Authoress's note: Hey, so, I'm back with another story, sorry I haven't finished Love and War yet, but I promise I'm working on it along with all the others, and yes, this is the plot bunny that I mentioned, but it's not a plot bunny anymore, it's a real story. So, there's not much to say, I've got the whole story planned out, and you have to read it all to understand it, and a clarification of the characters is at the end of the story. So, thank you for venturing to my story, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or anything to do with it.
Summary: AU Not high school setting. What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. Raven finds herself sitting alone in the shattered pieces of what used to be her life, and just when all hope is lost, a hand reaches out to her. But, then again, sometimes, you have to let people save themselves...
The Melody of the Caged Bird
It's like a storm, that cuts a path.
It breaks your will, it feels like that.
~Rascal Flatts: I Won't Let Go
Chapter one: I Take You
The sound of tennis shoes pounding against the hard wood floor echoed throughout the gym. Shouts and cries for victory rang through the ears of the players. The large, red, digital numbers descended on the scoreboard. Everyone's heart raced, anticipation rose, and time slowed to an eternity per second. Every breath, bead of sweat, and ounce of effort from those efficient athletes for the past hour, came down to these last few moments.
C'mon Chase, number 42: All strength no skill He inwardly coached himself, never taking his eyes off of the ball as it went from wood to the calluses covered hands of the bulky number 42, seeming to take a millennium each time. D up, Chase, d up! He mentally demanded his own self as the ball's holder attempted to escape passed him. Swiftly and skillfully, he stole the ball from it's beholder, and sprinted down the court the opposite way, proficiently dribbling the ball as he did.
Watch left! He thought, and dodged a steal just in time as he approached the three point line.
Logan, wide open, left wing. He told himself, glancing up at the clock, Five seconds, fourth quarter, down by one shot. He retained the ball at his chest and glanced over at his coach, whom he couldn't hear over the roar of the crowd, but he read the lips of the bellowing old man. He was distinctively yelling "pass". The player's head swung around, the cold perspiration slinging off the strands of his jet black hair, sweeping above his eyes.
Logan, wide open, left wing. He repeated, and looked behind him at the herd of boys approaching, and without thinking it through, he launched up from the floor a mere foot, and forced the ball from his hands with all his might.
Everyone's head followed in pursuit of the ball as it soared through the air towards the net. The herd of boys came rushing passed him at the three point line before coming to a halting stop, throwing a gust of wind in his face. The loud, distinct buzzer sounded and echoed through everyone's mind, bringing back the noises of the outside world to the focused players. The crowd fell silent as the ball connected to the rim. A loud gasp flew over the crowd as it rolled around before deciding to fall off of the side.
The rival team players assembled into a victory circle, piling on top of each other as their game goers cheered frantically.
You blew it, Chase, you blew it he mentally faulted himself. He peered around at his teammates, just as he'd anticipated, they were all shooting him looks with the shameful blame of the loss venomously dripping in them. Wait, this wasn't all his fault. Had his teammates been playing with the level of effort he had the whole time, that last missed shot wouldn't have even mattered.
No, Chase...they blew it he told himself, and plastered a replica of their expressions on his fair face. Passing it off to each of his teammates, they deserved it.
The trained ears of his players heard his whistle blaring through the loud chortle. The losing players hustled over to the coach, whom was growing red and mad as hell.
Jaded, each of them panting and sweat dripping down their bodies, the coach eyed his players as their audience exited.
He paced in front of them, and all was silent as he hung his head down, ashamed of his players. They'd made a fool of The Marshall Academy, of him, and of themselves. Ignorant of all his lessons and above all, a mockery of their reputation as the TMA Titans.
He came to a halting stop in the middle of the group. "First pre-game of the season," he spoke calmly but the sharpness of his voice echoed throughout the gym, "And this is all you little shits have to offer?" he clasped his hands together behind his back and stamped his foot.
"I have more, Sikes, can't say the same for my teammates," the cocky player spoke up.
"You didn't seem to be worried about your teammates out there, Chase," Coach Sikes countered, shooting him a poisonous look, "And it's Coach Sikes to you, Grayson."
"Now, Grayson," he began, pacing once more.
"You're captain, the all-star, the champion, the boss, right?" Sikes clarified.
"Yes sir, that's me," Chase boasted, gently tossing his head to the side, his thick, glossy jet black hair sweeping above his glistening stormy blue eyes.
"Wrong," Sikes replied, raising his tone ten notches, "You are the self-centered player with his head in his ass," he spat.
The coach glanced up and saw the awaited baffled and bewildered look on Chase's face, "Oh yes, and you'd better straighten up or somebody is going to come along and knock you off that pedestal of yours," he shot an accusing finger at him, "This is your wake up call, don't make me have to come back with bullhorn, son."
"Yes, sir," Chase agreed, hearing every word loud and clearly, but not listening to a single bit of it.
"Now, line it up," Sikes demanded, "You lose as a team, you win as a team, and I'll be damned if you aren't penalized as a team. Hustle up, let's go!" his whistle sounded, and the team took off to the opposite end of the court.
Bryce slung his Nike sports bag over his shoulder, as always, the first to finish showering and dressing, and began putting the combination into his gym locker.
"Pretty good out there for a rookie, Logan," the owner of the locker next to him complimented.
Bryce glanced to his right, not allowing the boy a single moments pleasure of seeing the forest green eye that wasn't hidden behind the waterfall of his silky, stringy deep black hair.
