Hello you, this is my first fic so don't be to hard on me, okay. Hope you like my story...please R&R!!!
Chapter one
Optimum
I was in the dressing room, trying on a dress my mother had picked out for me. Karen, my mother, was getting married in two weeks; to a man she had met only one year ago. She wants me to be there, beside her, while she is claimed by John Scott, my soon to be stepfather. He's a nice man and very handsome-and that's saying a lot coming from me- But we don't really talk much. He likes to keep to himself, as do I. My mother met him outside of a bar. Her car had broken down in front of the building; luckily he was there to save the day, as she called it.
The dress is pink, strapless and has lots of layers, fluffing out where it is set down past my fragile, wine glass figure. I didn't like the fact that I was in a dress, I'm more of a tomboy, - just hand me a pair of jeans and a t-shirt-, I'll be fine. But I'll do this for my mother. Only because I know all of this means a lot to her and I didn't want to be the one to ruin that.
When the dress was zipped I looked at myself in the mirror, examining myself. My blond wavy hair fell down the sides of my face, just past my shoulders and my brown eyes almost sparkling. Out of all the dresses that I've tried on already this one would be the one I would pick but it was actually my mother's choice so I opened the dressing room door, my mother, of course was standing there waiting for me to come out so she could see the dress on me. I forced a smile as she clapped her hands, repeatedly, and squeaked with excitement. I swear all she had to do was jump up and down and she would look like a little kid.
"You look so beautiful," she smiled and pulled me in for a hug. "I am really glad you'll be there for me, Mataya. And you really do have the perfect body for this type of dress. You really don't know how happy you've made me," she whispered.
My mother has short wavy light brown hair and brown eyes. She's about average height and very slim and slender. Her and my father got a divorce about eight years ago. I haven't really seen much of him since then. He moved all the way to Maine while my mother and I stayed in Florida. My mother has wanted me to visit my father over the vacations since he left but I didn't want to go someplace that was almost always snowy. That just wasn't for me.
"I think I do, mom," I smiled in her hair. "And thanks," I broke us apart but she kept her hands on my shoulders as she continued to examine my dress, up and down, the smile on her face just growing bigger by the second, her eyes filling with joy.
We had bought her dress a couple of days ago so when I had stripped from mine and was back in my blue tank top and jean shorts, we paid for everything and headed home. She still had lots of things to fiddle with for the wedding so she would be very busy for the next two weeks. When we finally reached her red 2005 Ford Crown Victoria we got inside and buckled up. All the way home she couldn't get that smirk off of her face, she was getting more and more excited as her special day got closer, which is something I could understand.
When we got home I put the dress in the hall closet and headed up to my bedroom. My room wasn't very large, just big enough for a full size bed, wicker dresser, and nightstand on either side of my bed. I had two small windows on other side of my bed as well, with red curtains and a small closet near the door that lead to the hall.
I had a bit of homework due Monday so I figured I'd do it now so I had tomorrow to do what I wanted, to myself. It wasn't long before I finished. I only had an English paper and had to study for an upcoming history test. As I headed downstairs I found my mother still on the phone, she was arguing with someone about the flower arrangements.
I just shook my head as I continued towards the kitchen, laughing. Yes, I was glad to see my mother happy again but she was taking some of this a bit too far. When I finally reached the kitchen I looked though the freezer to find something to make for dinner. I never really liked this kitchen, I always felt like it was too small for us. And the walls, there an ugly green color, almost like puke green. The cabinets are even worse; they're a horrible tint of gray. I never really got why my mother modeled the kitchen like this when we first moved here, six years ago. Only one window lay above the kitchen table. White silk curtains draped over it.
Today was my day to cook so I took out some chicken. Put it in the microwave, and set it to defrost for ten minutes. While I waited I walked back over to the fridge and pulled out some veggies, needing to give the chicken some flavor. When everything was cut and the microwave timer went off I placed everything into the glass cook pan, sliding it into the oven, and put it on two hundred and fifty degrees. Needing to make a side dish to go with the chicken I grabbed the potatoes and peeled a descent amount, enough for three people. I grabbed a pan, filled it up with water, and turned the flame on high.
Walking over to the sink I washed the slime off of my hands and wiped them dry with a dish rag, only to throw it on the counter behind me when I was done. Then heading back upstairs, I walked towards the bathroom, needing to take a shower. I had enough time before the food would be ready. I turned the water on hot and got undressed, waiting for the water to steam. And once I got in I let the warm water massage at my back, loosening up some of the tight knots, tying to relieve some of the tension. When my hair was wet I scrubbed in my favorite scented shampoo, blueberry.
When I was out and dry I wrapped a towel around my petite body, tightly. Heading back to my bedroom I put on a pair of gray sweats and a white spaghetti strap top. After I brushed my hair back into a bun I looked over at the digital clock that lay on my nightstand, I realized I should probably check on the dinner since it's been sitting in there for about forty-five minutes now. So I head downstairs, once again.
