was my hair really alright though? I guess one last check couldn't hurt. I lowered the mirror again and patted down any loose hairs I could see. It had to be exactly right, everything had to be in its exact place, even if it was nitpicking . . .
"Hey, Zoey-"
"Sorry." I clawed my hands for a second then flipped the mirror back up, but not before flicking out my hair one last time. I had no idea if I wanted it to look perfect or perfectly natural. It didn't look too stiffly in place . . . I should have just kept it short so it could fix itself. Or would that make it look scruffy? Oh God, I don't know . . .
"Zoey, you look perfect." Mike was trying to keep his eyes on the road ahead but I could see them sneaking a look at me anyway. I blushed and hunched down in my seat. At least I had foundation on to stop my face going too red . . .
"Yeah, to you," I murmured quietly.
Mike sighed a little, slowing the car down to a halt at a red light. As we waited in an uncertain silence (apart from the humming of the engine), he sat back into his seat before taking the opportunity to look me properly in the face.
"Look, I know I should have introduced my parents to you earlier . . . I'm nervous as well, but-"
"Mike, you've admitted to me before, with your dad especially-"
"Just . . ." He raised a hand, scrunching up his eyes a little, immediately shutting me off. I hated it when he did that, when he was obviously thinking of something and I couldn't ask in case I upset him.
Finally he relaxed, letting out another heavy sigh and nodding at me, staring me deep in the eyes now, lips tightened. He looked better, I guess, but I could tell there was still that little bit of uncertainty in him, even if he was trying to hide it.
"Don't think about it. We'll get out there . . . Just be yourself. I'll do all the talking. You don't have to say anything unless my parents ask, okay?"
I honestly don't know. I want to argue and tell him I can tell his parents about myself . . . but what if that makes me look rude? Who knew that introducing oneself could be so hard? Why is it so hard?
"Zoey?" I suddenly felt a hand on my right shoulder that made me shudder in my seat. I guess that's what happens when you go too deep into thought, you forget about everyone around you, including the guy opposite you who you hope will be your future husband.
He was leaning towards me now, trying to really fix that eye contact onto me. His grip on my shoulder hardened a little.
"I need you to tell me you're okay with this."
I lowered my head so I could keep my eyes away from him. I wanted to agree with him but at the same time, I was so afraid to answer with a simple "yes." I could let him do all the talking alright, but what if he said the wrong thing? Not for me but for him? And how could his parents get to know me if I just stood back and kept my mouth shut?
"Zoey . . ."
"I'm okay." I shook his hand away from my shoulder and looked up a him, finally sealing that eye contact. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Damn it. I said the F word. Not the worst F word, but still the biggest lie a girl could ever tell her man. Now I've really unnerved him. Yeah, he didn't look convinced. At all. He pulled away from me a little, definitely examining me a little closer. I straightened a little and tried to look comfortable in my seat, but it was a bit late for that now.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded quickly, feeling my stomach lurch a little. "I just want to get this over with."
My boyfriend (or was he my fiancé now?) cocked his head a little but reached out with his left hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Hey, it's pretty much my first time seeing them too, in like what, two years? We just need to go in there, say hello, get my dad's permission . . . We'll be alright."
I tried to lower my head but Mike worked his fingers down underneath my chin and tilted it back up so I had to look at him. I'd say something if I knew what to say but my brain seemed to have stopped completely. He worked his hand to the back of my head and gently pushed it towards him. I shut my eyes and let him push me in so he could press his lips on my forehead in an encouraging kiss.
"We'll be alright," he murmured again, patting my back as gently as he could, as the light turned green. Part of me wondered if he was trying to reassure me or himself, but I pulled away anyway so he could start up the car again.
Okay, I can do this. I can do this. He's met my parents many times and they know him well; they know our plans, they know how we feel about each other. I've explained to them the entire story about his Multiple Personality Disorder . . . He's completely overcome it. My mom's a little skeptical about the whole "living with a guy who had a mental disorder", but it's Mike. I've known him much longer than she has, we've been living together for two years and I haven't seen any of his alternate personalities since we finished Total Drama. As long as he's acting normal, my parents should be okay. It can't be much worse with his parents, right?
Wait a second.
"Have you told your parents we're coming?" I asked, turning towards him.
Mike's eyes were glued on the road ahead, but he still pulled a "so-so" kind of face, wavering his head from side to side.