He'd always liked Mac, one of the few people he did. He was the only member of the team that didn't handle him as if he were the flattest ball on the rack, or feel he should be "hazed" for being the newest player.
"Thanks," Bryce simply stated, his voice velvet, but very cold and distant, as usual.
"Can you believe coach?" the boy at the locker next to Mac queried, pulling his plain white tee over his head.
Being the silent one that always overheard everyone's conversation, Bryce rolled his eyes and scoffed before shutting his locker and throwing on his signature plain white New Era hat.
Chase glared in Bryce's direction, picking up the vocalization, "You got something to say, Hothead?" he inquired.
Bryce turned around and leaned against his locker. Clad in baggy jeans and a black tee splattered with piano keys, the dark, tacit teen was intimidating, but never to Chase.
"Quite frankly," Bryce replied, folding his arms over his chest, "I do...Had you have just put aside your disliking for me, instead of acting like a child, and passed me the ball, Sikes would not be doubting you."
"Like you could have done any better, newb," Chase reasoned, "You're just a second choice. Who are you to question the caption of this team?"
"Chase," Mac gave him look, "Dude."
"No, he should know," Chase silenced him, "You're only here, Logan, 'cause Casey's dad couldn't pay his tuition and he goes to public school now." He smirked, satisfied at what he held over his only enemy.
"What matters is that I'm here," Bryce simply stated.
Chase eyed him daringly before slowly approaching him.
The green eyed teen gazed at him. Not a sign of anger, or hurt, or...or anything in his eye that was visible. Just a dead eye of a shark. It didn't even seem as though he were looking at Chase, but through him.
Bryce stood from the locker and sat his bag down, meeting the bold captain a few inches away.
They stared at each other. Emotions radiating from each of them, tension filling the room. The hate, and rage they had, they'd always had, for each other was so immense.
"Why are you here?" Chase plainly asked, "Look around," he instructed Bryce but he dared not break their eye contact. "We're ballplayers, Logan," Chase told him, "You don't fit in."
"Obviously, my main goal in life is to fit in, Chase," Bryce said, "Solitude is strength. The need for friends as a crutch is weakness."
Chase despised his witty comebacks and bright sayings, he always had, "These guys don't want you here," Chase taunted him with the slight curve of a smirk on his lips, "Do you really think they care about you? These are my players, Logan," he gestured broadly to his chest with his finger, "Okay, I control them."
Bryce delved deep into his stormy blue eyes, and there was only one thing that they desired. Control. That's all he desired.
"That doesn't matter to you, Chase. Because all you've ever wanted is to control the one person that you can't. Me," Bryce replied, his voice tone never rising. "And you aren't able to because I control you. Everything you do revolves around me. Think hard, you just ruined our first pre-game because of your contempt toward me."
His green eye bounced back and forth from each of Chase's blue ones, and every pair of eyes watched them with peculiarity.
"You let me control you. You're weak." Bryce continued, moving closer to him, "Everything I say, everything I do, every move I make, it vexes you, taunts you. I'm inside your mind, aren't I, and I drive you insane."
The room stood still, neither one of the centers of attention showing anything on their faces but one perspective of a thousand thoughts consuming their minds.
"Whatever," Chase narrowed his eyes before pulling away from Bryce's and turning around, "Like I'd actually let this queer control me."
"Well, it takes one to know one, Chase," Bryce simply stated.
Chase froze, and slowly turned, meeting the glossy green eye once more, "What did you just say?" he chuckled, knowing his ears had deceived him.
Bryce smugly shrugged his shoulders.
"You little," Chase seethed, and stormed into Bryce, pushing him, hard, forcing him against the lockers. He grabbed Bryce by his V-neck collar and pinned him against the lockers under his grip.
Bryce clenched his eyes shut, counting to ten, assaying to withstand his arousing emotions.
Chase basked in pride at making Logan cower in fear, and in his rush of being in control, he drew his fist back and malevolently thrust it forward, brutally connecting it to Bryce's jaw.
In counteraction, Bryce's head swung around and collided with the lockers, the sound echoing throughout the room. His piercing green eyes shot open, sending a chill down his captain's spine.
His anger became irrepressible, and he grabbed the boys wrist in a death grip, never pulling his head away from the lockers, and Chase's hold loosened greatly before he released the teens apparel completely. He stepped back, trying to pull away from the dark boy's hold, but it just seemed to get tighter and tighter, constricting his wrists.
Bryce lifted his head from the lockers and tossed it to the side, clearing his line of vision for his right eye. He took a step toward Chase, whom was practically withering under his grasp. Unlike his antithesis, Bryce didn't savor his pain, so he released the players wrists. But as quickly as he did, he gave Chase a blow in his rock hard abdomen.
Chase doubled over and Bryce grasped his collar and slung him against lockers, sending another malicious strike into his nose, causing blood to stream from his nostrils. Infuriated, Chase shoved Bryce and gave him a good uppercut in the chin, he too, drawing blood, but from Bryce's mouth.
At his release, Chase pounced on Bryce and they collapsed onto the floor.
They rolled around, switching the upper hand back and forth, they had indeed met their match. They each threw brutal punches with sinister intentions at each other, never resorting to "cat fight" moves, just hardcore blows with immense power behind them.
Their teammates tried over and over again to pull them apart, but the hatred behind the scuffle was too much for them to manage.
