A/N: Hey everyone! :D
Summary: A Reality Check and a Handicapped are forced to spend a Saturday in detention with a Brain, an Athlete, a Basket Case, a Princess, and a Criminal. Brainwashed during the beginning, they all despised each other. By the end of the day, they bare their souls and touch each other in a way that they never dreamed possible.
A few years ago, I wrote "The Loner," which was my first ever "The Breakfast Club" fanfic. Currently, I am also in the process of writing a "The Breakfast Club" spin-off with the book/movie, "Vampire Academy." Originally after I wrote "The Loner," I wasn't ever planning to make another fanfic where I add another person into the famous Saturday detention. Nonetheless, this idea popped into my head and I just couldn't turn it down from how much I loved it.
I'm definitely proud with how many people loved my work in "The Loner," but I wrote that when I was a beginning writer, so there were many grammar errors and I could tell that I noticeably rushed through certain parts in different chapters. Plus I was still adjusting to this site when I was writing it.
Now with this new fanfic, I'm hoping to expose how much I have improved to all of you. I'm very excited to bring this new idea of mine to life! :)
My goal is to get at least four reviews per chapter. Feedback really helps increase my writing spirit and it makes my creativity soar. Please leave me your opinions in the reviews or PM them to me! :)
I do not own anything from "The Breakfast Club." John Hughes (Lord, rest his soul) does. Other than Comrade and Roxy Alexandrov (along with their other family members), I don't own anything or anybody.
WARNING: This may be a little triggering towards the middle!
Enjoy the prologue, everybody! :D :) :) :D
Saturday, March 24, 1984
Shermer High School
Shermer Illinois, 60062
Dear Mr. Vernon,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did was wrong, but we think you're crazy making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. What do you care? You see us as you want to see us. In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. You see us as a Brain, an Athlete, a Reality Check, a Basket Case, a Princess, a Handicapped, and a Criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning. We were brainwashed.
Comrade's POV
I could feel the strong wetness of my boiling sweat glistening against my entire face as I forced myself to keep up with the level six speed that I was in the middle of running on the slightly inclined treadmill. The song Every Breath You Take by The Police was blaring in my ears from the headphones of my Walkman, almost like it was ripping all of existence away from me. Droplets of hot sweat trickled down my forehead, dampening my dark brunette bangs and burning my eyes like hell when they dripped down my eyelids and leaked into their corners. The powerful stinging sensation had me clutching the railings of the treadmill harder than what I already was. I threw my head back and clenched my teeth, hoping to death that my knuckles weren't going to pop as I let out a small bellow of curse words in Russian.
Three-almost-four months previously, my fraternal twin sister Roxy and I left our hometown in Russia and moved to Chicago to live with our grandparents. Adjusting to the entirely different surroundings and lifestyle of Illinois was sure as hell nowhere near simple, especially since nobody spoke with Russian accents and Roxy and I had no choice but to start attending a new educational shit hole. Or as other people who must've been incredibly insane dared to call it - high school.
"I understand that this isn't going to be easy for either of you," said mine and Roxy's grandmother, this dating back to the first month of when Roxy and I moved in. Though, I still remember it completely. She was in the middle of scrubbing some leftover dirty dishes, a week before I was supposed to start attending Shermer High School with Roxy. "However, you both need your education in order to maintain the knowledge that you already have. You're both very smart children with your whole lives ahead of you. What kind of grandparents would your grandfather and I be if we didn't work to get you into this new school's system in the first place?"
"Good ones who actually gave a damn about us." I answered her with full venom in my heavy Russian accent, my arms crossed over my chest. Usually, I didn't cuss in the presence of my grandparents, but I was too pissed at the time to give a shit. First, Roxy and I were forced to leave Russia without having the opportunity to decide to stay there, and then we were just expected to join this new educational institution like we would automatically fit in with everyone else.
The dark blue muscle shirt that I had slept in the night before was now sticking to my muscled chest, rimmed in sweat. My heart wouldn't stop pounding rapidly in my chest; it almost felt like it was about to tear through my skin and jump out of my body. Nonetheless, that didn't stop me from increasing the treadmill's speed by one more level. Immediately, the conveyor belt beneath me began to fly even faster, causing me to drown myself in the lyrics of Every Breath You Take in order to keep me focused on my usual early morning workout routine.
"Shit..." I mumbled to myself with a slim roll of my eyes, just as I released another deep breath. Every Breath You Take was beginning to fade, the decreasing sound of its tune announcing that the end of the song was very near. With my Walkman pinned to my hip, I was about to reach down and press the required button in order to replay it; but before I could even remove either of my hands from holding on tightly to the railings, I ended up snapping my head over in the direction of my bedroom door when I heard it suddenly begin to creak open. I continued running at the rapid level seven speed, but at the same time, I refused to take my eyes away from the door until I saw who was there.
After a couple of seconds, I discovered that it was my seventy-eight-year-old grandfather. He stood in the now wide open doorway, clad in his untied red bathrobe and a pair of desperately wrinkly, baby blue, silky pajamas that sagged in certain areas around his skinny figure. Nanometers away from his left hip, he had one of his large, pale, clammy hands resting on the silver handle of his portable steel cart, which assisted in lugging around this deep green oxygen tank that only weighed a couple of pounds. This transparent medical tube that was known as a cannula ran all the way up my grandfather's chest, its end securely inserted into a specific part of the refillable tank. It split just beneath the bottom of his thinning neck, right before it looped around the backs of his ears, and the translucent nubbins finally reunited at his nostrils.
Three years ago, my grandfather became an official victim of Adenocarcinoma - the most common form of lung cancer. When my grandmother explained to Roxy and I what had happened to him almost as soon as we moved in, she said it all started with him having a major lack of an appetite. As time went on, his fifteen or so extra meaty pounds that he carried in his stomach disappeared, almost like it happened in a blink of an eye. Then shortly after that, Grandpa developed a horribly nasty cough, which seemed to have grown harder and more painful by every passing day. Grandma practically began to beg him to let her take him to the hospital, but mine and Roxy's grandfather assured her that he was probably trying to fight a cold that had a tougher grip on him since he was in his elderly years. Unfortunately, Grandma believed him, starting to promise herself that Grandpa was right.
Nonetheless, mine and Roxy's grandmother instantly regretted everything that she believed when she woke up one night to find our grandpa spitting up blood and mucus in the bathroom. He had a rough handful of his pajama shirt, trying to speak between tossing chunks of vomit and rust-colored saliva into the toilet.
"I...I thought that he was having a heart attack...the love of my life who I've known ever since I was in high school myself...the man who watched me get walked down the aisle by my father..." Grandma stuttered when describing how she found Grandpa puking in their bathroom. Even though this conversation happened almost four entire months ago, I still remembered it. "But when I got him to the hospital...and these very helpful gentlemen quickly helped me get him to lie back in a wheelchair...the doctors ran a series of tests on him after confirming it really wasn't a heart attack..." I could still hear the cracking of my grandmother's tearful tone. "...They found colonies of cancer cells lined up inside of one of the airway canals of your grandfather's right lung." It wasn't long before just his right lung became both of his lungs.
