AN:
This is my first story, so don't hesitate to go ham with the critique! X3 I love all feedback, just please don't pairing hate because Wolfie doesn't do shipping hate. If you want to do shipping wars, then argue with somebody else.
Raven's point of view. This is relative AU work, but believe me, there will be romance/adventure/relatively canon stuff later on. Just be patient ...
OF BURNS AND BRUISES
A Wolfie Production
The car ride is so silent that I begin to wonder if he can even talk at all. Maybe his mouth's been glued shut by some unknown force — yeah right, Raven. That'd be nice.
Totally.
I glance outside the window, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. The purple coat isn't very thick, and I regret not choosing something a little more practical.
Trees, naked trees, reach to the sky with tangled limbs. Rain pelts the trees, beating down on the grass so hard I can see the dirt underneath. It's like a painting, I suppose, a horrible canvas washed with grey.
There are no cars behind us, no cars ahead of us as far as I can see. It's just my father and I, the assorted bags, and the fog of silence so thick it chokes me.
I clench my fists together tightly. Sooner or later, I'll have to break the silence. "Father," I say at last. I say his name like a statement, a demand that rolls of my tongue. I don't mask the scorn in my voice. Dad is something too personal.
The mirror is obscured and I don't see his face, but I see his grip tighten on the wheel. His knuckles whiten, and it's a color all too pure for him.
"Yes, Raven?" he answers, almost mockingly. He tries to sound seriousand puts on a false mask of concern, but I know better than that. Sarcasm soaks his voice like the rain outside.
I shiver again, and it's suddenly so cold that it's hot; searing fire that burns my limbs. "Why?" It's a simple question for sure, but the answer is far from simple.
The mirror is clearer now, and I can see him sneer. It's a hideous expression that stretches across his face, showing his white teeth and red gums.
Stupid question, Raven.
"You know why, girl," he grits his teeth, pretending to focus on the road. I see his eyes meet mine in the mirror. This man. He claims to be my father, but I'll never be his daughter.
Don't make promises you can't keep.
"The move was necessary," he continues, as if it'll make everything better.
It seems I'm not the only one who can dodge questions. Sub-consciously, I skim my finger down the surface of the window. It's cold, cold, cold and wet. I wipe it on my faded jeans.
"Not the move. Mother." The words slip from my mouth before I can take it back, and I realize that I regret nothing. It's a question that must be answered, whether he likes it or not.
He growls, a low, low sound that sounds beastly. "Don't speak of that." His tone is dangerous, but I'm stubborn and persistent and stupid enough to push the edge of the knife.
"Why?" I press, and I marvel at how my voice doesn't falter. "Why did you do it?"
The car ride is silent and lonely and cold and if I look hard enough, I can see a ghost of my mother sitting in the front seat, a faint apparition. She turns and smiles at me, and the smile stretches and stretches before she disappears back into the ashes of my mind.
"You know why." He sighs, like it's a goddamned burden to him and not to me. My temper flares and I glare at him, daring him to meet my gaze. He doesn't. He never does.
"If I did, then why would I be asking?" I explode, but the tone of my voice stays quiet and low. It's more frightening, I think, then a yell. The quiet, low sound fills the car like cigarette smoke.
He laughs, a dark sound that's too terrible to even be called a laugh. "You have your mother's sense of humor, you know." He meets my gaze in the mirror and sneers, showing his white teeth and red gums.
"That's not the only thing I have of my mother's." I clench my fists together tightly — so tight that the nails almost cause my palms to bleed.
"I know," he dismisses my words airily, "but you won't use it against me. You don't know how." He underestimates me, and it's something I can use to my advantage.
The silence builds up again, like building blocks — no, like a bridge that I'm eager to burn down. It explodes, the make-shift bridge.
"The police will find you." It's an excuse that's always there for me and my voice fills with pretend confidence. "They'll get you for it. You can't run forever." My voice is so 'threatening' it's a joke.