At the loud ruckus, the coach came storming into the room, blown away and infuriated by what he saw. Two teammates fighting. What was his team becoming?
He blew his whistle obstreperously and maniacally, and the boys were finally able to break Bryce and Chase apart, forcefully pulling them to the opposite sides of the room away from each other.
"Damn it! I said stop!" Coach Sikes bellowed, and everything ceased.
Still enraged, Chase glared over at Bryce, wanting to go back for more, but that's when he saw the blood that had trailed down Bryce's chin from the uppercut, and he also had blood dripping from his knuckles.
And Chase looked down at his own fists, his insides churning, and he saw the red liquid running down them. He pressed his hand to his upper lip, and saw the warm crimson liquid that had been transferred. His stomach flipped at the sight, and he could feel his insides climbing up his throat. Disgusted, he pushed passed the barricade of sinewy Varsity athletes, and began hurling his insides out on the locker room floor.
Exclamations of utter revolt came from the team, and the coach had had enough.
He blew the whistle once more and every head shot towards him, "Logan! Grayson! I've had it up to here with this nonsense! You two are benched next game! Clean yourselves up, and march your ignorant hind parts on down to Principal Gordon's office!"
"Sikes!" Bryce hissed, "You can't bench me!"
"I can do as I damn well please! And it's Coach Sikes to you, Hothead!" Sikes countered, "Now clean that blood off your face before I do it myself!"
Exhaustion was finally taking full control as her eyes restlessly scanned over the documents for a tenth time. Her eyelids began drooping, concealing her brilliant amethyst eyes from the world. The papers fell from her hands and she lay her head in the crook of her elbow, drifting away.
She would've fallen entirely asleep if her Blackberry hadn't sounded through the capaciousness of her executive's corner office, reminding her of lunch.
Startled, her head shot up, Focus, Raven, focus she mentally prompted herself and brushed a stray hair from her cheek. She sat up in her chair and reached for her coffee mug, and that's when she saw it. Purplish bruises around her wrist, in the perfect shape of a hand that had to of had a death grip around it.
She caressed it, feeling her nerves tensing at the unmonitored pressure she placed on it. She wondered how it got there, but then she realized she already knew. It came from the same place all of her bruises, scars, and pain came from. That same person that always lurked in her mind.
"Mrs. Roth, I have a message for you," her assistant announced upon entering the palatial office.
Alarmed, Raven jumped a little in her seat, and hurriedly pulled her blazer sleeve down over her wrist. She spun her chair around calmly and saw her temporary assistant. A young woman, around twenty, with piercing pink eyes and deathly pale skin. She was wearing a light gray piece skirt suit, her skirt the shortest in the building, as usual, and clutching a clipboard in her arms. (1)
"Jenny, please, it's Raven," she corrected.
"No, no, no," Jen replied, "When we're here, call me Jennifer, I really want to play the part as a genuine Roth Inc. employee."
Raven rolled her eyes, "You said you had a message for me."
"Oh right," Jen recalled, absentmindedly pulling her short pink hair from it's pigtails, "You received a call from The Marshall Academy, apparently, your son was in a fight after his pre-game today."
Raven's eyes widened and she sighed, "You're kidding."
Jen shrugged her shoulders, shifting her weight to her left side.
Raven grabbed her phone and threw her purse over her shoulder, "Lock my office, I'm gone for the day." She hastily made her way towards the wooden double doors, "And thanks again for filling in for Kori until she pops."
Jen laughed, "Anytime, Raven."
He lazed in his office chair, his leg propped up on his desk, chucking the miniature basketball against the wall, and catching it on the rebound. He sighed, knowing he should be typing an e-mail for his lawyer, but not having the heart to. So instead, he wasted his time lolling about his office.
The ball ricocheted from the wall, and out of his reach. He noisily exhaled, today he was just too indolent to do anything.
He sat up in his chair and attempted to start the e-mail on his laptop. He tapped his fingers on the keys, not knowing where to begin on an e-mail like this, it was too embarrassing to face.
He sighed, his stormy blue eyes wandering to his hands, and a feeling of misery passing over him when he saw his empty ring finger.
He rubbed the void finger of which his sentimental gold band used to be. His mind taking a meandering path as it always did. He had an infinite number of things to think about, and that's often what he did with all the time he had to himself.
A hand was placed on his shoulder and his head shot around, laying eyes on his young, attractive assistant. A platinum blonde, electric blue eyed college student whom had been there approximately a week. To him, she was just another prissy blonde prancing around the building in a short skirt. (2)
"Mr. Grayson," she gave him a small smile, "You seem stressed, would you like some coffee?"
"Yes," he replied, "Black's fine. But please, call me Rich. And what was your name again?"
"Tara Markov," she replied, removing her hand from his shoulder and tucking her hair behind her ear, "And it's been a really great experience working at the Wayne Enterprises so far."
"That's good to hear," Richard turned around in his chair and pretended to be doing something important on his laptop, "What brings you to my office? As you know, I'm a very busy man, Ms. Markov."
She clutched her clipboard tighter and looked around at the emptiness in his fancy office, seeing the ball lying on the floor and how his files were untouched, "Yes, well, I can see that," she rolled her eyes at his turned head, "Actually, I'm here because the principal from The Marshall Academy called, and he wants you at that school ASAP. Evidently, your son was involved in a physical altercation."
