Hello, everyone. Excessive amounts of Tumblr and Glee have taken a toll on my mind, and suddenly, I had this story all planned out. This is probably the first fic that has flowed out of me easily, so I'm taking advantage of that. This first chapter is but a prequel, just so you can meet my OC and know where she came from. I apologize if this bores you; the Glee characters will start to come in during the next chapter.
I do not own the song lyrics that I used, obviously. Avril Lavigne and John Mayer do. I guess that's it x]
Enjoy. If you can. Which you probably won't be able to do.
The car ride was silent; not a single word was uttered by either one of us. I sat upright on the polished leather seats, rather stoically, in my perspective. My taciturn father juxtaposed me; he was taking great pains to avoid my eyes for the duration of the trip. He thought he was being some sort of martyr for bothering to see his bad little daughter off, although it was clear he wasn't planning to express any sort of dolefulness. As usual, the keyboard of his Blackberry was tack-tack-tacking away as he furiously typed out some deathly important email. The sound was not amplified just because he had a tendency to pound the tiny keys mercilessly, but because it was the only sound besides the gentle humming of the multiple-cylinder engine. If anything, I knew he and the rest of my family would be much happier without me. This was one thing I was actually doing right.
I wasn't daft. I knew this would probably be the last time I would ride in this kind of car for a long time, maybe even forever. Pity. I had grown quite fond of this Bentley. I ran my high-heeled spectators repeatedly through the furry tan carpet and played with all the nooks and crannies on the door, trying to enjoy my last meal, if I might make that analogy. I actually would have appreciated it much more if my father had not made so much of an effort to come; at least I would have been able to put my feet up on the seats. I tried not to look outside; the last thing I needed was a reminder of what was happening to me, all because I loved.
JFK Airport was not too far from where we lived, so we got there fairly quickly. As the driver pulled into the terminal, my father looked up from his Blackberry for the first time and sighed audibly.
"You'd better not cause trouble for your aunt," he reprimanded gruffly in Chinese. "I hope you know that if she kicks you out as well, you are certainly not coming back home."
It warmed my heart to see how much I'd be missed. "Yes sir." I mumbled, hauling my splatter-painted canvas bag onto my shoulder. The numerous keychains dangling off the zipper jangled noisily, earning me another look of annoyance.
The driver got my hefty Marc Jacobs trolley bag out of the trunk, set it onto the asphalt ground, and opened my door. I gave him a slight nod and began to slide out.
"Goodbye to you too, Louisa. It was no problem at all taking some time off of work to personally chaperone you to the airport. I sincerely hope you learn some manners in Ohio, for your own good." my father practically spat from behind me, in spiteful English this time.
"I'm sorry. Goodbye and thank you so much. I will definitely try." I drawled sweetly. He was back on his Blackberry, though, so he cared not about the smart-assed reply.
After the airport formalities had been settled, I slumped down in one of the chairs at the boarding gate. I hadn't slept at all last night, but strangely, I felt no physical fatigue. It would be a good hour before the gates even opened; I guess it was a relief that I wouldn't have to put up with my parents' innate propensity of being ridiculously early anymore. Outside, the sun was still shining brightly even though it was the late afternoon; what inappropriate weather for a day like this. I took out my copy of "Catcher in the Rye" out and attempted to read. It was my favorite book that was classified as "good literature," I guess I could relate to Holden, misplaced in a phony New York society and all. This time, though, my eyes did not feel like reading and they wandered about. I closed the book and pulled my iPhone out of my cotton coat pocket. No new notifications from anyone. I checked all my social networking sites; no sign of activity from a certain person who I really needed to hear from. It had been the same way all of last night; she didn't even know I was leaving New York, and I had no idea how to tell her. Her alternative school had let out a long time ago, and I knew she didn't have band practice today. I suddenly felt sick. There was a huge chance that she wanted to forget about us entirely. Or, maybe she was smart enough to not text me in case my dad had taken my phone away. She was always so careful; always knew exactly what she was doing. Either way, I had to find out the truth at some point. I opened my SMS app and tried to formulate a message. After a good 5 minutes, I came up with: Drama has basically blown over. Call me.