"I texted my mom and told her I'm coming today at 3, and I'm bringing "a friend" along and we're gonna discuss some things . . . You're okay that I didn't name you, right? Just in case-"
"No, you're alright," I replied quickly. "Did she reply?"
"No, not yet."
"Okay . . ." I lowered my eyebrows a little.
His own mother didn't reply, even though he's coming back after two years? A bad sign right there. I can see why he wouldn't name me alright, he was afraid of an overreaction to mentioning me as his girlfriend . . . But how will they react when they do find out it's me? I felt my stomach lurch again and sank into my seat, puffing out my cheeks. All I have to do is be my normal nice self, right? Just be the nice girl I've always been.
I flicked a glance at my ring and waggled the finger wearing it so it shone brightly in the midday sun. It's a fairly nice day, the sun is up there and there's a blue sky, though there are dark thick clouds too, some of which are drifting towards the sun and threatening to block it out. I wonder if that means anything. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
The car was slowing down now. I realized only now that the suburban greenery had calmed down into more unruly country like surroundings with wilder trees and less housing. The road was still the same, hard and grey, but the separate white lines have all fused into one. I felt the car bump a little on a pothole or two, especially on my side, and my stomach lurched again. We were definitely getting close.
"Okay so we're just there now," Mike muttered a little quieter than usual. He hadn't looked away from the road since that last red light, and neither of his hands had moved away from the wheel. I had never seen him look this focused and I didn't know if I liked it or not. I took another deep breath and dusted off my white skirt. I think it might be crinkled a little but it's too late to do anything about it. The car was getting slower and slower . . . now it was pulling around a corner to the left. And then it stopped completely.
There was the house: just like any other house on the street, perfectly ordinary. It was a two storey semi detached building, with rustic brown bricks on the sides and the rest of it painted white. The door was painted black and outside there was a grey car (or was it a truck?) that had to be at least ten years old, rusty and dirty, with worn out looking dusty wheels. The windows were so smothered in dirt that I couldn't see through them, though I imagined the inside must be little better.
Outside on the pavement, there were some old potted plants that had died ages ago. The house itself though well built and standing well, was a little on the scruffy side. Dust and brown leaves scattered across the drive, pushed by the breeze. A cobweb lay here and there, in little corners of the building that only the most observant would notice. I wanted to look through the windows but my eyes avoided them, knowing that to look through anyone's window would be considered nosey, fiancé's house or not. Was there anyone home? It didn't look like it. It was a nice house and all . . . but I didn't feel invited.
The door next to me suddenly opened and I realized that Mike had already gotten out of the car and had his free hand open, inviting me to get out. I almost jumped again, and I felt so ignorant for not paying attention. But at the same time, my eyes darted towards that house again, and they wanted to take in every little detail they could find.
"Are you-"
"Sorry." I tore my eyes away from the house and hastily took off my seatbelt as he offered me his hand to take so I could climb out with more ease. As soon as I was out in the air, I felt the wind toss my hair out of place and a whoosh up my dress, making me shriek and grab the skirt to keep it down while my left hand tried to keep my hair somewhat neat and tidy. The wind had beat me to it, messing it up altogether and I scrunched up my eyes as I felt little strands of it stick to my lips. I thrust my head a little bit, trying not to spit when I felt Mike's fingertips brush the hair away for me. Even if it was something simple like fixing my hair, the soft touch of his fingertips immediately put me at ease, and I no longer felt that lurch in my stomach that had been bothering me until now.
"There. Perfect." He folded the last strand of hair into place for me and gave me a reassuring smile, to which I had to respond with my own little beam.
"Thanks." I leaned in for a quick peck on the lips to which he went along with and more butterflies in my stomach were released, even if it was just a quick little kiss. As I pulled away, I exhaled out another heavy breath and forced the corners of my lips upwards and again, for some reason, I felt even better. "So stay cool . . . be myself . . ."
"Exactly." Mike nodded and pushed his smile wider. "We're gonna do this, Zoey."
"Yeah." My voice came out in a whisper, but the anticipation was screaming inside of me. Maybe things would work out. Maybe things would resolve between Mike and his dad. Mike had told me stuff about him, that he hadn't treated him the best, but maybe after two years, things might be better now. All we needed was him to say "yes", right?
As we walked up the driveway together, I felt the wind die down a little, meaning that I could finally let go of my skirt and actually look presentable. I still felt curious to look through a window though, it really didn't feel like anyone was there to welcome us.