"We're moving to a big city, dear daughter. Do you really think they'll find us or even look for us? Things like us?" Again, he laughs, and the sound swallows me whole. I can taste the sarcasm in his voice when he says "dear daughter".
Of course.
"They don't care about things like us, darling," he pauses for a moment. "We're not like them. We're not normal." The rumbling laugh again.
Huh. Normal. It'd be nice to even know what that word meant — something thrown around so often that it's lost its meaning.
"And you know as well as I do they can do nothing against me."
"Just like Mother?" I snap. I tell myself to retreat back into my shell, where my emotions can't rampage over everybody and everything; a disastrous flood.
His eyes, normally the darkest shade of brown, flash red. "Yes," he muses, though it doesn't mask his anger. "Just like your mother."
I turn away from him, pressing my forehead against the glass window. It's cold and it numbs the skin. I somehow find this comforting.
Behind us, a car trails along, the only other one on the deserted highway.
"So," a plump woman at the front desk smiles at me, pushing her glasses further up her nose, "you're Raven Roth, right?" Her blonde, messy hair is tied into a make-shift bun and she has on too much red lipstick. Her black cardigan clings to her tightly, and she crosses her legs.
Her eyes widen slightly when she sees the jewel on my forehead and my hair, but the smile, sweet as sugar, is soon back on her face. It's kind of unsettling, to be honest.
My father isn't here, and for that, I'm glad. I already feel out of place — yeah, Raven the weird girl with no friends. Over and over, like a mantra, a curse.
Well, curses are overrated.
"Yeah," I answer flatly, and already, the walls are up. I'm hostile again. So much for being nice, eh? "The new girl, Raven." I pause for a moment. "Just moved her," I add hastily.
"Oh, that's nice!" she chirps, and it's a message that's been replayed far too many times to be nice. Then: "Oh, yeah! A student will be showing you around, if it's okay with you?" Again, she smiles.
Why does she ask? My opinion won't matter, anyway. "Yeah. I guess it's fine," I say dismissively, and examine my fingernails like they're the most important thing in the world.
"Alright, thanks honey." She turns back to the ancient fat, black phone on the wooden desk next to her. My eyebrows shoot up.
Honey? That's a new one.
There's a rush of moment and I turn around out of instinct, clenching my fists together and leaning on my toes. The doors swing open and a girl shoots down the stairs, a happy blur.
"Starfire, reporting for duty!" she salutes the blonde lady, laughing. The lady smiles back at her, and already, I'm more than a little uncomfortable.
Starfire looks at me and smiles brightly. "So, I'm showing you around?"
I look at her blankly. "I wouldn't know."
Starfire babbles about a sort of gym and she turns to me with a smile as bright as stars. Her green eyes burn like fire, and her sweeping, long mane of flaming hair falls over her shoulder. I can't think of a better name for her. Star. Fire.
She tilts her head at me, almost expectantly. "So, that's it!" she chirps.
Almost self-consciously, I run my hand through my short hair, pulling my fingers away as they brush the jagged edges that barely reach my chin. "Cool," I answer nonchalantly, for lack of something more intelligent to say.
"We're excited to have you here," she beams at me, leading me down the stairs and through the hallway. Her voice echoes, bouncing against the white-washed walls. "How's the move going?"
As soon as she mentions the move, I stiffen, eyes narrowing ever-so slightly. "It's good," I say a little too quickly, "it's all good. Just a little... different." Different. Huh. What an understatement.
My hands tingle and I shove them into my pocket, hoping something won't happen during my orientation. To her credit, Starfire doesn't question me and I follow her up another set of stairs. These stairs are painted a hideous shade of dandelion yellow. "I know how you feel," she reassures me, and I struggle to match her pace. Yeah, Raven. You should have gone out more. "But the people here are really friendly! You'll fit in right away!"
Totally. This is how it goes with every school. They're friendly. Really nice, even. And then they find out my normal differences, about my wacko dad, about my past and how quote — whiny and ungrateful — unquote I am.
But I've had my fair share of moving days, and I know the best thing to do is simply not get attached in the first place. Point-blank.