Rich groaned, and closed the lid on his laptop, mumbling about "indefinite grounding".
"Don't worry, Rich, I'll lock up your office for you," Tara reassured him, and he sped from the room in a jog.
The two boys sat still in the chairs in front of the Principal's desk; Chase with his elbow propped up on the armrest and head resting in his palm, infuriated but containing himself. And Bryce with his legs crossed at the knee and hands laced together in his lap, very calm compared to how he'd previously been.
The Principal took his seat in front of the players and gave them looks of disappointment. He'd had each of their individual files pulled and they were laying on his desk.
"I don't understand, boys," he admitted, "You two are teammates, you're supposed to build each other up, not tear each other down." He paused, "Bryce, you are a straight A student, and Chase, you make fairly good grades yourself. You two are not stupid, so why would you go and do something as senseless as fighting in the locker room?"
Chase shrugged and sighed; Bryce was silent.
"Alright, boys," the Principal pulled two discipline sheets, "One day's suspension and D-hall for the rest of the week; I'll be speaking with your parents. And whatever else Coach Sikes decides to throw in."
Just as the nightmare was over, it was reinvented.
"Bryce Anthony Logan!"
Chase looked over at Bryce, whom had shut his eyes from embarrassment. He then turned his head towards the door of the Principal's office.
He saw a pair of black peep toe high heels, and as his eyes trailed upward, he saw a fairly short, high waistline, black skirt hugging a slender figure, and further upward, she was wearing a tight blazer over a deep violet camisole. And finally, he saw the face of the pretty good looking woman who leaned in the doorframe with her hand resting on the doorknob. She had a heart-shaped face, with obscure violet eyes, and short tresses of violet hair.
Chase saw similarities from this lady to Bryce. Such as the way she entered the room: tacitly and stealthily, not even causing a head to look up. And her complexion, she was so pale, she nearly glowed, exactly like Bryce. And her eye color was piercing, pure, and glossy, very much like Bryce.
Chase turned his head back around after analyzing the lady and scoffed, "What a loser."
"Christopher Kyle Grayson!"
Bryce turned his head, and laid eyes on what was almost an exact replica of Chase. He saw beige slacks and a white collared shirt with a deep blue tie, on a very toned and averagely tanned man. This man had spiky hair, of which was the same color as Chase's, and intense stormy blue eyes, also very much like Chase. His features were more pointed and square, where as Chase's were more smooth and round.
The Principal gestured for the two adults to enter, and the man allowed the lady through first. She held her hand out and the Principal shook it, "Rachael Roth," she introduced herself, in a dull, mysterious voice, "I'm Bryce's mother."
She stepped aside behind her son in his chair, and the man also shook hands with the Principal, "Richard Grayson," he said, his voice smooth and perfectly toned, "I'm Christopher's father."
"Dad," Chase spoke, "My name, is Chase."
His father glared at him before taking a step back and standing behind his chair.
"Well, Mr. Grayson, Mrs. Roth," the Principal began, "These two boys were sent to me because of a physical altercation after their pre-game today. Because this is a private school, we have a "No Violence" policy at TMA, and that type of behavior is extremely unacceptable, but because it is their first offense, they've received only one day's suspension. But, there is a two hundred dollar fine for any student whom violates the policy."
Bryce could feel his mother's disappointed and angry eyes burning holes in his head. His mother had always had a low tolerance for bad behavior. Mostly because she knew how much he was capable of, and how intelligent he was, and for him to act out was completely unacceptable.
"What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" Rich asked his own son, also highly disappointed.
"Besides the fact that he started the entire thing," Bryce side commented. Raven snatched his white hat from his head and swatted him with it before tossing it into his lap. He sighed and placed it back on.
Chase glanced over at them and snickered, and his father pushed his face away, making him silent and forcing him to face the front.
"I apologize for my son's behavior, Mr. Grayson," Raven held out her hand to him and he shook it.
"Please, call me Richard, and I'm really sorry about Chase, Rachael," Rich apologized, "He normally wouldn't act this way."
Raven gave him a small smile, "Please, it's Raven. And, excuse me, but have we met before? It's just, your name sounds really familiar."
"As does yours," Rich agreed, "But I don't think one could forget an appearance like yours. It's quite a distinctive and memorable one, but either way, when you meet so many new people everyday..."
"The faces all start to look alike," Raven finished for him, and he nodded, "It's exactly the same in my perspective."
The door to the office opened once more, and Raven's head turned toward it as it did, and in walked a young lady. Raven saw a short, pleated black skirt, stopping well above the girl's knees, but long black socks just beneath it, and also, a very fitted black blazer over a white collared shirt with a midnight blue ascot through the collar. And she also bore a silver pendant around her neck of the sign for Gemini.
Raven took in her features; The girl's hair was the exact color as Chase's and Richard's, but the same stringy and thick, and soft texture as Chase's. It flowed, sleek straight, well passed her elbows, and her side bangs were thin and tousled. Her eyes were hidden, for she wasn't looking up to them, but at a few papers she was organizing in her delicate hands, but her eyebrows were as dark as her hair, and thick, but trimmed and smooth. And her face was slender and diamond shaped.
"Principal Gordon," she spoke in a smooth happy-medium voice, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I..." she trailed off when she looked up, taking in the sight before her.