"Oh, Grandpa!" I exclaimed, taking no hesitation to slam my knuckles down on the red button that said STOP on the treadmill. I then shoved my headset off so it was looped around my neck, ending my morning workout.
"Good morning, Comrade." Grandpa greeted me, giving his bald head a small scratch. After being scheduled immediately to receive damn chemotherapy when his diagnosis was clear, my grandfather lost all of his snow white hair.
I drew in a deep breath through my nostrils, making sure to keep it quiet so it didn't seem like I was trying to mock him or anything. "Morning," I said as I wiped some of the drops of sweat away from my forehead with the back of my hand. "I didn't know that you were awake yet, Grandpa."
With four of his thin fingers, my grandfather caressed his jaw, where a pale stubble used to be. "Well, Comrade, I only came up here to make sure that you and Roxy were awake so you two can be on time for detention." The disappointment in his voice wasn't strong, but it was still evident. I had only been attending Shermer for almost four months and let's just say that this isn't my first Saturday detention. On the other hand, Roxy never once was forced to serve a detention under any kind of circumstance. Until today, that is.
In order to prevent myself from releasing another stream of curse words in my language, I pressed my lips tightly together to the point where they seemed to disappear from the rest of my face. Saying that I had a temper was one hell of an understatement. For practically anyone, it was a very simple task to hastily light my fuse and violently piss me off. But it's not like I actually used to be like this, nor did I ever plan to become who I was presently. Ever since Roxy and I suffered through the four main tragic events that forever changed both of our lives back in Russia, I had developed this side of me that I referred to as my "I'm-the-devil-in-disguise" side. I had become so different to the point where I bet if any of my fellow classmates from Shermer knew me before the four incidents took place, absolutely none of them would believe that I was the same person.
I could feel my grandfather's solid green eyes following me as I stepped off the treadmill and began to stroll across the doable sized room. The silence was strong; so strong that it was slowly beginning to become uncomfortable. I stripped my headset off from where it was looped around my neck, lying it down on the wooden nightstand beside my alarm clock, its glowing neon yellow numbers advertising the correct time.
"It's just 6:20," I finally spoke up, leaning my Walkman up against my grey lamp. From the millions of things that I had memorized thanks to all of my previous Saturday detentions, Roxy and I didn't have to be in the library until seven o'clock. "Grandpa, you did your job. I'm already up, I just finished my workout, and by the time I get out of the shower, Roxy and I should be all ready to go. You should really get back to bed though. After all, you have another round of chemotherapy scheduled for three o'clock this afternoon."
With every word I spoke, I made sure to avoid making eye contact with my grandfather. With all of the personal shit that I was battling through, the last thing I needed to see from my ill grandpa before leaving to serve another Saturday detention was the strongly disappointed expression that was plastered on his sickly face. I already knew that I was going to get my ass lectured by my grandmother for the millionth time, considering she never stopped warning me about the consequences for what could happen to me getting this numerous amount of Saturday detentions in just a little under four months. But my grandpa was a different story; it was excessively rare for him to ever get ashamed of anything, and noticing that I was clearly somebody who he was losing more hope in by the day...of course made me feel like shit. No, he might've never said that he was disappointed in how I was acting or how he was becoming strongly worried over what the results of my future would turn out to be. I just knew.
"Comrade, we wake up when God wants to wake us up." Grandpa informed, the confidence in his still slightly hoarse voice evident.
Still refusing to make eye contact, I slowly nodded my head. "Yeah, of course." I mumbled, but I was mainly speaking just to say something.
Another strong moment of silence then made an appearance, but this one didn't grow as uncomfortable as the last one. It didn't get a chance to. Knowing that I had much more important thoughts to focus on, each of them (obviously) having to do with today's Saturday detention, I finally convinced myself to pull my attention away from the floor. From the corner of my eye, I stared at my grandpa once again, only to notice that confusion was suddenly etched all across his ghostly face. The bags that had seemed to grow darker were still suspending underneath his eyes, giving it away that all of the pills and the chemo were only working at helping him gain his health back about just fifteen percent. He had his head slightly tilted to the right, the sudden new glimpse in his eyes proving that he was trying to think something through. I could see the leathery wrinkles squished together at the sides of his mouth from him holding his pastel lips together.
"What's wrong, Grandpa?" I asked, turning my head fully in his direction.
The remains of his previously bushy eyebrows twitched upward. "You have something there on the right leg of your pants. What is it?"
"What..." Sparks of confusion began to fly across my electric blue eyes. I gazed back down, staring at my black sweatpants as I slowly shifted my right leg around. It only took me a couple of seconds before I realized what my grandfather was speaking about, and it took no effort at all for me to actually notice it. Stained on the fabric of my pants, just below my knee and at the side, there were splattered blobs of green, blue, orange, and red paint.
"Oh," I rolled my eyes slightly, right before I fixed my attention back on Grandpa. "I let Allison borrow these pants. She must've accidentally spilled some of her paint on them."
And when I say that, I truly mean it like this: "I let Allison borrow these pants and despite how she spilled some paint on them, she didn't give a shit to even try cleaning them up before she gave them back to me."
Allison Reynolds was the seventeen-year-old basket case that lived next door to mine and Roxy's grandparents. When we first moved here to Chicago, the first thought that crossed my mind was how much I despised leaving Russia. Nonetheless, as soon as I parked my deep red Range Rover in the driveway of our grandparents house, my first new thought was how strange the grey house next door looked. Hundreds of broken autumn leaves were overrunning the rusty gutter, there was a dark green tarp that was covering a specific part of the old brown shingled roof, the front lawn was uncut to the point where it was obvious that everything below the ankles would disappear...and that was just three of the dozens of things that I noticed immediately about the house next door.
After being welcomed by Grandma and Grandpa, I began to unpack most of the labeled boxes from the trunk of my car. I took care of carrying most of Roxy's belongings into the two-story, solid white house first. Then, when I had just started to unload my own boxes, I developed this sudden strange feeling that was telling me that I was being watched. At first, I shook it off, believing that it was because I knew that my grandfather was watching me from where he was in the open garage. But it only took a couple of seconds for the strange feeling to convince me that it wasn't just my grandpa who was watching.
Freezing in my tracks after retrieving another box from my trunk, I slowly turned my attention over to the aging house next door. And there she was; the teenage basket case was standing in one of the upstairs windows, her dark brown eyes entirely focused on me. She was dressed in an oversize teal T-shirt that was covered in plenty of stains, which I now know came from her painting supplies and black makeup. Her jeans were dark grey, slightly hugging her naturally thin body better, but they were still clearly worn out. The holes that had formed around the fabric over her shins and knees gave the age of her pants away.
"Grandpa," I remember saying after I carried the box into the garage. "There's some brunette girl watching me from the house next door."
I remember not being scared at all. Normally, anybody would have more than likely felt like they were about to piss themselves after spotting some stranger looking at them just as they moved into a house next door. But I wasn't the slightest bit terrified or uncomfortable.
"The grey house?" asked Grandpa, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
I had rested the box that I was carrying down by that point. "Yeah."
"You must have spotted Allison."
"Who?"