I pressed send and stared at my phone for awhile, willing it to ring. A significant amount of time passed by with no luck. I slipped it back into my coat pocket and tried to resume reading, desperately coaxing any thoughts of her out of my head. Somewhere along the line, I must've zonked out, for I was suddenly awakened by the overhead speaker blaring, "JFK to Cleveland Hopkins Airport is now boarding." The few people sitting in the vicinity arose and started towards the boarding gate. I jumped up and checked my my phone once more; there was still nothing. Something was definitely wrong. I gave up and figured I'd contact her somehow when I reached my destination, if they even had operating phones out there. Just as I had slowly stood up and gathered my belongings, my blasted phone began vibrating and ringing out the chorus of "My Heart" by Paramore; a designated ringtone for precisely one person on my entire contact list. I don't believe I'd ever answered a call that quickly in my life.
"Rienne? I'm so sorry. Before anything, tell me you're okay, babe." she said in her mellow voice turned a little raspy from cigarette smoke. She was the only one who called me by my first name.
"I'm fine." I said quietly.
"What did he do to you? Tell me so I can fix this," she demanded, danger rising in her voice.
"What if I told you that this time, it's beyond your capabilities?"
"Ri, don't give me that shit. You know I'd land my ass in jail for you."
"Clara, cherie, you don't understand."
"Well then tell me what the hell he did!"
A crabby-looking uniformed stewardess had come up to me, so I put Clara on hold.
"Excuse me, miss, there are only a few passengers today, and you're the last one to board. Would you make it snappy so we can be ahead of schedule?" she griped.
I'll be damned with the courtesy of these New Yorkers. "I am ON the PHONE. This is IMPORTANT," I said brusquely, turning around.
"Last call is in two minutes. You don't finish by then, we leave without you," she said obnoxiously from behind.
I rolled my eyes at her and put Clara back on the line. "Sorry. Minor interruption. I'm gonna have to leave in a second." I mumbled.
"Look, if you don't want to tell me what happened, at least tell me where you want to go from here. Do you still want to be with me? Is your dad going to make it hell for us? Are we going to have to meet in secret from now on?"
"Damn it, of course I want to be with you. I knew this would happen eventually. But it was all worth it. Every single moment."
She laughed for a second. "I agree. We fucked shit up, didn't we? But who said it has to end? Sneaking around is what we do best. I could sneak into your room right now, if you want. You're home, right?"
From afar, I could see the contemptible stewardess indicating that I had one minute left. It took everything I had not to let my emotions get the better of me, which rarely happened. I knew there was only one way to fix this, so I made the decision to be practical and judicious for once in my life.
"Clara, just listen to me, okay? Listen well. You'll always be the most amazing thing that ever happened to me, and I don't give a shit if that's cheesy because it's true. And I know I'll never forget you or stop loving you. But there is one thing you can do for me, and that is to forget me. New York is teeming with girls who are hotter and more fun than I am, and most importantly they're free. If I lived a different life, we might've worked out. But I don't. I live this godforsaken life. It's all over now. C'est fini. If you must know, I'm at JFK right now, getting on the next flight to fucking Ohio. I'll be living with my aunt in Lima for the rest of high school. After that, I don't know where I'll end up. Maybe I'll come back to New York and we can live out our plans, but I know that isn't going to happen outside of my dreams. And until then, I want you to have the best high school teenage dream, because you can't take these years back. So do one last thing for me. After I hang up, delete my number from your phone. Go out and get piss drunk and party all night, and when you wake up, make sure there isn't a single trace of me left in your head."
I stopped, breathing heavily, and quickly removed the phone from my ear. I ended the call and hurried towards the gate, shoving my boarding pass at the stewardess a little too roughly. In all my years of life, I never surmised that I would end up in a place like Lima, Ohio. Well, actually, maybe I had. I mean, it didn't take a rocket scientist to foresee that my choices would land me in a place like this. Some people may think that New York is a place of freedom, but in the place I was in, getting through life took serious dedication to lies. Maybe things would be better here. Maybe for once, my perfect family had been wrong about something. My head was a mess of incoherent thoughts as the taxi sped out of Cleveland and into Lima in a grueling 3 hour drive. I'd spent the entire plane ride forcing myself to sleep, which I eventually did, despite the awkward position I was forced to assume. I had my headphones on and my playlist blasting on shuffle. As fate would have it, Avril Lavigne's "Mobile" came on.