Raven then saw her eyes were stormy blue, and very intense, exactly like two other members in the room. But one word summed up the appearance of this young lady when she walked through the door, simply lovely. Her dominant features accentuated true beauty, and Raven could tell by the mere way she walked that she had lots of confidence.
"Dad?" she inquired, embracing Richard, "What are you doing here? Did you close the office early?"
She pulled back and saw Chase slouching over in the Principal's chair, "Chase, you told me you were leaving after your game, and that's why you needed the keys," she pointed out, handing the Principal the papers she'd come in to give him.
"Chase was in a fight and threw a dilemma in everyone's day," Richard answered all of her questions, and he motioned toward Raven and Bryce.
The girl turned and held out her hand to Raven with a friendly smile upon her face, "I'm so sorry, Ma'am," she apologized, "I'm Peyton Elizabeth, Chase's sister, his twin, and Richard's daughter, whichever is more fitting. But you can call me Peyt or whatever fits; the sky is the limit when you have two first names."
Raven gave her a sweet smile, "I'm Raven and this is my son Bryce," Peyton Elizabeth released her hand and held her hand out to Bryce, who reluctantly shook it, but barely gave her his attention.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Bryce," she smiled brightly at him, even though she was aware that he was trying to ignore her, "It's a shame how you don't get to meet all of your schoolmates when you have so many. Either way, everyday is still an opportunity to meet new people, make new friends, and have good times."
Bryce knew exactly who she was; he'd known her since preschool. She'd always been the same, sweet, sensitive, "backboneless", volleyball loving girl. And he secretly called her constant cheery expressions her "sunshine sprinkles". There was nothing more annoying to Bryce Logan than a positive, sugarcoated, sunshiny, private schoolgirl.
"It was very nice meeting you all," Bryce's mother's voice brought him from his thoughts, "Bryce, let's go."
He stood and left the room before his mother, whom was busy giving handshakes and feign smiles.
Raven stared out over the evening city from the terrace. Everything was so peaceful from there at this particular time of day. The sun would set soon and the magnificent array of contrasting colors was something one wouldn't want to miss.
She looked over at her son, who sat across from her at the small round patio table. He still wore that white New Era hat with the brim pointed upward; she always wondered how it never managed to fall off.
His pure black hair always seemed to have a certain gleam to it. She never approved of him dyeing it from it's natural brown color (that always reminded her of his father) but she had to admit; he did look a lot a better, it suited him more.
"Mom, when there is nothing staring back at you, it's best if you don't rattle the cage," Bryce spoke, turning his head and blowing his smoke away from her.
"Sarcasm doesn't fit you, Bryce," Raven replied, watching as the stress left his eyes.
Raven took a puff from her own cigarette; smothering her guilt in the blanket of fumes. Everyday was the same with her son and she. Smoking on the terrace together; completely normal. But normality doesn't overrule morality, Raven was aware of this. She knew that allowing her son to do such a thing at such a young age was wrong; but she also knew that he had as many reasons, if not more, to rely on cigarettes to take away his stress as she did.
"The Graysons seem like nice people," Raven saw Bryce fidget in his seat out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes, exactly how bottled water seemed like a stupid idea," Bryce put in.
Raven rolled her brilliant eyes. "You're not in trouble, Bryce, just explain."
He sighed and tossed his head to the side, clearing the line of vision for his glossy green eye, while he faced his mother. "You wouldn't understand."
"How would you know when you haven't even tried to help me understand?" Raven replied.
He mulled over his words before he spoke them, "Mom, Chase is a control addict. Control is a drug to him. And he hates me because I don't bow to him."
"You find hundred faults in him but not one in yourself," Raven put in.
"I'm not perfect either, Mom," Bryce replied, "When I get angry, I can't find an ounce of sense to cling to."
"Our greatest weaknesses always lie within us," she said more to herself than to her child, "But, in times like these, your best bet, Bryce, is to address your anger as something positive."
"I don't have control over my anger," Bryce admitted, wrapping his lips around the tip of his cigarette and inhaling the numbing fumes.
"Maybe you can learn something from him," Raven pointed out.
"Sounds about as simple as playing Russian Roulette," Bryce replied, no sign of sarcasm present in his monotone voice.
"But potential," Raven added.
"Potentially problematic," Bryce finished.
"Just leave it alone, Bryce, if all you're capable of is making more problems out of this old news," Raven said, dissappointed, "Just "let time heal everything".
"I'm not giving up if I never tried in the first place. Save myself the trouble," Bryce stated rather than offered and looked out over the underlying city.
"If Garfield were here, he'd say, "if you run into a wall, don't walk away. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it"." Raven told her son.
"Mom, this isn't Dad's problem, it's mine; and how I choose to deal with it is my decision," Bryce puffed on his cigarette again.
"You used to be so much like your father," Raven reminded him.
"I'm sorry, everyone has to grow up sometime," Bryce stated, his voice softer than usual.
Raven put out the remainder of her cigarette in the astray, "Just please don't forget to pick up your sister from therapy today."
She saw his turned head nod and she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek prior to leaving the terrace.
The warmth of love filled the room, along with the scent of a freshly homemade dinner. Consoling, soothing, and very homelike the room was. A complete stranger would feel the warmest welcome upon entering it. And, of course, the occupants felt this often; it was their home and they made it to be this way, just as they are.
Chase nudged Peyton Elizabeth's shoulder during family dinner, "Heard about your last match, Peyt; said it was pretty good."