I trot so that I'm walking beside Starfire, and a two boys flood out of a classroom door and settle themselves on the floor. I squint, catching glimpses of paint brushes in their hands. Oh. They're painting murals.
A feeling of dread settles in my gut and I chew on my lip anxiously. Starfire isn't introducing us to them, right? She totally isn't —
"Hey, guys! Meet the new girl in town!" she laughs, a bright tinkling sound that resonates in the empty hallway. The boys haul themselves off the floor, dusting paint and who-knows-what off their stained shirts.
A boy extends a hand to me, and I eye it warily. He's got tousled brown hair that reaches his eyebrows and he constantly shakes his bangs out of his eyes, a piercing green. But whereas Starfire's eyes are a fiery green, his are soothing, like the forest with flecks of sky-blue and chestnut-brown in between.
I don't like him. He's too warm. Too friendly.
But Raven has to be quote — a friendly sweetie — unquote, so I take his hand. It's warm and calloused, and he jolts. My own is ice-cold, like it always is. Even though it's summer, I somehow always manage to be ice-cold. It's like winter clings to me wherever I go.
"I'm Garfield," he flashes me a brilliant smile, showing off pearly-white teeth. "But I go by Beastie." Running a hand through his bangs again, he howls mockingly, imitating a wolf.
His nickname catches my attention and my eyebrows shoot up. "Beastie? Seriously? Where'd that come from?" The comment spills from my mouth, a little crueler than I'd like.
Starfire shifts to one foot. Her eyebrows furrow with unease — or is it just my imagination at it again? "Ah," she laughs, and there it is again — that little piece of unease that my instincts force me to notice. "An inside joke."
Garfield eyes me speculatively, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. Again, the pretty-boy hair flip. Gag. "Is your hair naturally that color?" he asks, seemingly interested.
I inspect my hair. It's a shocking violet. "I dyed it," I lie, "it was black." The lies nearly strangle me like snakes, reaching up, up, up.
"Must be some pretty strong dye," he says skeptically. But thankfully, he leaves the conversation and its untied ends alone.
The other boy remains quiet, waiting for Garfie—rather, Beastie to continue with his introduction. "What's your name?" his eyes are deep, deep, deep, and I find myself staring back with a cool gaze.
"Raven Roth," I say automatically. I've had my fair sure of automated responses. He looks at me — almost funnily — and then he grins, and it's a wolfish grin that I decide can't suit him more.
"Welcome to the jungle, Rae!" he hoots with laughter, pounding on his chest with his fists like a gorilla and again, my gut tells me that his nickname isn't just an inside joke.
Yeah, Raven, crazy imagination again.
"I'm Raven," I insist. I don't like nicknames — they're too personal. "Not Rae."
"Rae," he muses, as if he's never heard me. It's infuriating. He's infuriating, this childish beast. "I like it." Starfire giggles and I roll my eyes in dismay. Okay, so that's how this school year is going to go.
The other boy reaches his hand out to me and I take it. Is a handshake law here, or what? His hand is smooth, like he's some composed prince. Yeah — better than a beast, though.
"I'm Robin," he says coolly, and his hair is black and shaggy, barely touching the base of his neck. His bangs extend to one side of his face, stopping above his eyebrow in a gentle swoop. "Robin Grayson."
"Robin and Raven and Beastie!" Beastie cuts in, hooting again with laughter. He slaps his knees like it's the funniest thing he's ever said. Lame. "This really is a zoo!" he laughs again, although everybody else remains silent. Starfire giggles, but it's a fake, choked giggle more out of courtesy than anything.
"Yeah," I mutter, but it's loud enough for them to hear. I let out a nervous giggle. "Welcome to the zoo."
AN:
Short, uneventful chapter, but the next one will be more... I don't know. Eventful, is the word, I guess. Reviews, follows (and even favorites!) are highly appreciated, though I would love constructive criticism. X3 Reviews make me smile and (shamefully) influence my update speed. Sigh...
Until next time!
Wolfie