Everything's changing when I turn around all out of my control...I'm a mobile.
The sun was just about to set when we entered the city. I stared at the tree-lined streets and low concrete buildings as we passed them, noticing how extensive the sky looked. In New York, one tended to forget that something actually existed above the looming buildings. I felt a hint of ambivalence; after all was said and done, the big city had been my home. Some of my earliest memories include clinging to my mother's hand as we crossed jam-packed streets to the flamboyant designer stores on the other side, or riding in a stroller while munching on a hotdog. My father used to buy one for me, my brother, and my sister on our rare trips to Central Park. He'd sit on a bench and read the paper while the three of us wandered around and amused ourselves with the numerous attractions. So yes, once upon a time, my father did not hate me.
The taxi driver turned in to a street fringed by a string of identical white houses. He pulled up at one of them, referred to the paper, and finally remarked, "This is it." He exited the car and claimed my belongings from the trunk. I thanked him and handed him the fare, which he accepted and drove off into the distance. I hadn't received any sort of allowance for this trip, so I had scraped together all the birthday and Christmas money I could find. It amounted to about a thousand dollars; a fair amount which I knew wouldn't last forever. I looked around and breathed in the fresh air; something that I hadn't remembered doing in a LONG while. Families eating or cooking dinner were all visible through the glass windows of the juxtaposing houses, and I began to get the feeling that life here would be considerably monotonous. So, I deduced that the intention of sending me here was to bore the gay out of me. If this was what they taught their students at Columbia University, my father's alma mater, community college would be more than sufficient for me. Finally, I shuffled up the front walk and to the door.
After two rings of the doorbell, a grim-faced, small-boned woman with jet black hair answered the door. She resembled my father enough for me to assume that she was my aunt, although I had never met this aunt before.
"Louisa?" she asked in a soft but firm voice that had the tiniest hint of a Chinese accent.
"Yes ma'am," I answered in my best kiss-ass voice, extending my hand, "I'm real pleased to finally meet you."
She begrudgingly shook my hand for a nanosecond, withdrawing as quickly as she could. "Come inside. You will sleep in the basement. Leave your bags outside for now and I'll show you where you can and cannot go in this house, first."
Things just kept getting better, didn't they? The basement? Really?
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Her foyer was a small, empty space, with the walls painted mustard yellow. "This door leads to the basement." She opened a white door to the left, displaying a narrow winding staircase that led underground. Leaving it open, she shuffled in the opposite direction over to the kitchen, which had a sliding glass door to enter through, and an opaque door facing it. "You may go into the kitchen when you like, but you may not go past it. Anything beyond that door is off limits. if you buy food for yourself and put it in the fridge, you label it. Under no circumstances are you to touch any of my food unless it has this sticker on it, which means it's for both of us. I dine alone, so you just attend to yourself. You will be required to clean the kitchen and the guest bathroom over there, which will be your bathroom. Fail to do so, and there will be consequences. I enrolled you in the William McKinley High School today; there is a pamphlet of the school and a map of the city on the counter. I do not own a car, so you will walk to places you need to get to. I will not be providing you with money, but there are many jobs you can take in this city. It isn't necessary to ask me if you want to go out or have friends over, but if I catch wind that you are causing trouble, I am not obliged to let you continue living here. I believe that is all. Do you have any other questions?"
"Hmm, well, may I ask if you have internet connection of any sort?"
"Yes, and the password is written on the pad next to the phone. Did you bring a computer with you?" she asked, brows furrowed.
"I did, thanks. One more thing, what may I call you?"
"Guma will be fine," she said, referring to the Chinese name for one's father's sister. "Do you speak Chinese?"
"I do. Thank you very much for letting me stay here. I promise won't be a burden." I said in Chinese.
She gave me a slight nod, and then promptly entered the off-limits area of the house. I went outside and retrieved my belongings. After about ten minutes of struggle and nearly falling to my death twice, I managed to get my trolley bag down the winding stairs. I groped around for the light switch and flipped it, to find a nice little room all set out for me. The walls were blank and painted white, there was a wooden table and chair, a lone red lamp, a little old-fashioned clock, and a simple bed with a white bedspread. Bluntly speaking, it was the tiniest room I'd ever set foot in, but...it could have been much worse. At least it was clean and...existent.