As we stopped in front of the door, Mike suddenly stiffened and I paused with him and straight away, the few seconds of relief I had felt earlier were all gone, and the butterflies were digging hard back into my stomach again.
"Mike, are you-"
"Yeah." He shook his head quickly, as if he were trying to process something. "Yeah, I'm alright," he added. "Just had a moment."
I went to ask him was he really okay but before I could say anything, he reached out and pressed the doorbell. I heard it ring from inside and quickly straightened, dusting off my dress and patting down my hair one last time.
We waited. Nothing happened. I didn't hear any footsteps, no voices, nothing. I glanced at Mike, wondering if we should ring it again. He was shifting on his feet a little and ran his fingers through his spiky hair, trying to keep his own breathing steady. I really didn't think there was anyone home but at the same time, I didn't want to say anything in case I upset him, especially after he had mustered so much courage to drive me here in the first place. I considered asking him to ring the doorbell a second time when I heard a door inside open and shut and footsteps approaching. High heels, definitely high heels clicking on a wooden floor, getting louder with each stamp. I saw a shadow outside the blurry window to the left of the door. The clicking high heels grew louder and louder until they stopped altogether. Then the door rattled, and finally it opened. I swear as the door opened, it released another horde of imaginary butterflies . . . and they were all pounding to get into my stomach all at once, with some of them being forced up my throat. I swallowed them back and raised my eyebrows as Mike's mother who was already examining me closely, taking in my outfit, my hair, maybe even my posture. I straightened a little and clasped my hands in front of me and tried to smile at her as politely as I could.
She was about a foot taller than me, maybe a little more (but then again she did have those heels on) and her body was unbelievably skinny, apart from her big hips, and she was just as tanned as Mike was, if not more. Her hair was like black silk, it was obviously dyed, but cut into even light little layers that dropped smoothly down to her shoulders and shimmered even though there was not much sun to make it shine that much. Her makeup was very heavy, with too much foundation even for her tanned skin, dark brown eye shadow that was leaning towards black, red blush that made her look embarrassed to be there and the scarlet lipstick. The one thing that really put me off however was her clothing. It was nothing too fancy: a long red cardigan made with light cotton, a white T-shirt with pink, red and yellow flowers taking up the bottom right corner, dark blue skinny jeans, that were loose enough to show the red leather high heeled boots underneath. The only jewellery she had on was one gold ring and simple diamond stud earrings. Her outfit was nice and all . . . but it made me feel overdressed.
"Hi Mike," the mother finally said, forcing a toothy white smile onto her face. Her voice sounded just like any other woman her age, but I could sense a sneer in there somewhere and I tried not to wince at it. She somehow managed to raise her bony arms, offering her son a hug. Mike allowed her to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but it looked like he was letting a performer who had invited him on stage give him the hug, not his own mother. It just looked stiff as he bent down to her and patted her on the back. It just looked like something they knew they had to do and just wanted to get it done with. It didn't look natural.
"Hi," Mike said quietly before gently pulling away, looking relieved to have broken away from his mother's grip. "Did you tell Dad-"
"He'll be down in a minute." The mother's beady baggy brown eyes were back on me, and I reminded myself to keep my posture straight. My smile was completely plastered on my face now, and I felt super fake for keeping it that way, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel that we are all faking out happiness now.
"So this is your friend, right?" The mother slowly held out her hand for me to shake. I stared at it for a moment but then took it, clinging on tight. Her grip was harder than mine though, all her fingers pressed hard on my hand and her red painted nails dug right into my skin. The handshake may have been a short one, but it was a quick harsh one that sent chills up my arm, jacket on or not.
"I'm Anne."
Immediately, even though I didn't want it to, my brain started thumping inside my skull, chanting "Maria . . . Maria . . . Maria . . . Maria." Why, brain? Why bring up memories of someone I hate, especially when I'm trying to be nice right now? I think I just stood there, letting those chants in my own head take over my senses before the mother prompted me out.
"What's your name?"
"Oh! Sorry!" I could have smacked myself in the face for not answering sooner but the thought of leaving a bad impression urged me to keep my hands down.
"Zoey . . . my name's Zoey."
Anne leaned back a little and folded her arms, examining me again. Why was she examining me so closely? Was I really that badly dressed? Or maybe it was my hair after it got blown around a little. No, I'm smiling too hard. That's it. But I don't want to stop smiling either . . .