My grandfather hadn't removed his attention from the homemade clay pot that he was painting. "David and Margret's daughter, Allison. I've only seen her a couple of times, like when I rake the leaves or when I help your grandma with the flowers during the spring."
"You two don't think she's creepy?" I couldn't help but ask it at the time. Back when I first spotted Allison, I thought that she was a druggie, but that still didn't make me feel uncomfortable or terrified of her in any way.
"Not at all," Grandpa replied with a small laugh. "Your grandmother sometimes leaves homemade cookies on the welcome mat for Allison when her parents aren't home. Within a few hours, there are a couple of a knocks at the door, but when either your grandmother or I answer it, guess what's there?"
"Hm?"
I remember the wide, happy-go-lucky smile spreading across my grandfather's face. "The plate that your grandma left the homemade cookies on, completely clean. Only crumbs and colorful fingerprints that came from none other than paint are left behind each time." He paused for a moment, paying close attention to the clay vase as he began adding the smallest details with some orange paint. Then, after a couple of seconds, he said, "You and Roxy are the same age as Allison, Comrade. The three of you would get along great."
Allison turned out to be the highlight of moving to Chicago. Yeah, I still loathed leaving Russia and the brutal moments that completely changed Roxy and I still haunted us today, but that basket case almost instantly became somebody important in our lives.
"Make sure to get those pants into the hamper then. You know how much your grandmother loves all things neat and tidy." the sound of my grandfather's voice hastily dragged me back into the present time.
"Yeah, I will, Grandpa."
He nodded at me in approval, but when he opened his mouth to say something else, he was cut off from a loud and sharp cough erupting from his throat. Quickly, Grandpa flew his fist up to his mouth, just as a sea of dry coughs began to overflow the inside of his slightly quivering chest. One rough cough flew out of him after another.
"Grandpa?" My eyes were wide and swimming in strong concern. "Grandpa! Grandpa, breathe!" I placed my hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, hoping that would give him the smallest hint of comfort.
After a few more seconds, the hard coughing fit came to an end. With an unbelievable amount of relief, my grandfather drew in a deep breath of relief, holding it in for a couple of moments to give the oxygen a chance to whirl around his shitty lungs. Then, after releasing the air, Grandpa began to quietly pant as he allowed a small and obviously tired grin to sweep across his face.
"I'm okay, Comrade. I'm okay." he assured me, but it still took me a few seconds of hesitation before I slowly removed my hand from his shoulder.
"You really need to get back to bed, Grandpa." I said, my eyebrows raised in seriousness. "You need your rest and I really need to get my shower over with."
It took my grandfather a moment to think what I said through, but he finally nodded his head in agreement.
"Okay, Comrade. You're right." Grandpa rubbed the back of his neck. "But if I were you, I would make sure to cover all of those up."
When I noticed my grandfather's eyes darting back and forth from my left arm to my right, I felt my cheeks tingle. A strong burning sensation flooded across them, but I ignored it as much as I could. Biting down on my bottom lip, I hazily eyed my arms. All up and down them both, there were dozens of diagonal, horizontal, and vertical scars that were printed on my vaguely tan skin.
"I already planned on doing that, Grandpa." I said, almost having to force myself to drag my attention away from my arms. "Now go get some more rest."
My Grandpa nodded. "I'll see you and Roxy later on today. Make sure you behave in detention, Comrade. I love you and Roxy both." He offered me another one of those small and tired smiles before he exited my bedroom, leaving me to do what I often always did when I was alone. Battle the dark and haunting memories that were taking no hesitation to flood back into my mind.
Approaching my bathroom door, I ran my thumbs over my knuckles. Like always, I left the wooden door open only a crack, but it briskly flew open after I sharply plowed my fist into it, causing it to hit the wall in the process. The echoing BOOM the door made noisily stayed in my head, followed by the next BOOM when I slammed it shut behind me. After stripping my pajamas and boxers from my slim, but very muscular body, I tossed them into the hamper by the toilet and hopped into the shower.
The water was cold, almost resembling the freezing cold rain during a spring storm, but I didn't care. I rested my eyes shut and released a deep breath, feeling the chilly water overrun nearly every inch of my tall figure. While washing my chest with the orange bar of soap, I miserably failed to not think about the hundreds of more scars that were imprinted on my hard abs and flat stomach. There were even some marked on my upper thighs.
I usually took half-an-hour long showers, but due to receiving another damn Saturday detention, I had to wrap this one up by the time I reached fifteen minutes.
I squeezed the remains of the freezing shower water out of my dark brown, shoulder length hair with my towel before I carelessly abandoned it on the tile floor. Then, after trudging back into my bedroom, now dressed in an outfit that didn't expose a single one of my scars, I snatched up my deep blue knapsack from where I left it beside my ebony dresser.
"It's all your fault..." I could hear my very own Russian accent hissing at me inside of my head. The insanely dark memories were beginning to attack me harder, just like they always did on their own schedule. Sometimes I did a very impressive job at delaying that schedule, but other times, I was unfortunate.
My heart was slowly beginning to pick up the pace as I took a seat on my bed.
"Nobody cares..." I clenched my eyes shut, starting to tap my curled up fingers against my thighs in an attempt to grab a hold of what was going on inside of me. I knew exactly what I had, and I could go on and on bitching about how much of a pain in the ass it was. Though, to spare the time, it's simple for me to just say it like this: having depression at seventeen sucked.
I began to try shifting my thoughts over to Allison to attempt fighting the dark memories. Other than my grandparents and Roxy, Allison was the only one who knew about me having depression. Notice that I said she knew that I had depression, not that she knew why I had it. Because she didn't; and I sure as hell wasn't ever going to admit it. She might've been mine and Roxy's friend, but nobody deserved to know anything behind why I developed depression. It wasn't like anybody noticed that I had anything anyway. I was a professional at disguising my depression. Sometimes I even forgot that I had it myself.
Opening up one of the three drawers that were built into my nightstand, I began pulling out some pairs of my socks and stuffing them into my knapsack. I could feel the waves of relief beginning to spread throughout my body as the haunting memories began to go back into hiding. However, after I removed the final pair of socks that I wanted from my drawer, my heart took such a gigantic leap that I could've sworn that it almost perfectly resembled the sharp shock of a taser. I could've sworn that my eyes looked like they were about to bulge clear out of my head. There, resting on top of a couple of more socks, was a pocketknife that I had snuck away from my father back at my old house in Russia.
"Do it...you deserve it...it's all your fault..." My hand began to quiver a bit, causing me to drop the last pair of socks that I had picked up. "Do it...and all this pain will go away..." I knew that was a definite lie. If 'it' made the pain go away, I wouldn't have depression. "Come on...it's all your fault..." I narrowed my eyes in anger, gripping a hold of the blade's handle and lifting it slowly, studying how the dim early morning lighting from my window shined against the jagged silver.