She nudged him back with her elbow, "My spikes were horrendous and I couldn't block one to save my life."
"What about the rest of your team?" Chase queried, sweeping his hair from his eyes with a slight toss of his head.
"It's not my team, Big Head," Peyton Elizabeth pushed her flowing waterfall of jet black hair from her neck and shoulders, and it flowed down her back.
He thumped her cheek, starting a thumping, poking, and nudging war between them.
Richard peered over the table at the twins; taking note to their usual teasing actions toward one other. Chase would always be the one to start the mischief and finish it; Peyt would be getting tired of the horseplay soon and allow Chase his required "victory satisfaction".
Rich had to admit it; even though they looked very much alike, they were the antithesis of one another. Peyton Elizabeth had an abundance of good human nature and a soft heart; poor thing couldn't hurt a soul even if she tried. While her brother, Chase, was a free spirit, he didn't live inside the same boundaries as his sister.
"Knock it off, you two," Rich told them, "No fighting."
Peyton Elizabeth pushed Chase's hand away and turned toward her dinner, "No fighting period—Big head."
Chase huffed and faced her, his thick eyebrows furrowed and vivid blue eyes squinted slightly; He simply picked up his hand and flicked her ear.
"Cut it out, Chase," Peyton Elizabeth sighed, irritated by her brother's antics. She didn't roll her eyes or raise her voice; but plainly resorted to ignoring his actions, her typical way of dealing with being teased.
"Peyt's right," Richard accusingly pointed the pronged end of his fork at Chase, "Give it a rest; the ice is thin enough for you."
"C'mon Dad, I'm bummed out about basketball. A little sibling bickery is just what I need," Chase explained, poking Peyton Elizabeth all over while she tried to brush him off.
"This didn't happen on her account; so why should she be tortured?" Rich inquired, logically; he gave Chase a stern look, which was enough to cause his son to cease.
"You're right," Chase acknowledged, "She's got the Crosstown Showdown to worry about, while I'm stuck watching from the bench against Bushwell."
Peyton Elizabeth looked over to see her strong willed brother a little saddened, as if reality had only just struck him. She knew that basketball was literally everything to Chase; it's what makes him, him. And, at times, he could be extremely obsessive. Maybe not even over basketball, but over being the captain, she wasn't positively sure.
"That's right," Rich agreed, "So clean your act up and get your priorities straight; I mean it, Christopher," he gave him a look that didn't need any further explaining.
Chase sighed, "How long am I grounded?"
"You're not," Rich replied, "Everyone's aware that the greatest punishment for my children is being deprived of sports."
The twins both smirked simultaneously, of course, theirs had no where near the level of annoyance and irritation that their father's attained.
"How are you feeling about volleyball, Peyt?" Rich inquired, watching as she allowed the dog, Ace, to eat food from her plate out of her palm.
She shook her head and sighed, "Not too confident," she admitted, looking up at her father, "There's a lot of..." she trailed off.
"I'm your Dad, just tell me," Rich reassured her, "What's on your mind?"
She deeply exhaled, "Pressure. There's a lot of pressure," she acknowledged, "Hopes are such small things, but what a great burden they are to carry when they're placed on you."
"Coach Kendall? Or...?" Chase put in.
"Not just Coach, but everyone: teachers, friends, teammates, even the janitors have a win lose poll for the tournament," she replied, "It's a lot to live up to; but I can't please everyone."
Chase looked over at his disheartened and distressed sister. She always allowed the smallest things get under her skin, and she never gave herself enough credit for the things she did accomplish, which was a lot, but somehow, she never let it go to her head. Even though Chase would never in a million years admit it, he was glad to have a sibling like that, he was proud to say that Peyton Elizabeth Grayson was his twin sister.
"You'll never be able to please everyone, Princess, the best thing you can do is please yourself," Chase cockily advised, "Which will be hard to do with the amount of credit you give yourself, or lack of it."
"And you give yourself too much of it, big head," Rich put in, "If your sister wants to be a low self-esteemed, moody, and sensitive teenage girl, then you let her," he smirked and Peyton Elizabeth smiled, "Now, both of you, go get changed; a workout sounds like a good way to end the night, don't you think?"
The twins stood; Peyton Elizabeth was pretty tall, but she still looked up to her basketball star brother, who stood at about 6 foot, while she was around 5'7. They disappeared upstairs to switch into workout clothes, nudging, thumping, and poking each other on the way.
Rich smiled as he pushed up from the table onto his feet, and trailed his hand over the void chair next to his before he, too, vanished upstairs.
The crisp, cool, soothing air inside the room surrounded the occupants. Comforting it was, after a long day in dry, humid October weather. And moonlight, moonlight shined through the slightly open shutters of the room. Casting its mystic shadow across the floor and upon the porcelain faces of two beautiful individuals.
Raven brought her knees up to her chest, and hugged them while she traced her fingers over the embroidery stitching on the comforter. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her daughter, who lay next to her, watching her nimble fingers trailing across the covers. Raven knew that the little girl was probably counting how many stitches her fingers touched, maybe even every stitch in the blanket.
"Violet," Raven's fingers paused and her eyes trailed upward, planning on meeting a pair of obscure light green ones, but the girl never looked up from the stitching, "Violet Grace," Raven repeated a little louder, and the broad, aloof eyes connected with hers.