"And you're Mike's . . . friend."
The way she said "friend." Damn it, I think she knows. How do I answer to that? Do I agree and say "Yeah, we're good friends" or do I contradict her and say "No, I'm his girlfriend?" Or am I his fiancé now? I have the ring on so . . . Actually is she looking at it? She was definitely eyeing my hand with the finger wearing it. I closed my fingers into my palm so she couldn't see it but I feel like she might have gotten a good look at it.
"Actually, Mom," Mike said, trying to fix eye contact with her. "That's why we're here . . ."
"Oh really?" Anne raised an eyebrow at him. I still can't get over that tone she's using . . . I think she definitely knows.
"Yeah, I- We want to discuss some things." Mike flicked a glance at me then raised a pointed finger. "Can we come in please?" he added.
Anne was standing firmly at the entrance, hand on her hip, the other leaning on the wall. It wasn't the most welcoming position, especially for a mother seeing her son for the first time in two years.
"Yes of course," she said a little sharply for my liking. She shifted her weight slowly, but then turned over ninety degrees, making room for us both to step inside.
"Well?" Mike patted my back, signalling me to step inside. This time I was actually paying attention and gave Anne a small "Thank you" as I took a deep breath and stepped in.
Okay. First step. I'm in the house. I don't know whether to feel excited because I'm finally in my boyfriend (or fiancé)'s house or petrified because of the reason I'm in the house. I want to take in every little detail, even if it is just an entrance hall with a normal wooden floor and walls painted cream. On the left, some wooden stairs lead upwards . . . I wonder where.
I didn't have much time to wonder because Anne had opened another wooden door in front of us, stepping into what looked like a kitchen. Yeah, it was a kitchen alright, almost all white, white marble tiles for both the floor and walls. The counters and cupboards were all made of a dark brown wood, again shielded with white marble. It was all very white and so clean, the sun gleamed through a large window and shone off of the tiles, making my eyes almost water.
I glanced behind me and realized that Mike was just as taken aback by this nice modern kitchen as I was, but for different reasons. He had paused altogether, squinting his eyes but taking in these new surroundings anyway.
"The kitchen's changed."
"Yes, we redesigned it a while back," Anne replied, lowering her eyebrows, as if he had no right to be surprised.
"Huh." He swiveled his eyes around, walking through slowly, before taking one of the four white plastic rounded chairs with wooden legs. The table was also wooden but with a dark varnish that made it shine almost as brightly as the white marble tiles.
"Zoey, would you like to take a seat?" I turned around and saw that Anne was examining me again. Looking down, I tugged on my dress a little, but it wouldn't go past my knees, and I was afraid to pull at it any harder without ripping it.
"Oh. Yes please." What was it with my brain today, being so slow? I quickly pulled in the seat next to Mike and sat myself down with my back to his mother. He gave me a little smile, a reassuring one and I smiled back feeling a little better. We can do this. I'm alright. I just need to stay cool, we need to get them to say yes and we're set.
"Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?" I turned around to see that Anne was standing around the many cupboards, waiting patiently for an answer. She wasn't using that sneer anymore which was a relief and she looked fairly ready to make something for us.
"Um." I shifted my weight so I didn't look too closed on her. "I . . . I don't-" I glanced at my boyfriend or fiancé, wondering what he was thinking. "Do you want any . . .?"
"Where's Dad?" Again, it was a simple question, but it was still one that peaked my curiosity. Yeah, where was the father? Did he even know we were here?
"Yes, I'll get him down now." Anne gave us a false smile before disappearing to the next room, those heeled boots going stamp stamp stamp with each marching step, leaving us by ourselves.
Mike had his hands clenched together tight on the table. He puffed out a heavy sigh. I pulled out a hand from underneath the table and took hold of his. The corners of his mouth stretched out a little, and he worked his hand around mine so he could give it a squeeze himself.
"You alright?" I whispered.
"Yeah." His grip on my hand tightened a little. "We're doing good."
"Wait, he's here now?"
"Yes, I told you, he'll be here at 3."
"I thought it was-"
"You didn't listen to me. I told you-"
"Well what do you want me to do?"
"Will you just get off your arse for once and do something for your son?"
"Okay, okay!"
"Marc, I mean it!"
"I know!"