My heartbeat was wild, each rapid pump echoing inside of my head. Rage was pouring through my veins, my blood beginning to heat up to the point where it felt like I had molting lava burning its way throughout my entire body. A strong burning sensation began to heat up my nostrils and the tips of my ears, as if hot steam was being created from my unbreakable amount of fury. The hushed whispers that used my own voice against me wouldn't stop screaming inside of my head, drowning me in my own anger. Torturing me, actually. The memories swooshed back and forth, causing my lips to peel back and reveal my tightly clenching teeth. I began to tug at the edge of my sleeve, feeling my thoughts of Allison get buried by my evil past.
I looked at the portion of my arm that was now exposed, hearing "DO IT!" repeatedly bellow inside of my head. By this point, I felt like I was on fire from being so pissed at myself. Slowly, I began to inch the sharpness of the pocketknife towards my scarred arm, drawing in one deep breath after another. In just a matter of seconds-
"Comrade!"
Immediately, I snapped out of it. As soon as I heard the sound of my grandmother's voice calling out my name from downstairs, every memory that was attacking me from the past seemed to wash out of my system. All of the loud screams of fury that disguised themselves with my own voice came to a sharp halt. My eyes shot open, just as a gigantic deep breath flung itself down my throat. I blinked a couple of times, feeling the strong heat that coated my whole body begin to fade away. I released the deep breath slowly, grasping a rough hold on what just happened. Pursing my lips in slight disappointment and remaining anger, I stared at the pocketknife that hadn't left my hand. Immediately, I remembered the feeling that I always had after slitting myself. The feeling of my hot blood trickling down my arm from the open self-wounds...it was difficult to just forget about. Actually, I couldn't forget about it for a variety of reasons.
"Comrade!" my Grandma called out again, but this time, her accent was more eager. "Get down here!"
I hastily pulled my long sleeve back down. "I'm coming, Grandma!" And with that, I leaped back up onto my feet, jammed the blade into one of the empty pockets of my jeans, and swung my knapsack over my shoulder as I hurried out of my room. If there was one thing that usually prevented the haunting memories from attacking me, it was when I was in the presence of other people. Which, by the way, was terribly ironic since I didn't really get along with anybody at all.
The delicious aroma of scrambled eggs, bacon, and chocolate chip pancakes practically trampled me by the time I reached the center of the carpeted staircase. However, not only was my appetite commonly low, especially in the morning, but as soon as I picked up the scent of brewing coffee, disgust swept across my face. I hated coffee.
I gulped down a gag that had only made it to the middle of my throat and ignored the smell of the coffee as I leaned in the kitchen's arch doorway.
My seventy-six-year-old grandmother (who actually looked very good for her age) was currently flipping some of the pancakes on the stove. She had her silky grey hair, which was still as naturally curly as it always had been, pulled back into a ponytail by a navy blue colored ribbon. The knee-length cotton dress that she was wearing was solid white, but it was also covered with the pattern of dozens of different pastel colored roses.
"Hey, Grandma," I greeted her, but my confused eyes slowly wandered around the clean and neatly organized kitchen. "Where's Roxy?"
"Oh, she's still getting ready," my Grandma informed, peeking over her shoulder at me. I could see that she was also wearing the shiny pearl necklace and matching earrings that Grandpa had bought her for their most recent anniversary over a month ago.
It didn't take long for me to notice that Grandma was carefully studying me from my feet to the top of my head. I wasn't dumb; I knew that she was making sure that my outfit was appropriate or some shit like that. But I had to admire the love and protection that she had for Roxy and I...no matter how much it often got on my last freaking nerves.
I stared down at myself, as if I was giving myself my own clothes examination.
My black leather jacket that zipped diagonally was fully unzipped, revealing the plain white T-shirt that I was wearing underneath it. Its material was thin, but the shirt was still unable to be seen through. As for my jeans, they were noticeably worn out; the part around my shins had gotten so old that small holes were beginning to form in the fabric, but I didn't care. I had always worn pants that were slightly baggier on my figure, so my jeans, especially around my thighs and shins, sagged just a little. A deep green and black checkered flannel was tied around my waist, just in case I got tired of wearing my leather jacket at any point during the damn detention. Lastly, a pair of teal converse that were practically brand new (as long as nobody counted the single hole that was in the top of the right one) were on my feet. In my eyes, I looked pretty damn good.
"Okay, Comrade, take a seat at the table. You and I need to have a little talk." said my Grandmother as she turned one of the knobs on the stove slightly before making eye contact with me again. She must have approved of my outfit...which was great because I sure as hell wasn't in the mood to be instructed to go change.
When Grandma looked away from me again in order to retrieve a mug from one of the cabinets, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. If only I got paid to listen to this damn lecture every time I got assigned another Saturday to spend in detention...
Nonetheless, as much as I wanted to at least try to convince Grandma to have this conversation with me when Roxy and I got back home, I decided to silently curse in Russian in my head and suck it up.
Slipping off my knapsack, I dropped it to the tile floor and pulled out one of the four wooden chairs that surrounded the rectangular table. As soon as I took a seat, I kicked my feet up and used the chair beside me as a footstool. However, when I glanced back at my grandma, not only did I see her getting ready to pour herself some of the heavily scented coffee, but she was staring at me with her eyebrows raised and hazel eyes glazed with solid seriousness. I received that look hundreds of times from her, so I knew exactly what it meant. Pursing my lips, I slowly removed my feet from the chair that was beside mine.
"Comrade, where do you think I should start this conversation?" Grandma asked as she poured some of the dark coffee into her sunflower themed mug. "Actually, maybe I should start with how you and Roxy have only been here for almost four months and you have managed to get so many detentions that I can't even give a direct number as to how many you got!"
I was avoiding eye contact, looking down at the lacey placemat that was in front of me. "Yeah, I can't give a direct number of how many I got either." I muttered in complete honesty.
There was a small pause, which I could tell was from my grandmother taking a sip of her coffee.
"Oh, Comrade," Grandma sighed, shaking her head slightly. "You and Roxy only have one more year before graduating, but do you honestly think that any college is going to want to accept you with your increasing detentions? If you keep this up, it's only a matter of time before you get kicked out of school! Do you even want to make something out of your life?"
I nodded, still not looking at my grandmother. She and my grandpa were complete opposites.
"Then you have to get a hold of this rebellious phase." instructed my grandmother. That had me instantly looking up at her, and it came to my realization that she was now sitting across the table from me. It wasn't a phase I was going through...
"It's not a phase," I blurted out before I could even catch myself just thinking about saying it. Hard seriousness was glowing in my eyes. "Phases don't last a little over five years, Grandma."
There was another pause in the conversation. I witnessed a glimpse of pity sparkle across my grandmother's eyes as a small frown tugged at the corners of her glossy lips. Resting her eyes shut for a couple of seconds, Grandma drew in a quiet breath through her nostrils. For a few more extra seconds, she held it in; but then released it through her mouth. When her eyes reopened, I could see them drowning in sadness.
"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have brought up..." my Grandmother attempted going on with her apology, but I held up my hand, signaling for her to stop.
"You don't have to be sorry. Besides, you have the right to talk about her," I said, the 'her' being one of the main reasons behind why I developed my "I'm-the-devil-in-disguise" side. "I mean, she was your daughter."
