AN: hiya, people, ima baaaaaack! *does happy dance* miss me? so, yeah, this was another random plot bunny that attacked me.. this one was MEAN too… *shudders* ok, y'all, I hope you enjoy this one!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOW OWN TOKIO HOTEL, MUCH AS I MAY WISH TO!
CLAIMER: I DO OWN NOELLE SHANAHAN AND HER FAMILY, SO STEAL AND DIE! *evil laughter*
Noelle, Five Years Old
"Shut up! Don't you know when to leave people alone?"
"I'm sorry, but…"
"You're not sorry! Just leave me alone!"
The sounds of fighting echoed through the small, one-story suburban house. A young couple, married for six years, once college sweethearts, screamed at each other, not noticing the small child that watched them from the not-fully-closed doorway.
Noelle watched her parents fight again, head turning this way and that as one person yelled then the other, like she was watching a tennis match. Her mommy was slowly turning purple in the face; her daddy was trying to calm her down. Noelle sighed softly, tears pooling in her eyes. Why was her mommy yelling at her daddy? Why werent' they getting along like they used to?
Noelle: Eight Years Old
"That's all the legal paperwork, Mr. Shanahan, Mrs. Leera." The judge looked up at the former couple, his sadness showing in his eyes. He hated divorces, especially when there was a young child involved, like there was here. He glanced over to the corner, where said child was playing quietly.
She was a beautiful child, with her mother's blonde hair and her father's hazel eyes, but a face that was all her own. She appeared oblivious to what was happening, but he knew from experience that kids always knew, but they rarely understood. The poor child wouldn't understand why her mother left, why she'd always have only one parent around. He sighed, looking back at the now-legally-divorced parents.
"Custody goes to Mr. Shanahan, so if you'd like, you can take your daughter and head home." The dark-haired Mr. Shanahan nodded and rose.
"Noelle?"
"Yeah, Daddy?"
"It's time to go home, OK?"
"OK, Daddy!" She jumped up, the stuffed tiger she'd been playing with forgotten as she grabbed her father's outstretched hand and turned to her mother, holding out her other hand. The judge felt tears gather as her mother simply turned and gathered up her things, ignoring her daughter's confused look. Her father gently tugged her away; she started crying as he did.
"Mommy!" Her mother didn't turn. "Mommy, why aren't you coming home with us? Mommy?"
They left the room silently, and the judge forced himself not to show his own pain as little Noelle's anguished cry echoed through the halls.
"Mommy!"
Noelle, Ten Years Old
"Dad?" Noelle brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder as her father tucked her into bed.
"Yeah, honey?"
"Why does Mommy not love me anymore?" She heard her father's quick gasp, and sort of regretted asking. But only sort of.
Her father's arms wrapped around her and she felt tears gather in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart, your mommy never stopped loving you."
Noelle leaned back and blinked up at her father. "Then why does she never come back? Was it something I did?"
"No, hon. Mommy stopped loving me, that's all. She still cares about you. She doesn't come because she doesn't want to see me."
"But I wanna see my mommy, Daddy." Tears fell from hazel eyes as her composure crumpled. "I wanna see my mommy!" she wailed. Her father just held her, rubbing her back and letting her cry. "I wanna see my mommy!"
After a time, her tears dried as she fell asleep. In her dreams, her mommy was there, and they were all happy and smiling like they used to be. She whispered a single word as her daddy slipped out the door. "… Mommy…"
Noelle, Eighteen Years Old
"Noelle! Noey, come on, we have to go!" I groaned as my dad yelled up the stairs again.
"I'm coming, Dad, keep your boxers on!"
"What was that, kiddo?"
"Nothin'!" I laughed as I heard my dad snicker and run the last few bags out to the car. Yeah, bags and car. See, since my parents divorced when I was eight, my dad couldn't keep a solid job. He'd been bouncing around between this job and that for a while before he finally landed one with this big overseas company. It took him a while, but he finally got to the point where he was too valuable for them to fire, I think. But, anyway, after a few years, he was offered a job in Germany, of all places. And, him being my dad, he jumped at the opportunity.
