Pilot
AN: IMPORTANT: I stumbled across this story while emptying my computer. This is a repost from my old username mellowlioness, the story was previously named Under the Radar. I decided to originally delete this story because I didn't think I would pick up writing it again. I think after polishing this up a bit I'm going to try and carry on from where I left off. If all goes well, I plan on making this story 50k words—hopefully. I have the pilot and chapter three from the old post, but chapter two is missing, so I will have to fill in the blanks the best I can. This story was one of my first encounters with writing so it's poorly worded; I hope that chapter four and beyond will be better than the beginning chapters.
"I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it."
—the Bell Jar - By: Sylvia Plath
When you take a shower at a gas station you tend to realize how futile everything seems to be. Because after you wash all the dirt and grime off of yourself, you look around at the stall you're standing in and see even more dirt, mold, and squished bugs and you feel dirty all over again. I have come to peace with the fact I will never be clean if I continue taking showers at truck stops.
I leave the bathroom and hand the clerk my fake ID, pointing to a pack of cigarettes with one hand and putting the last of my cash on the counter with my other. As I close the gas station door behind me I was doing math in my head to see if I had to walk the rest of the way to Canada. I had spent all my money on gas, cigarettes, and the occasional on dollar menu burger. So I need to use the rest of the gas I had to get to Canada. I need to get to Canada, I had promised myself that if a got to Canada I would have at least of traveled before I killed myself.
Though I'm rather proud of myself for having money this long considering I was a minor driving across the country trying to hid from my past. But right now I wasn't focused on my past or Canada, I was only vaguely aware of where I was driving and more focused on the cool breeze coming from the window. The car I was driving had broken air conditioning so the icy current was a welcomed change, considering I had been eating, sleeping, and in general living in this car for two year.
Suddenly lights lit the road; I squinted because the sun had gone down hours ago and I thought there were no towns between the gas station and Seattle, but street lamps were a sure sign there was a town. Duh. I glance at the town welcoming sign and read 'Forks'. I gasped and the cigarette in my mouth almost slipped out. I quickly pulled over and reached in my glove box for the letter my Aunt Emily had sent me a week before I left home for good. I skimmed through the letter and found the part where she mentioned her engagement and gave me the address of her fiancé's house and a tidbit saying she was moving in and that she live by Forks now. I decide to just drive by her house; I should at least see her house, she is after all the only person who actually somewhat cared about me.
I was blind by excitement that I could get to see her—her house, I mentally correct myself. I turn on the radio and absentmindedly flip though the stations until I got to the address. When I saw cars in the driveway I got excited and immediately pull over. I climb out of the car mechanically walking up to the door, raised my hand to knock, and then hesitate. I immediately got self-aware as I thought of the possibility of Emily hating me or being mad that I ran away and kicking me out. I shut my eyes and leaned against the front door running my fingers though my hair.
Just as I gather my courage to knock the door swings open. I see now that I'm interrupting a swim suit model convention, though they couldn't actually be considering the weather. I feel the tempter rise, I begin to sweat, and I know I'm blushing. "I'm sorry," I cringe in embarrassment and at the fact that my voice came out as a whisper, "I didn't realize." 'What?!' I mental shouted at myself. 'You didn't realize that a people were going to be here? Because I believe that's the main reason I'm here right now!' "Emily lives here right?" I look at all of the males in the room and lock eyes with one for a millisecond and cringe once more in embarrassment.
A stronger, older looking one looks at me and said "Why? Who are you?"
"I'm Iris" I look at him in hopes Emily showed him a picture of me or mentioned me when I left home.
"Emily doesn't know an Iris." He spoke defensively. I could feel whatever was left of my pride disappear and my stature deflate.
She didn't mention it to me; she obviously didn't want me in her life. "Oh, never mind. Sorry for intruding." I turn to leave feeling nauseous and the embarrassment of a life-time.
I open the door and Emily was standing there, groceries in hand and a scar on her face. I was alarmed by the scar, but made a mental note not to mention it, considering I didn't like people mentioning mine. Emily drop the groceries as her hands fly to her mouth. She turns pale as if she's seen a ghost.
She gasps "oh my god," and tears well up in her eyes. "I thought you were dead." I was never good at dealing with sad people so I just stood there silent. "Wh-where have you been? I- it- wh-" and she then began sobbing. The man who had spoken to me came over and held her. I could feel all of the 'swim suit models' staring at me.
I felt out of place, so I decide to smoothly offer up a way for her to get rid of me. "I can go if you want; I was just quick stopping by." The entire sentence was whispered stupidly. Smooth I comment sarcastically in my head. Emily just shook her head at me.
I look around awkwardly and spot him, stare-boy, I walked towards him and jerking my head to the right, he understood the command and scooted over. I could feel myself growing less awkward and weak; and becoming bitchier, cold, and in-control. Emily was calming down, and I don't know how I can explain to her what happened, where I'm going, and what I'm planning on doing
I sat quietly observing the group of people I had stumbled upon. It's odd how the mind works; when a crises needs to be addressed suddenly everything seems to be much more important. It's like the pressure of the situation, to spill my guts out to Emily or stay silent and carry on the Canada, is nagging constantly in the back of my head yet I can't bring myself to focus on it long enough to come to a decision on what to say. It's as if acknowledging the situation at hand will suddenly make it real and make it something that could affect me when in actuality it will affect me whether I act like it's real or not.
As I look around the room it becomes apparent to me that there also happens to be a girl in the group of 'swim-suit models'. She had a bitchy don't-mess-with-me type look on her face; I had a feeling we would either be good friends or arch-nemeses. Say what you want about girls who act like 'bitches' we know how to get the job done. In fact, my no-shit attitude is actually the only thing I like about myself; it never failed to get me what I needed.
I glance around the house; and I have to admit it's adorable, but it had taken some abuse. The couch I was situated on, in between muscles one and two, had rips and was weathered down from people constantly sit down and standing up. The wooden coffee table in front of the couch had pale rings on it from people carelessly putting colds drinks on the table. I didn't need to be the famous Sherlock Holmes to deduce that this was an often meeting place for this, cult, which Emily somehow gotten mixed into. I would make observations about the people sitting around the coffee table, but I can't bring myself to peel my eyes away from the ground.
It suddenly became evident to me that they were expecting me the say something. I force myself to look towards Emily's direction; I needed to say something, anything. Christ, I show up out of nowhere, ten at night, and walk up to her house, uninvited might I add, without knowing what I was going to say! I am I a complete idiot?! I needed something witty, clever, something that will explain everything. "Well, you said in your letter I should come and visit; here I am. I hope I'm not too late." I said confidently trying to break the tension by making a joke at the situation at hand. The tension just thickened at the sound of my voice. So I guess a joke wasn't the best idea in this situation.
Silence. It's excruciatingly quiet. The kind of noiselessness that's so painful that it's the equivalent of long nails slowly being dragged down a chalkboard with no specific length, it's simply infinite. Yet, that example is not valid, because how can I possibly compare a horrible noise to no noise at all and dare try to say they are the same. You cannot tell a blind man what orange looks like, nor can tell a person how to ride a bike; some things you must experience, and some experiences I wish upon no soul, but one must play the hand dealt to them by fate.