The sorrow expanded in my grandma's eyes as she softly nodded her head. I could feel a large frown attempting to smear itself across my face, but I wouldn't allow the slightest hint of a pout to mold its way onto my lips. The plain look on my face remained perfectly straight.
"As for my detentions," I said, changing the topic for my grandmother's sake. "Shermer High School sucks ass, Grandma. The only thoughts that run through my mind while I'm there is making sure that I survive until summer vacation and that I keep Roxy safe."
Grandma must have been too caught up in dwelling on her remaining sadness to notice that I cussed, which I was truly very grateful for. I really didn't need another lecture.
"Comrade..." my Grandmother sighed, right before she took another small sip of her coffee. At first, I noticed her eyeing my right wrist, even though my sleeves covered up each of the scars that I had on both of my arms, but then she glued her eyes back on mine. "I know you love your sister...you have always been there for her, especially ever since...well..."
"I know," I said in a natural tone with a small shrug of my left shoulder, as if it was the simplest topic to discuss in the whole world. "The incidents."
"Yes, the incidents," Grandma nodded, "but I'm afraid that...well, you know that you can't be there to always protect her. God created her to walk down her own path in this world, just like He did for you..." I had started to look down at the placemat again, but I immediately looked back into my grandmother's eyes when she reached across the table and grabbed one of my warm hands. Her hand felt leathery and a bit cooler. "You can't try to always be there for her, Comrade. You know that." Grandma said, the pity glimmering like a billion gems in her eyes.
I gently pulled my hand away from hers, having no choice but to be a little forceful to show her that I wanted her to let go. When she did, I stood up from my chair, pushing it back in afterwards.
"Grandma," I said, looking at her with the same dead serious expression that she had plastered on her face just minutes before. "I lost the opportunity to try helping her that night when she went out. Now there is no more trying on my behalf. There is only doing." I snatched my knapsack back up from the floor and arched my eyebrows again when I stared at my grandmother once more. "If you'll excuse me now, I have to get Roxy. We have to be at the school by seven and it's already 6:43."
Straightening her lips out for a moment, Grandma slowly nodded her head at me. Then without another word, I sprang out of the kitchen, feeling my grandmother's eyes following me until I was no longer in her sight.
I towered back up the carpeted staircase and marched down the slim hallway that must've had a million of framed pictures hanging on the walls. After reaching the wooden door that was across the hall from my bedroom, I froze in my tracks and raised my fist, knocking a couple of times.
It only took a couple of seconds before the sound of Roxy's Russian slang called out, "Come in!"
The smallest hint of a grin known to all of mankind poked around the corners of my lips.
Silently, I grabbed the spherical knob and turned it as far as it could go, opening the door. Almost instantly, after I noticed a quick glimpse of the dozens of neatly organized shoes that were on the floor, directly in front of the foot of the bed, my eyes landed on Roxy. She was standing in front of her dresser, her left hand pinned to her hip with her other hand occupied in clutching the top of her foldable red and white cane. Her backside was facing my direction, but that didn't stop me from noticing how she was actually dressed in something that wasn't one of the plenty of nightgowns that our grandmother had spoiled her with as soon as we moved in.
Instead, she was wearing a dark blue shirt that I could tell had long sleeves, but Roxy had rolled them up so the fabric squished together, now reaching to the tops of her elbows. Other than that, I realized that she also had on the leather vest that I had gave her on our fourteenth birthday. It was created out of the same black material that my leather jacket was made out of. Also, it zipped vertically in the front, but Roxy always left it unzipped. As for the two small pockets, one designed over the sides of both of her breasts, Roxy always left those horizontal zippers shut. As much as I despised it, most of Roxy's long legs were exposed due to how her denim skirt only reached the center of her thighs. (That was sure as hell something I was going to make sure that no other fellow detention goers were going to pay attention to today. Bitches better mind their damn eyes if they don't want to have them torn out of their freaking skulls.) Four different colored rubber bracelets were slipped around Roxy's right wrist, and she had a deep red and sparkly belt running through the few loops of her denim skirt. And lastly, there were a pair of violet, noticeably worn out sneakers tied neatly on her feet.
"Who's there?" Roxy's voice immediately snapped me out of my private outfit examination.
"It's me, Roxy," I replied, fixing my attention back to the back of her head. She had her long, naturally wavy, jet-black hair pulled back into a slightly messy ponytail with a cream colored scrunchy. "I must admit that I'm pretty damn impressed right now. You actually managed to get dressed all by yourself."
At first, Roxy didn't say anything back. She was still facing her dresser with her headphones tucked into her pierced ears. I could see her own Walkman (we both got them together on our twelfth birthday) pressed against her right hip. If I had to guess what song she was listening to, I would say it was West End Girls by Pet Shop Boys, considering the way that she was vaguely tapping the end of her cane against the carpeted floor to a specific rhythm.
"What's the matter?" I asked, knowing by her silence that something was bothering her. "Shouldn't you be feeling proud of yourself for changing without any help?"
I didn't need to see Roxy's face to know that a pout that molded into her lips. With a tiny sigh, she tugged one of her headphones out, but left the other one in. "Comrade," Roxy said, her voice laced with soft sorrow. "I would probably feel more accomplished if I could actually see how I look."
"Roxy..." I began to say something, but I immediately shut myself the hell up when I realized that my accent was drenched in pity. There were dozens of things that Roxy loathed due to her condition, and one of them was none other than receiving pity, especially from me.
I pressed my lips together, transforming them into a straight line as I started to walk across the doable sized room. Roxy didn't move a muscle, looking like she was a statue. I was just about to open my mouth to see if I could come up with a way to change the topic. Nevertheless, as soon as I saw Roxy's eyes...the eyes that perfectly resembled two bright silver, practically glowing, and somewhat dusty crystal balls...I realized that they weren't blinking directly at her dresser. Instead, when I followed the direction of her blank gaze, it was clear that she was really staring at the three framed pictures that were on top of her dresser.
In one picture, Roxy was flashing a large smile, sitting properly in the grass of the freshly bloomed garden that was back at our old home in Russia. She was dressed in a knee-length, bright yellow sundress and neon blue flip-flops, which helped expose the red nail polish that she had coating all ten of her toenails. Also around her neck, she had on the necklace that our mother had gave her on our tenth birthday. It was a simple silver chain with a jewel-encrusted heart locket hanging from it, each gem a different pastel color. However, what really got to me about that picture was how around Roxy's waist was a pair of arms - a pair of arms that belonged to a dark-haired boy named Damien. He had his chin resting on Roxy's shoulder, both of their heads bobbing against each other happily.
In another one of the photos, a brunette woman was dressed completely in white and holding a bouquet of orange tulips. A long veil raced down her back and touched the aisle of a church, which was covered in bright red rose petals. Pastel yellow and solid white decorations were spread all around in the background, two flickering candles by the floral alter noticeable to the flash that the camera must have made while taking the picture. A taller and noticeably muscular black-haired man that was dressed in a black tux stood beside the gleeful woman, his arm draped around her as he also shot a grin to the photographer.
The last picture had me bite down on my bottom lip. It was of the same brunette woman, dressed in a solid orange tank top and a mid-length floral skirt. She had her long hair gorgeously curled, the breeze having it whistle around softly in the air, and both of her hands were folded directly on top of her stomach. It was noticeable that she must have been at least four months into a pregnancy.