I sighed. Sure, it was great for him. He'd been there before, knew the basics of the language, and knew how the country worked. Me, on the other hand, spoke English and Spanish fluently, but hadn't even begun to really look into the language. But, he needed this. If he couldn't keep this job, we'd be out again, living in trailer parks and me going to horrible schools where I was one of the few girls and fewer white-skinned people. Ah, well, at least he'd been offered a job in one of the countries I'd always wanted to visit.
Germany… the word sounded so exotic when I thought about it as I made a few last-minute checks to my American room. Germany… I twirled around my now-empty bedroom, looking one last time at the boring white walls and light blue carpet. All my posters were rolled up and on their way, along with most of my belongings. All that was left were my two suitcases, and a few books to keep me entertained while we waited for the rest of our stuff.
Germany… Man, if I admitted it to myself, I was actually excited about this. I didn't really have any friends to leave behind, which was good, I guessed. But it wasn't that, not really… Germany was where my favorite band was from, the band I'd followed and been in love with since I was around thirteen.
You guessed it: Tokio Hotel. I discovered them on YouTube (best website ever if you ask me, excluding Wikipedia), and I was blown away. After I head their first song, entitled "Monsoon", for those of you dumbwits that don't know who they are, I made it my business to discover everything I could about them.
The twins, aka, the guitarist and lead singer, were from a broken family like mine: their parents divorced when they were kids just like me. My personal favorite, too, was from a family like that, and he and his dad had a relationship like I had with my mom. Really, really bad. My favorite's best buddy, though, is from a normal background. Good for him. He doesn't have to go through the pain and loneliness that divorce brings to a kid…
But enough of that. I got over that years ago. Or at least, that's what I tell myself on good days. I've been having good days recently, though, so I'll skip over my sob story and move on, shall I?
I grabbed my small travel bag and raced downstairs, brushing past my dad as he started to yell at me again.
"Finally! What were you doing, making love to the floor?" Yep, that's my dad. He's such a perv sometimes, it's awesome. I love it.
"Yeah, I was totally into it, too, grinding and everything!" And, yes I'm almost as bad. Deal with it. Or else.
My dad laughed as he headed out to our car. "Lovely image there, Noey." Oh, by the way, I hate the nickname "Noey". I only let my dad get away with it because he's my dad. Anyone else, though, gets a shoe up their butt if they call me that. Not kidding.
"You know you love it!"
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, kid."
"I think I will."
"Great…"
"You suggested it!"
"Yeah, so?"
"So it's your fault!"
"Oh, it is, is it?"
"Yup. And we're going to be late."
"What?"
"Yup."
"Let's go!" My dad grabbed my elbow and pretty much dragged me out the door, with me laughing like a maniac the whole time.
Nothing like a rushing, spazzing father to make one's day.
The airport was normal; the lines were long, the people annoying, security it's typical pain in the butt. Once we got through, though, we were right on time for the plane, with a little left over to grab coffee. It didn't take too much hassle to get onto the plane, then it was time to sit for hours.
And hours…
… and hours…
But, finally, the stupid flight was over. I hated airplanes. Most people can fall asleep in planes and be fine. Not me. I can't sleep unless I can fully stretch out, and that's just not possible in planes. I stumbled around, stiff and bored out of my mind and half-drunk with exhaustion added to jet lag. Long story short, I was miserable.
After we checked our bags, my dad went to get our rental car. I fell asleep while waiting; I sort of woke up when my dad lifted me into our rental. After that, it's just a muddle for me.
All I remember is random images, like the road flashing by, a brief glimpse of our house, a pretty woman helping my dad move some stuff into our new house, and strange, strong arms carrying me inside and laying me on my bed, which apparently had gotten there before us.
I wondered briefly who it was that had carried me to my bed, but went out like a light before that thought train even made it to the rails.
AN: so, there ya go, chappy one! And I tried to write in first person, we'll see how long that goes… I may have to switch back to third later on, but I'll warn you before that happens.
So, yeah, tell me what you think: should I keep going, stop, start writing in third person? Tell me what you think, be it good or bad, I need to know!11
Love y'all!
TwinSwords