I tried to keep my eyes on the white tile wall ahead and ignore the conversation happening in the next room. Beside me, Mike was resting his head on his free hand, rubbing his forehead, looking tired. Or was he . . .? I slid my hand out of his so I could give it another little squeeze. I considered asking him if he was okay, but it was too obvious a question. He clearly wasn't. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, trying to push some reassurement from my hand to his. It seemed to work a little; he sat back up and smiled at me, a sickly smile but still a response of some sort.
"Sorry about that."
Both of us were quick to withdraw our hands, at Anne's voice, Mike clapping his hands together while I ducked mine back onto my lap as we whipped our heads around to see the father. From where I was standing, he seemed about the same height as Mike, maybe a little shorter and had a lighter skin colour, though he was much heavier, especially around the stomach and arms. He wasn't fat, just heavy. He had the same dark hair, very short but sticky out and dry and bristly like a sweeping brush. A light stubble covered underneath his nose and mouth and around his jaw line. As for his outfit . . . well he didn't look . . . groomed. At all. The shirt was one you'd dig up and wear just for the weekend, it was an old brown one with three yellowish-orange stripes . . . I think there might be a mustard stain on it. The jeans he had on were too loose and scruffy and I couldn't help but wonder when they had last been washed. He wasn't even wearing any shoes, just a pair of old dirty grey socks, one of which had a hole.
One look back at Mike and I could tell that he was just as revolted by his father's appearance as I was. He was actually leaning away from him, even though there was a large distance between the two, and giving him a good hard look with widened eyes that screamed "Are you kidding me?" And who could blame him? I'd feel humiliated if my dad came in without bothering to dress properly for a reunion. I was just impressed that he didn't get up and leave the room in disgust and drag me with him.
"So . . . this is Marc," Anne was saying, trying to act like their argument from before had never happened. "I'll make you some tea so you can get to know each other and discuss anything that needs to be said."
As I shifted my body position towards him to try and look open, I watched as Anne began to prepare the tea even though neither of us had said we wanted any. The father stayed by the door, not bothering to approach either of us. The only sound in the room now was the hissing of the water taps as Anne filled up the kettle. I looked at Mike again and suddenly noticed the way he was sitting in his seat: he was clutching onto his hands tighter now and he was shifting his weight away from his own father. I wanted to do something about it but I could tell that both parents were watching me so I had to keep my hands to myself.
"Hello," the father finally said. He sounded fairly cheerful, I guess. That was all he said to us. That was the only thing he had said to both of us since we had arrived in here. Neither of us responded. We didn't know how to respond.
"So, Zoey," Anne said quickly, too occupied fixing the kettle into place to look at us. "Where are you from?"
"Um . . ."
Seriously? I could kick myself for stalling right now! All she did was ask me where I lived! It wasn't like she was asking me anything deeply personal. Come on brain, I need you here!
"Canmore . . . It's a small town in Alberta." My eyes caught the father padding over towards us, around the table so he could sit in the chair opposite Mike. As he did so, Mike pulled away but forced his face to look relaxed and nodded at me to keep going.
"Oh. Sorry." Now my eyes had fallen on Marc, the father who was leaning forwards on the table, watching me intently. Now he was examining me. I smiled at him and tried to think of something to say about my hometown, but the only sound that came from from my mouth was an uneasy chuckle.
"And, um . . . Yeah, it's nice, it's quiet . . ." I sniffed and suddenly caught a whiff of beer from the father that immediately put me off.
"Canmore?" Marc shifted his face into a grin that I couldn't tell looked really friendly or really nasty. "Doesn't a lot of crime happen there?"
What?
"Sorry?" I wanted to keep smiling but my face had dropped and I couldn't push it back up. "Well, there are jocks and all but-"
"I thought Canmore was a quiet town," Anne interrupted as she placed some teacups in front of us, cylinder white ones with red stripes. From behind me, I noticed her flash Marc a warning look, and he rolled his eyes in response. She might as well have given a wall the same death glare.
"It is," I agreed, noticing that Marc was now staring at the gold locket dangling in front of my chest. "Most of the time, I just, um . . ." Why was he so fascinated by my necklace? Wait, was he looking at my necklace or was he looking at my-? No, it had to be the necklace. At least I hoped so.
"Honestly, nothing really happens . . . Sometimes it can get a bit noisy, when the jocks go out partying at night, but I don't join them . . . Usually, I like to stay home . . . I do a lot of sewing . . ."