"I really wish you would let me take these pictures down..." I said in a slimly sighing tone, now standing directly at Roxy's side.
Roxy turned her head in the direction of my voice, having no choice but to crank her neck up a little. We might have been fraternal twins, but unlike me, Roxy looked more like she was fifteen instead of seventeen.
It came to my attention when Roxy looked at me that she really was wearing the locket that our mother gave her around her neck.
"You and I both know that if you really wanted to take these pictures down, you would have done it by now." Roxy pointed out.
I scoffed, feeling almost insulted. "Hell will freeze over on the day I take any kind of advantage of your blindness, Roxy." I flipped my hair back, pausing for a moment before I said anything else. "Anyway...I already packed some of my socks in my bag to give to Allison. Do you have anything for me to give her?"
"Yeah," Roxy replied, as though she didn't hear what I said about hell freezing over. "It's all on my bed."
Dragging my attention away from the three framed pictures, I strolled over to the bed that was in the opposite corner of the room. As soon as my eyes laid on the items that were clustered together in a pile on the soft comforter, I immediately felt them expand, as if they suddenly became too large for my head.
"Lace boy shorts?" I practically had to force the words out of my throat. With the tip of my index finger and thumb, I pinched the edge of one of the plenty of pairs of completely lacey panties, lifting it up from the pile so I could examine it at eye level.
Roxy turned around in the direction of my voice, sliding the end of her cane against the carpeted floor in the process. "That's what Allison requested when I asked her if there was anything particular that she would like me to get for her at the mall," she explained, just as I dropped the pair of dark purple underwear back into the pile. "She also asked for me to get her some bras and a couple of-"
"Tampons," I cut her off when I tugged out one of the women monthly protectors from where it was peeking out from underneath a new black bra. "I can see that. That's sure as hell more than I needed to know about her."
I tossed the tampon back into the cluster and flipped open my knapsack, beginning to scoop up handfuls of the panties, matching bras, and lady products. "The things we do for that basket case..." I mumbled under my breath as I stuffed one fistful after another into my bag, but Roxy must have heard me, because she scoffed.
"You know you like her, Comrade."
I didn't stop jamming the underwear and women necessities into my knapsack as I spoke. "That's a damn lie. Allison is just a friend."
Roxy chuckled a little at my words. "You damn sure are an impressive liar. That's one of the millions of things that I just hate, but also can't help but admire about you."
I froze with what I was doing, two tampons and a deep red pair of lacey panties with a matching bra being clutched in my hand as I gazed over my shoulder at Roxy. I saw her still staring in my direction, a pretty smile toying around on her lips as the slowly increasing morning sunlight helped bring out the brightness of her silver eyes. Nonetheless, just as I was about to go back to stuffing the remains of the underwear and women products into my bag, something else snatched a hold of my attention. It was the front of Roxy's shirt; until now, I didn't realize this. There was the image of a vaguely glittery, silver heart designed over the center of her breasts, and just inches below it, there was a quote that was fancily written in Russian. In the same shade of silver, it said, "Боль Рано оставляет вас с Старинный сердце." ... 'Pain Sooner Leaves You With A Restored Heart.'
I could feel the strong irony beginning to pump through my veins. It made me feel like a bomb was beginning to tick in the pit of my stomach as my blood slowly started to heat up from anger. Every scar that was imprinted on my body started to feel like it was beginning to tingle, but my irritation instantly decided to steadily fade when I fixed my eyes back on Roxy's face to notice that she was no longer smiling. Her head was now tilted a little to the left, and confusion was sparkling like stars in her sightless eyes.
"Comrade, what's wrong?" Roxy asked, her just as noticeable Russian accent dripping in concern.
"Nothing," I almost immediately replied as I went back to focusing on stuffing the remains of the women monthly protectors and sexy underwear into my knapsack. I allowed a couple of seconds of silence to pass by before I said something else. "Are you all set to leave for detention? It's..." I then took a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on Roxy's nightstand before continuing the packing. "It's 6:50 and we have to be at the school by seven." During situations like this, we were lucky to live just a couple of minutes away from shitty Shermer.
Roxy gave me an eye roll, and then went on saying, "I can't believe Mr. Vernon gave me detention for what happened between me, Carmen Fry, and Megan Tanner."
I didn't have the slightest clue who these 'Carmen Fry' and 'Megan Tanner' people were, and not to mention what Roxy even did to manage getting her ass landed in Saturday detention today.
"I know that Vernon will always be nothing but a bitch, but nothing should be terrible to the point where he forces a handicapped to spend-" I continued to talk, but my voice faded at my final word when Roxy cut me off.
"Please don't call me handicapped. You know how I feel about the 'H' word." Roxy nearly hissed. It might have not seemed like it with the whole blindness situation, but Roxy really possessed a sassy attitude, especially if somebody pissed her off. For fraternal twins, that was the only mental similarity that Roxy and I shared; however, she just said whatever she came up with. I, on the other hand, always stated the truth.
"Sorry," I mumbled. By this point, I had finally finished jamming all of the items into my knapsack. I closed it back up and swung its strap over my shoulder, turning myself back around so I was facing Roxy's direction. She was still looking where she had heard me rummaging through all of Allison's new underwear and female necessities, stuffing them all into my bag. "Now you didn't answer my question," I said, "are you ready to head to the school or not?"
I didn't see how she couldn't be ready; she was dressed, I had already packed her backpack up the night before, and Grandma was the one who was covering the lunches.
"Yeah, I'm ready." Roxy replied, but I could detect the hint of uncertainty in her tone.
"No, you're not," I released a small huff, desperately failing at not making it sound annoyed. "I can tell that you want something, Roxy. Tell me what it is and I'll get it for you."
Roxy pursed her lips for a minute, not even bothering to deny my objection. "Fine...I want you to put Mom's picture in my bag. I want to take it with us."
I could've sworn I felt my heart lock up in my chest. My eyes grew. I arched my eyebrows. "...Mom's picture?" I asked, clearly caught off guard. "You want to take Mom's picture with us to detention?"
"Yeah, is that a problem?" Roxy asked, sort of battering those sightless eyes in my direction. "After all, you're the one who promised to get me what I wanted."
Even though I often did a shitty job at it, I always wanted to make Roxy feel happy all the time. Not only that, but like I said just a couple of minutes ago, I refused to take any kind of advantage to her blindness; and that included lying to her just because she couldn't see me hiding it.
I drew in a deep breath through my nostrils and held it in for a few moments, finally releasing it through my mouth. "I'll get it, Roxy." I assured. Her glowing eyes followed the sound of my converse stepping across the floor. Without a word, I snatched the framed picture of the pregnant brunette woman off from the top of the dresser. While unzipping one of the compartments of Roxy's backpack, which I had retrieved from the oak chair that was parked in front of her computer desk, I refused to look at the young lady's face in the photograph.
Carefully, I positioned the framed picture behind a couple of Roxy's folders and books, making sure to keep it hidden.
"Do you got it, Comrade?" Roxy asked.