Raven's fingers continued and she could see that the girl was itching to observe them once more, so she ceased, and gently cupped the small girl's cheek in her hand. She caressed the child's face with her thumb; soft, pale skin on soft, pale skin.
"Is there anything you want to say to Mommy?" Raven asked, lifting her head from her knees, hoping to get a reply.
Violet slightly shook her head, and Raven's hand retreated, "Nothing at all?" she double checked, and Violet shook her head again.
Raven sighed quietly, and Violet's face remained still, but so distant, "Go ahead and get ready for bed, Violet, Mommy's going to take you to meet someone new in the morning. Maybe someone who can help you," Raven gave her small smile, but Violet wasted no time; she stood on her feet and walked over to the vanity.
Raven watched from the bed as her daughter placed her right hand on the edge of the vanity and her eyes trailed over each grooming utensil in which were all in a perfect line across the table. She lifted her left hand and untied the green ribbon from her hair, and lay it down between the yellow and blue ribbon.
She then lifted her right hand from the edge, and lightly tapped each item on the vanity as it came. First the comb, then her brush, followed by the red ribbon, orange ribbon, yellow ribbon, green ribbon, blue ribbon, indigo ribbon, and lastly, her violet ribbon; all of which she would tie into a bow at the front of her head behind her bangs and use as a headband.
Raven observed, and for the first time, she noticed that the ribbons were all the colors of the rainbow, and lay on the vanity in the order they appeared in a rainbow.
Violet went back over each item, and tapped them all, apart from the brush, and when she reached the end, the violet ribbon, her hand slowly went back to the brush, careful not to touch anything else, and picked it up.
She lifted the brush and ran it through her long, silky black hair on the side, then in the back, where it flowed down to just above the middle of her back, and then she stroked the brush through the hair on the other side, and lastly, her bangs, which stopped before they could sweep through her eyelashes.
Raven watched, and she repeated this action at least ten times, before she carefully placed the brush back into its correct spot. Then, Violet took off her robe, revealing a long sleeve, plain white nightgown that nearly covered her feet, and she went into the bathroom, and hung the robe on the back of the door.
Violet climbed back onto the bed, and Raven's fingers began to move again, and she observed her daughter watching them; not as if she was interested in them, but mesmerized by them.
Violet broke the eye contact to watch as two dogs came trotting in the open door and sat at the foot of the bed.
"Shadow, Sabre, Come," Raven motioned for them, and they hopped on the bed and licked Violet's face, tails wagging. They lay down as well, and Violet smiled as she stroked both of them, forgetting about the stitching.
The bigger dog, Shadow, was a snow white German Shepard with shocking blue eyes. The smaller, but still of great size, of the dogs, Sabre (SAY-BUR, SABER), was a black and white Border Collie with dark brown eyes, and lay in Violet's lap, licking her hands whenever she got the chance.
Bryce also appeared in the doorway, only noticed by Shadow, who wasn't alarmed, and stood there silently, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his mother and sister heeding with silent interest.
"Mom," Bryce acknowledged his presence, (3)"Jason wants you." He entered the room, "Come on, Kiddo," Violet climbed into his arms. He whistled for the dogs as his mother disappeared downstairs, and they followed him to his room, where he lay Violet in his bed, leaving Sabre there to keep her company, and locked the door behind him.
Bryce seated himself on the top stair of the staircase, hidden by the solid wood banister of the first few steps, and Shadow lay down next to him, his paws folded on top of one another and head resting upon them.
Bryce waited, he waited for the simple words to turn venomous, for their voices to become shouts, shouts to screams, and then, would come the violence.
"How was your day, honey?" Raven asked her husband, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. She copied his notions, lacing her fingers together and resting them on the table.
He looked up at her, his malicious green eyes with a cloud of insanity suffocating them, and saw the deceit in her eyes, "What time did you get home?" He watched her, carefully, trying to detect anything he would consider a tell. Any movement out of sorts, and she was lying.
"Early," she replied, sighing, "Bryce was in a fight today, and I had to speak with the principal."
He observed her; she stayed still. Her eyes still held secrecy, although, he knew. He smelled her deceit the second he walked through the door. What was she hiding?
"A fight?" he asked, and she nodded, "He win?"
Raven had the urge to roll her eyes (while Bryce did roll his eyes) when she heard this, but fought it back, "I don't know; I wasn't there."
He lifted his hand from the wooden tabletop and ran his fingers through his tousled light brown hair. She still wasn't saying it all. He could feel that she was holding it back, "What did you do at work today?" he asked.
"I ate breakfast with Jen, and I spent the rest of the day behind my desk, getting everything together for the board meeting in a few days," she replied, "And then, I went to the school to get my son."
He froze and glared at her, green eyes locked with amethyst ones, "Stop lying to me," he scoffed maniacally and sent shivers down her spine, "I know you're hiding something." He watched her wither; he knew he was close to uncovering her dirty secret.
"What happened at that school?" he growled, lowering his head and sending her devilish glares, "And don't think about it and try to make up a lie," he spat.
She closed her lids and tears leaked from under them; tears of one thousand fears, and helplessness beyond despair, "I..I" she stammered and aroused his anger, "Nothing, Jason, I think. Just, please," she begged.
"Tell me!" Jason shouted, poison dripping from his voice, "And don't think unless I tell you to!" he spat and slammed his fists down on the table, and she jumped slightly.