Okay, I actually managed to say something without sounding like a complete idiot! Anne finally looked somewhat interested as she placed a teapot down in the center of the table and finally sat down to join us.
"Would you not have any brothers or sisters to take you out?"
"No, I didn't." For some reason, I felt my face begin to flush, and my entire body wanted to sink, but I tried to fight against my own weight and maintain some decent posture. "I'm an only child." I had to force that last sentence out. Why did I have to force it out? I think I'm getting nervous again, or at least more than I already was.
"Oh." Anne raised her eyebrows, and even her eyes widened showing a lot of white around them. "So, does it get lonely for you?"
"Yeah, well . . . It used to be, but . . ." Oh God, I think I'm drifting into that "girlfriend" territory. What do I say? Should I change the topic? What did Marc think? He was still staring at my gold locket that was swaying in front of me. And had this weird look on his face too like he was hypnotized or something. Why was he-
"Dad!"
I flinched at Mike's sharp tone. I was never used to him snapping so to hear him snapping out of nowhere when I least expected it was definitely a surprise. It seemed to have stunned his father too and he shook his head quickly and looked up, pretending to look interested.
"Sorry." Avoiding eye contact with everyone, he pulled the teapot in and poured himself some tea. The stuff came up to the brim of the cup.
A little thought suddenly crossed my mind and I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before. It was so obvious and so stupid . . . It should explain why these parents knew so little . . .
"Did you-?" How could I phrase this politely? "We were on Total Drama. That's how we . . ." I gave Mike a look and he nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, we met on Total Drama, I thought you knew that," he said, giving his dad his own little warning look.
"Oh yeah." Marc was more interested in stirring the third spoonful of sugar into his tea. "Some little kid won that right?"
I turned towards Mike again. He had stiffened in his seat altogether with his fist clenched, and he was biting his lip so hard, you could see his face darkening and his eyes flickering. Anne had a similar expression, looking like she wanted to take the teapot and smash it on the father's head. But unlike Mike, she slowly found a way to compose herself, taking a deep breath and forcing on another toothy smile. Now that I think of it, her teeth are overly white too, just like the marble flooring.
"Marc doesn't watch a lot of television," she said and I heard that slick little sneer in there again.
Beside me, Mike was still fuming inside, trying so hard not to lash out. At this point, I just wanted to reach out and give my poor boyfriend a hug. How could a father not hear that his OWN SON won a big reality show and a million dollars? How? No parent would be so ignorant to their child's accomplishments! My parents were barely around, but they at least paid attention to what I was doing and whether I had achieved something! I felt just as tempted as Anne now to grab that teapot and throw it at Marc's dumb little face, really I could.
"Let's just-" Mike scrunched up his face for a moment before finally relaxing. "We have some things to ask you."
Wait, he was asking them already? I thought we were going to make an impression first. Had I made a good enough impression? I might not be ready for this. Before I could stop it, my hand wearing the ring slid off my lap and onto the table, as if it wanted to hint both parents what we had in mind.
"Go ahead." Anne seemed to be taking the hint, eyeing my fingers, especially the ring finger that would not stop drumming on the table.
"Dad, are you-?"
Marc slurped down a huge gulp of tea and nodded. "Sure, what is it?"
Oh God, here we go. The one question that would make or break. I felt like I was kneeling down in front of these two people, not just asking for consent but begging for mercy. I wondered if the puppy dog eyes might help. Will I ask the question? Why do I have to sit back and let Mike do all the hard work? It makes me feel like a terrible girlfriend.
I'll do it.
"We're thinking of-"
"Zoey and I are engaged."
"Engaged?" Marc nearly choked on his tea. Some brown droplets escaped out his nose and through his lips and little traces of it sneaked their way back into the cup before he took another slurp. I felt my eyes widen and I had to fight my own face muscles to prevent it from showing any signs of disgust.
"Yeah," said Mike, swallowing back what must have been a big lump in his throat. "And we came here to ask if you were alright with that . . ."
"We've talked to my parents as well," I butted in. "They're completely okay with it."
Marc lowered his cup, taking good hard looks at us. For the first time this visit, he actually looked serious. His eyes narrowed as they swiveled between us. I was really considering giving him those puppy dog eyes now.
"I thought you couldn't marry when you have mental disorders."