"Yes, I got it," I muttered as I reclosed the compartment. "Do you want me to help lead you around today?"
Roxy was already folding up her adjustable cane before I even finished the question. "Yeah."
Going back to that endless list of things that Roxy despised about her blindness; next to receiving pity, Roxy hated walking around in public with her cane because she didn't admire the attention that immediately snapped on her. She might've not been able to see anything, but she sure as hell could often tell when others were staring at her with condoling expressions plastered on their faces. At least when I offered to escort her around, not as many people froze in their tracks to shoot her sympathetic looks.
"All right." I took Roxy's cane from her and slid it into the side compartment of her backpack, which was usually occupied by a water bottle during the weekdays. Then, I carefully grabbed my sister's wrist and led her hand to my shoulder. I felt her fingers curl, digging into the leather of my jacket. "You good?" I asked.
She nodded slightly. "Yeah, let's go. The faster we arrive to that shit hole, the faster we get to come back home."
A small smirk curled up on the corners of my lips. "Hey, calling Shermer High School a shit hole is my thing." I informed her with slight sarcasm as I escorted her out of her bedroom.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Roxy even more sarcastically said. "The faster we get to that hell hole, the faster we get to come back home."
Hearing that got a couple of small chuckles out of me, but I remained focused on leading my sister down the hallway. The grip that she had on my shoulder stayed firm, especially when we reached the staircase. Like always, I stepped down a single stair and then waited as Roxy stepped down the one that was directly behind me, her hand not leaving my shoulder for a single second. Since our old home back in Russia was also a two-story house, Roxy did a pretty impressive job at climbing the staircase at a faster speed each time.
"Grandma, we're leaving!" I called out as soon as Roxy and I reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Not so fast!" Grandma called back, the short distance of her traveling accent revealing that she was still in the kitchen.
"Damn." I mumbled under my breath with an aggravated roll of my eyes. Almost every time I had to leave the house to go anywhere, especially shitty Shermer since school was the main activity that had me gone for at least six-to-seven hours, my grandmother did this freaking pathetic inspection. It's where she would have me pull out all of my pockets so she could see if I was secretly carrying around a razor, blade, or anything sharp to the point where I could use it as a self-harm weapon. And what really pissed me off right now, other than knowing that I had to leave to serve another damn detention, was how I had inattentively jammed that pocketknife from my sock drawer into one of the pockets of my jeans from being in a rush.
"Take a seat here for a second, Roxy." I instructed, helping her sit down on the couch before I gently removed her hand from my shoulder. She sat up straight, folding both of her hands together on her lap and staring sightlessly ahead, blinking every few seconds. "I'll be right back." I assured, and then I turned my attention away from her, heading back into the kitchen.
I noticed immediately that my grandma was currently occupied in cleaning up some leftover pancake batter from the counter. She had her sunflower themed mug resting beside the coffeemaker, which was in the process in brewing some more of the dark, heavily scented beverage. Being smacked in the face by that thick smell had my nose crinkling for a couple of seconds, but I shook the disgust off the best that I could and focused on the time.
"Hey, Grandma, Roxy and I are kind of in a rush." I informed, stretching 'kind of' out to prove how much of an understatement it was.
Grandma had snapped her head up as soon as she heard me address her. "Excuse me, Comrade, but that's no way to start a conversation with your grandmother."
"I'm not trying to start a conversation," I sharply retorted. "I'm trying to make sure that I get Roxy and I to detention on time."
My grandmother raised her eyebrows, refusing to remove her attention from me as she stripped the yellow rubber gloves that she had covering her hands.
"You better watch that mouth of yours, Comrade," Grandma warned, placing her right hand on her hip. "I can guarantee that's ninety percent of the problem behind why you are in detention nearly every Saturday."
With an uninterested eye roll, I crossed my arms over my chest and mumbled under my breath, "I speak the damn truth that nobody can handle saying because they are gutless asses."
Grandma took no hesitation to stand up straight. "What was that, Comrade?" She demanded, her accent now enhanced slightly. The seriousness that was contained in her eyes couldn't have possibly been more evident.
"Nothing!" I annoyingly exclaimed.
"No, tell me what you said!" ordered my grandmother.
"I said nothing!"
"You know that we absolutely do not use that type of language underneath this roof!" Grandma proclaimed, as if I had repeated what I said just moments before.
I tightly pressed my lips together, gluing my eyes to the floor. The last thing that I needed before leaving for detention was accidentally letting it slip that Roxy and I cursed all the time whenever our grandparents weren't around, whether we were inside or outside of the house.
"Don't do it again," my grandmother said with a wag of her index finger, treating me like I was some damn kid. "You almost forgot to get Roxy's lunch. It's in the brown paper bag on the table."
Dragging my focus away from the tile floor, I rose my head back up and saw the prepared bag that Grandma was speaking of. It was waiting in the center of the kitchen table with Roxy's name neatly written in large cursive letters across one of the sides.
"I was going to make a lunch for you today too, but you never told me what you would like." Grandma informed.
When I stated earlier that my appetite was usually low in the morning...yeah, it was low during the time my lunch period was scheduled at Shermer too. I knew how much it irritated my grandparents when I barely ate anything. My lack of an appetite was the reason why my grandmother always gave me my plate during dinner first, and she would make sure to have extra servings of food covering it. The main meal that I commonly devoured was dinner, but that didn't stop me from sometimes eating smaller portions of food for breakfast and lunch.
"I'm going to take a lemon for lunch," I said, somewhat muttering from holding back my previous aggravation.
"A lemon?" Grandma asked, the tone of her voice giving it away that she didn't know if I was kidding or not. "You want to have just a lemon for lunch?"
"And a bottle of water," I replied with a small shrug of one of my shoulders. "I'll take an apple for breakfast, too."
My grandmother puffed her cheeks out, hesitating for a couple of seconds before she caved. "Okay, if that's what you want." Though, the sound of her voice gave it away that she was clearly confused.
While Grandma began to carefully examine a couple of apples from the fancily designed fruit bowl like they were irreplaceable diamonds, I snatched up the first lemon I saw from one of the lower compartments of the fridge. Rubbing it slightly against my shirt, I blew a small puff of air against its bright yellow skin, right before I reached further into the back of the fridge and grabbed one of the unopened bottles of cold water.
Just as I carelessly dropped the lemon into a different paper bag, my grandmother began to wash the apple that she had finally picked out under the sink's faucet. She must have studied five other apples before she finally chose a bright red one that looked just as okay as all of the other ones did. After rinsing the apple, Grandma spun one of the handles around a couple of times, turning the water off.
"Okay, Comrade," Grandma said, using a nearby rag to dry off the curvy apple. "I believe you know by now what happens next."
I gave my hard eyes a roll. "Let me guess, you want to see what's in my pockets?"
"You know I only have you do this because I love you." informed Grandma.
Instead of saying anything back, considering I've heard that excuse come from my grandmother too many damn times to count, I plopped my paper bag down on the kitchen table beside Roxy's and jammed my fist into my right pocket. I wiggled my fingers around, not allowing myself to draw my attention away from my grandma's face as she watched my hand dance around inside of my pocket. Finally, I pulled out what turned out to be my keychain that had the key to my car and a copy of the key to the front door of the house hanging from it, along with an unopened pack of mint gum.