Jason waited a few seconds, and she didn't reply, so he stood on his feet and took one big step and he was behind her. He grabbed a handful of her hair in his fist and forced her head down to where it nearly touched the table, "Tell me what happened, filthy whore! Why do you lie to me?!" he yelled directly into her ear.
"I talked to the principal," Raven strained, feeling his grip grow tighter, "And..And.." she stuttered.
"And what!?" Jason hollered.
"I met a man!" she shouted back, and Jason forcibly pulled her head back, well over the back of the chair, slightly lifting her out of her seat and her feet from the floor.
"Who!?" he demanded, "You brainless, shameless slut!"
"The dad...the dad!" she strained, "The kid who Bryce fought with! I met his father!" The tears began to fall harder, flooding the river.
"Who is he?!" Jason demanded once more.
"Uh.." Raven searched her mind for his name, which was hard to do with the pain, "Richard...Richard Grayson."
Jason let go of her hair and grabbed her by the neck, "You know what I think about you talking to men without me there," he spat and his fingers constricted the fragile, tiny thing, and he knew that an ounce more of pressure, and he could easily snap it in two.
His anger rose in his body as he watched her wriggling form beneath him. She clawed into his fists, and drew blood, and the anger flustered inside him. He easily lifted her from the chair with his grasp around her neck, and slammed her into the wall. He loved the way she sounded when she choked as she tried to gasp a breath.
He pulled her toward him and their eyes connected, hers pleading for mercy while his sought revenge. He slammed her harder into the wall, and she couldn't even gasp for breath. He grinned viciously and whispered, "I love you. Why do you pretend you love me?" into her ear, and her eyes widened; she could feel herself slipping out of consciousness. "Am I not merciful?"
Bryce heard the quiet, and he and Shadow ran downstairs, seeing Jason with his mother trapped against the wall.
Shadow sprinted and bit into Jason's ankle. He stumbled a bit and cursed the dog but still didn't release Raven.
Bryce calmly, compared to a normal person, jogged over and stood between his mother and Jason.
"Jason, stop!" he demanded, his voice slightly louder than normal, and tried to pry Jason's hand from around his mother's neck, loosening his grip momentarily, allowing Raven a small breath of air and a few more moments of consciousness.
"Get out of the way, kid!" Jason demanded, pushing him away and trying to kick off the dog at the same time.
"Let go of my Mom!" Bryce growled and pushed Jason with all his might, and he toppled over the kitchen table.
Raven fell to the ground, gasping for air with her hands pressed against her already bruising neck, and Shadow stood in front of her, barking and growling at Jason.
"You son of bitch," Jason growled, pulling up on the table, blood oozing from his lip.
"Can't you see you've done enough?" Bryce hissed, placing a hand on Raven's shoulder and allowing her to hold his, "Just go in your goddamn room."
Jason got onto his feet, panting, and grabbed the centerpiece flowers from the table and shattered the vase against wall with a heave, before leaving the room.
"Mom, are you hurt?" Bryce asked, lowering himself to his knees.
She coughed, "I'm fine," she breathed.
Bryce wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and helped her onto her feet, and took her to the couch. She put her feet up, still catching her breath, and Bryce brought her a couple of aspirin and a glass of water.
"Sleep well, Mom," Bryce wished her, and she gestured for him.
"I love you, son," she placed a kiss on his forehead, "Goodnight," Bryce gave her a meaningful look before disappearing upstairs.
…
She sat up in the darkness of the night, and reached over, turning the lamp on and casting its luminous shadow over the room.
She looked around and checked to see if anyone was watching, and got off of the couch. She silently strode over to, what she had once called, her family portrait, that hung against the wall; she reached behind it and pulled out a small leather book, a diary.
She went back over to the couch and opened it to a clean page. One of which didn't attain her selfish words of which pleaded for mercy; cries of help that would never be answered. Her words of hopeless tears.
Dear Diary, she wrote,
Where does love go when not even perfect could ignite the smallest flame of hope, in the smoky ashes of the greenest, most lush forest of what used to be? Jason and I have fallen, fallen into the deepest, inescapable pit of despair. My marriage, well, there isn't much I can do to better it, but wonder what I ever did to make him so mad.
I live in fear. Fear of my husband, and what he will do to my children, to my family, to my dogs, to me, his wife. He says he loves me, and would never hurt me, but time and time again, his promises are broken.
As I write this, tears stain my cheeks, tears of helplessness, I'm trapped. But do I really want to escape? Jason has taken everything from me, I can't live in this big, cruel world without him. He is my everything. My love, my hate, my joy, my pain, the reason blood stains these white walls. They're no longer there, but I see them, I always will, they remain in my heart. Every room in this house holds a god-awful memory for me, even my children's rooms.
I hold in my screams, my cries of agony as his fists come down on my body, so often, afraid that someone will come to my rescue. It will be my fault if they take my children, because I am weak. Bryce and Violet are innocent. Why do I punish them with this life everyday?
Raven Roth
Raven closed the book and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her tears, of hopelessness.
End Chapter
(1) Jenny: Jinx
(2) Tara Markov: Terra
(3) Jason Todd: Red X
Okay, there it is, thank you for reading, I really appreciate it. And please review and tell me what you think. And I promise that everything will all make sense in the end so just be patient. And yes, this is a Rae/Rob fic. And no, Bryce, Peyton Elizabeth, and Chase are OCs, I just made them up, they're not based on any characters.
Thank you for reading, please review.
~GothicPrincess