Passing by my mother I noticed she was still on the phone but I couldn't tell who it was with this time. As I passed by, getting closer to the kitchen, I noticed something smelt like it was burning. I quicken my pace to a sprint. When I reached the kitchen I pushed open the door, black smoke hitting my face, and revealing fire on the stove and spreading thought the cabinets above. The flames, red and blue, screaming, threatening to spread.
"Mom," I squeaked. It wouldn't come out more than a whisper. So I tried again, this time using more force. "M-O-M," this time I managed a scream, sounding each word out as its own syllable.
"What?" she replied, I could hear the agitation in her voice but she got up and headed toward me, the phone still attached to her ear.
"What do I do?" I cried.
She pushed thought the door. Seconds later, dropping the phone on the floor, "Holy shit," she screamed. "Get the extinguisher from the closer."
I quickly escape the room while she thinks of what else to do. Rambling thought the closer I throw everything out, trying to dig deep to the back of it. I honestly don't know why we hid it behind everything. After about a minute of searching I finally found it and run back to the kitchen. My mother was smacking at the start of the flame, with a dish cloth, when I pushed though the door.
"Quick, give it to me," she cried, fear showing in both her eyes and her voice.
Luckily this one wasn't like the big heavy ones you would find in the large business building so I threw it at her with ease and she caught it, and pressed down on the trigger, setting it off over the burning stove.
"Call John," she ordered. her voice a little calmer as the fire slowly started to subside.
Looking down, I found the phone in pieces on the floor. I quickly pick it up and try to put it back together but wasn't successful in the slightest. Giving up I place it on the counter and head for the phone upstairs. I grabbed the phone that sat in my bedroom, dialed my soon to be stepfathers work number. It took me three tries to get the number right but eventually the phone started to wring and I waited, anxious, for someone to pick up.
"Hello?" asked the secretary, picking it up after the third ring.
"Yes, can you please put Mr. Johnson on the phone? It's an emergency," I said this a bit too fast, even for myself, I hoped she heard me.
John is the boss of a big building. Him and a couple of his partners are in charge of coming up with new toy ideas for children. He brings home a descent amount of money so my mother doesn't have to worry about getting a job herself. He believes that the woman shouldn't have to get a job. I never really got too much into that subject with him so I just leave it at that, he makes my mother happy so I can't really complain.
"I'm sorry, he's in a meeting right now but if you leave me your name and number I will tell him you called," I could hear her frown threw the phone.
"No please, I'm his step daughter," –wow that was really weird to say-. "I really need to speak with him," this time I slowed down my words but my voice still a little shaky.
I think she could hear it in my voice as well because she gave in instantly, "Alright, I'll pull him out now then." I heard her place the phone down then soft footsteps fade away. Two very agonizing minutes passed before I hear ruffling sounds on the phone, again. "What's the matter, Mataya? I'm in the middle of-," he sounded very frustrated but I stopped him before he could continue.
"There was a huge fire in the kitchen and there's lot of damage. We need you to come home," I talked quickly again, not noticing until I was finished.
"What?" he screamed. Making me remove the phone from my ear but putting it back when it died down. "I'll be right there," was the last thing he said before the phone line went dead.
Hanging the phone up on the hook I run back downstairs to check on my mother. By the time I reached the kitchen the fire was out and she was over by the window struggling to open it, to let all the black smoke out. As she did that I looked back over at the stove and the cabinets above. Everything was black and the cabinets were almost gone, easier said, everything was ruined. The kitchen would defiantly need to be torn down and redone if we wanted to still live here.
"Are you alright, mom" I asked as I turned toward her, searching hard for every word. She had just pushed up the window.
"Mataya, how could you be so stupid?" she frowned as she turned to face me, I could hear her trying to fight back tears.
"Mom, I didn't do anything. I came back and it was like this," I wasn't as strong as my mother, I never was so I just let the tears stream down my cheeks.
"Oh, then how did this land over the pan on the stove?" she lifted up her hand, holding up what was left of a dish cloth.
"But-I-it," I couldn't talk. Mom was right. When I threw the cloth it must have landed over the stove burner with ought me knowing. "Mom, I'm so sorry," was all I could manage to say.
"You're sorry? You're sorry?" she was repeating herself. That was a bad sign. That meant she was more than mad. She was pissed off, furious. "Mataya, do you realize how much damage you just caused us? Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix it? We can't even stay here while everything gets put back together." With each sentence her screaming got even louder but she stayed where she was while she ranted.
Seconds later the kitchen door opened, almost knocking me over, "Oh, my God," he screamed. It was John. His eyes got huge as he looked over the kitchen, his lip twitching repeatedly.
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