"What about your other pocket?" Grandma asked. She extended her arm out to me, the fresh apple resting in the palm of her hand.
I looked at her, a slight scowl plastered on my face as I silently took the apple from her. Without waiting, I sunk my teeth through the red skin and tasted the juice run through my mouth as I bit a chunk of the apple off. The taste coated my tongue immediately; in the silence, my chewing was able to be heard echoing from the inside of my mouth.
My grandmother arched her eyebrows at me. "Well, Comrade?" She asked as she then crossed her arms over her chest.
I placed the apple down on the table, but not without taking another quick bite, and as I chewed the new juicy lump that was in my mouth, I dug my opposite hand into my left pocket. Grandma's eyes flickered back and forth from my rummaging hand to the solid look that was in my eyes, but as soon as I pulled my hand out, revealing that I was now holding a pocketknife, my grandmother's new expression seemed to perfectly resemble a deer that was caught in headlights.
"A pocketknife?" Grandma was barely able to say the name of the weapon without sounding like she was choking it out. "Comrade, give that to me right this instant!"
"It isn't what it looks like, Grandma..." I informed, my voice raised slightly to get my pissed message across.
"I don't care what it looks like!" Grandma exclaimed. If Grandpa wasn't asleep, I knew that she would be bellowing loud enough that the whole neighborhood would file complaints. "Comrade, I said give me that pocketknife! Right now!"
As soon as she extended her arm towards me again, I handed the blade over. Her pale fingers curled up over its handle as she pulled it out of my reach, holding it in her grasp like it was one of the most expensive items in the entire universe.
"Oh, Comrade..." my grandmother released a sigh that was full of sudden sorrow. The seriousness that was previously glowing in her eyes had been replaced with strong sadness; and a large frown that seemed too gigantic for her face was yanking at the edges of her lips.
"It's not what it looks like, Grandma," I decided to repeat myself. "I didn't use it for anything."
"Well that doesn't mean that you weren't going to maybe use it for something sooner or later," Grandma retorted. "Comrade...you've been doing so well. After all, your therapist hasn't contacted your grandfather or I over anything about your condition for over two months now."
Like Roxy with the term 'handicapped,' I hated being described with the word 'condition.'
"Would you please stop saying that depression is a condition?" I asked more harshly than anybody would admire. "It's not like I'm the only teenager who has it."
Grandma placed her hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know your not," she said, then removing her hand, "but you're still putting yourself at the risk of slicing into your own skin whenever you feel like it."
Right there was something that I despised hearing from people. If they don't have depression, how would they know what goes through a depressed person's mind? I sure as hell didn't crave blades at times because I felt like it. That was such an unbelievable stereotype for people who were in my shoes.
"Can Roxy and I leave now?" I asked. "If we don't, we're going to be late."
My grandmother released another heavy sigh. "Comrade, I know that all of the events that happened back in Russia are still stuck in yours and Roxy's heads. I also know that your grandfather and I will never fully understand the pain that you both are presently stuck with. Nonetheless, that doesn't mean that you should break your two months of being clean."
"We really need to go, Grandma," I insisted. I had heard every word that she had said, but God knows how much I really wished that I didn't. "Roxy and I will be back around three this afternoon." I then said as I snatched up both of the brown paper bags in one of my hands. My other hand grabbed my apple, and just before I took another small bite out of it, I mumbled, "We love you and Grandpa both."
Grandma silently watched as I turned away, but when I exited the kitchen, I still heard her mutter, "We love you both, too."
Roxy was still sitting where she was in the same position on the couch when I approached her.
"Okay, Roxy," I said as I took a gentle hold of her wrist and led her hand to my shoulder again. "We're ready to go now. Come on."
At first, Roxy didn't say anything back. Instead, she curled her fingers into the leather of my jacket and stood up, not saying a word.
I led her towards the front stained glass, holding the apple in my mouth until I opened it and had Roxy step out first. She gripped the wooden railing of the front porch, taking in the feeling of the breeze that was softly blowing through the air. Nevertheless, as soon as she heard the front door close behind me, Roxy spun herself around in the direction of the sound so she was facing me.
"She's wrong, you know?"
I slightly cocked one of my eyebrows, removing the apple from my mouth. "Who's wrong?" I asked.
"Grandma," Roxy replied.
I rolled my eyes slightly. "How much of the conversation did you hear?"
Following my voice, Roxy ran her hand up my arm and ceased it when it reached my shoulder. "I heard enough," she then insisted. "I know Grandma loves us, but I got to admit that her lectures really irritate the shit out of me at times."
I breathed a small laugh. "Yeah? Well just wait until you meet bitchy Mr. Vernon. Now be careful of the steps here."
As I carefully began to lead Roxy down the few steps of the front porch, there was nothing but pure silence. Other than the sound of the breeze whistling through the air, a couple of neighborhood dogs barking in the distance, and a nearby sprinkler that was currently watering somebody's garden, there was nothing.
However, by the time Roxy stepped down the final stair with me, she broke the quietness by saying, "Two months my ass, Comrade."
"What?" I naively asked, even though I really did know what Roxy was speaking about.
Roxy casually shrugged her shoulders. "You know what I'm talking about."
"How..." I lightly bit down on my bottom lip, beginning to escort my sister over to the passenger's side of my Range Rover. "How do you know?"
It was then Roxy's turn to breathe a laugh. "Comrade, I may be blind, but I'm sure as hell not unintelligent."
I didn't know what to possibly say back, so I decided to not say anything. All I really wanted to say was for her to keep her mouth shut about that around Grandma and Grandpa, but it's obvious that she wasn't planning to rat me out. If she didn't say anything about it while our grandmother was in the middle of lecturing me about my "condition," then it was obvious that she wasn't going to tell anybody what she knew anytime soon.
After tossing our bags and lunches into the backseat, I helped Roxy get settled in the passenger's seat of my car. Then, after she insisted that she could get buckled up herself, I slammed her door shut, headed over to the opposite side of the Range Rover, and climbed into the driver's seat. I started the car, taking one last bite of the apple before I buckled on my seatbelt.
"Next stop," I announced as I chewed between words. "Shitty Shermer High School."
I was going to break the speed limit at least a little bit. It was time to take advantage of there being not as many members of the law enforcement watching the roads, considering it was an early Saturday morning.
Finally, I slammed my foot down, and I sure as hell kept my promise to myself as I backed out of the driveway, taking off down the street.
A/N: I know, probably one of the longest prologues in history! :)
This took me over a month to write! I hope you all admire how it turned out!
This prologue was meant to show pieces of the personalities and current lives of Comrade and Roxy Alexandrov, which was why it turned out so long. :) Believe me, there is still PLENTY to learn and find out about these two siblings!
Please review! I really appreciate reviews! They make my day! :) :) :D :D
The official "The Breakfast Club" starts in the next chapter, so stay tuned! :D :D :) :)
See you all in the next chapter! Thanks for reading! :D :) :) :D