Oh I swear to God, if he says one more bad thing about my boyfriend next to me, I am going to take that cup in his fat hand, throw the hot tea all over his face, smash the cup on his head, grab him by his grubby shirt and SCREAM in his stupid face about how ignorant a father he is! And for once, I don't care what kind of impression it leaves on him! I can feel the blood boiling down to my hands, making them claw, and up to my face. I have to let the heat slowly escape through my nose to avoid exploding.
"I got over it like two years ago." Mike didn't sound angry or snappy anymore. I know that tone. He was slumping in his seat . . . He's hurt. Really hurt. As soon as we get out of here, whether they say yes or not, I am going to squeeze him so tight. I feel my own lump in my throat coming, a piercing one that makes my eyes water. I don't even know why it's there. The father hadn't taken a shot at me but I still felt the pain. Is there even any point in staying here anymore?
"Why are you asking us then?" Marc brought the teacup to his lips and took another loud sip. I heard him swallow it down and then he smacked his lips and added "If you two wanna go ahead, get married, I don't mind."
Wait. He was saying yes? I felt my stomach open up releasing those butterflies again, but for some reason the lump in my throat was stuck.
Mike had straightened completely in his chair altogether, like he had never been insulted by his father just a second ago. "So we can?"
"I think it's a good idea," said Anne casually. "If you can get it organised . . ."
As I looked to my side, I could see Mike's body beginning to stiffen, but this time it was in a good way. I could see the colour coming to his face, the eyes brightening, the lips rising upwards and the shoulders rising with them.
"Yeah! Yeah!" He was trying to act casual but he had a wildly excited grin on his face. Next thing, he slid from the table and onto his feet and I realized I had to get up with him.
"We have it all organized, don't you worry!" He was slowly steering towards the door, reaching behind him to try and open it. I could tell he wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. "I can text you for dates and stuff."
"Yeah, do text us please," said Anne, not rising from her seat. Part of me noted that she didn't sound that enthusiastic but the rest of my senses urged me to ignore it.
"Okay! So-" Mike had found the door behind him and swung it open, flicking his free hand towards it, signalling me to pass through it.
"Thanks for the tea," I said, even though I never had any but you could never be too polite, right? "Nice to meet you," I added, fluttering a small wave goodbye as I headed out.
"Nice to meet you too, Zoey." Did I hear that sneer again? I whipped around, considering it, but Mike was quicker to say a hasty goodbye to his parents before shutting the door on them. Anne said goodbye, but not Marc. He hadn't really said anything.
But he did say yes.
I didn't know how to feel. I watched as Mike hurried over to the front door and fiddled it open so he could let me back outside. As I stepped out, all the thoughts and emotions just BARGED into my head. I want to squeal and thrust my arms around my fiancé behind me because we're finally getting married . . . but I want to cry for him too because the way his father treated him . . . It wasn't right, it just wasn't right at all.
He had finally shut the front door and turned to face me . . . And I couldn't resist hiding my feelings any longer. I leapt up at him and threw my arms around his neck, burrowing my face into his shoulder. I felt his arms wrap around me so tight that it squeezed out that lump in my throat. I felt the tears coming and moaned at the thought of it, not because I felt stupid crying in front of him but because I had no reason to be crying, especially after all that had happened in there.
"Zoey, we did it! We're getting married."
"Yeah, but your dad, though-"
"Shhhh . . ." He ran his fingers through my hair, soothing me immediately. "It's alright, not important."
I sniffed in response and buried my face deeper into his shoulder, wanting to squeeze him tighter but lacking the strength.
We're getting married. I couldn't help but laugh. We were actually getting married. I swallowed back and the lump in my throat finally left. I laughed again and he laughed with me, making me smile.
I had no idea if Mike considered what had happened back in there important or not. But he was hugging me and laughing with me . . . I had seen myself how excited he had been to leave the house. I shut my eyes and released my leftover emotions through one shaky breath.
"It's gonna be perfect," he whispered and pressed his lips on my head to further prove his point. I turned my face towards his neck but kept my head nestled on his shoulder. Maybe he was right. We had both our parent's permission. Now all we had ahead of us was the perfect wedding.
Things could only look up from here, right?
And there's your first chapter. Yeah, there are some things I deliberately put in there, like the dates and certain behavior coming from Mike's parents, and you you'll see why as the story progresses. I was originally going to put the drive to Mike's house and getting his parent's permission to marry Zoey in separate chapters but decided not to because the summary already gives it away. Anyway, I hope you liked it.
Read and Review please. Chapter 2 and other story updates coming soon :)