Oh what the hell, I missed my room in New York so much at that moment, I thought I'd burst. I flopped facedown onto the bed and tried not to lose it. "Congratulations, Rienne," I thought, "You've literally achieved a state of complete and total lovelessness." Because really, was there a single person in the world who loved me? No, there wasn't. My parents hated me, my aunt whom I hadn't even known existed already wanted nothing to do with me, my sister, at this point, was my mortal enemy, my brother was off in college, completely oblivious to all of this, and I succeeded in driving a wedge between myself and my girlfriend. Friends, you ask? Well, I did have them. 3 other girls who I hung out with just for kicks. But the thing at my school was that if you left, you were completely forgotten.
School. I ran up the stairs and grabbed the pamphlet and map on the kitchen counter. When I had returned to my post on the bed, I skimmed through it. William McKinley, eh? Sounded to me like a school where shit went down. After all, the more innocuous the name, the more scandalous the object. I was delighted to find that there wasn't a uniform; I'd finally say goodbye to having to wear that itchy blouse and slutty pleated skirt for life. Classes began at 8 AM, as opposed to the 7:30 AM assembly time of my old school. SCORE. They also had AP classes; AP English Literature, most importantly, which had been my favorite class back at my old school. Lovely. Well...there WAS one more thing. I scoured the club list for anything that had to do with dance, which was the one thing in this whole world that I was good at. My heart sank when I came up empty-handed, although their cheerleading squad, apparently called the Cheerios, caught my eye, most probably because of the beautiful, Barbie-doll girl featured doing the scorpion pose in the picture. The thing is, I had always secretly wanted to be a cheerleader, but in my old school, the cheerleading squad was a joke. Their best stunts consisted of cartwheels and...cartwheels. This squad looked like it meant business. So, that was that. I figured I'd make the best out of my high school life here, especially since I was pretty much liberated from parents and judgements. This was my chance to find myself completely.
There was one itching feeling that I couldn't ignore...I mean, I won't deny that I missed Clara like hell. I didn't regret breaking up with her now; it was much better than drifting apart slowly and painfully. But besides being girlfriends, we were also best friends, and all I really wanted to do right now was hear her voice telling me about the shit that happened that day, and laugh until I heard my dad come home. I decided to go online and check on what she was saying. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd put up a DIE RIENNE THE BITCH website or something like that, because when someone hurt her or pissed her off, she would never take it lightly. I unearthed my sticker-emblazoned MacBook from my bag and set it upon my bed, opening up an assortment of tabs for each of the social networking sites. On Facebook, I found no activity on Clara's wall, but I did find a profusion of wall posts on my own wall asking if it was true that I was leaving school for good. There were some really mean remarks now and then. Let's just say that gossip really got around there. I deactivated my account; I had no desire to deal with these people whatsoever in the next few days, or even years. Twitter had the same result, so I closed that tab. I was invisible on Skype, but a bunch of offline messages did not fail to pop up. Finally, I went to Tumblr, which no one from school knew I had. I typed in Clara's url, and her page loaded with one new caption-less video post. The preview showed that she was holding a guitar, so I figured she'd made a cover, which she often did. I clicked on it, anyway.
"Hey Rienne," she said in a small voice. Clara almost never cried, but you knew she was sad when she got quiet. Her short, spiky, reddish brown hair was untidy and she looked unnaturally sallow. Her green eyes, attributed to her Swedish heritage, were duller than normal, as well. "If you're watching this, my sentiments were right and you're still not over me. Which I know is right because I'm always right," she said, half-smiling. "You're one melodramatic bitch, you know that? The problem is, you care too much. You always have. And I love you for it, but right now, I hate you for it. Because I know that deep in that tiny heart of yours, you still love me. And the two of us; we have nothing to lose except each other now, so why should we lose that? We've given up enough. So here's a song for you. And I'm not playing it for you just because of that night; it fits us more than you might think. And I guess it's going to say everything we've left unsaid. So here goes."
Whereupon, she took up her guitar and began to skillfully play a familiar introduction.
Flashbacks of two nights ago began to cross my mind.
It's not a silly little moment,
It's not the storm before the calm.
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on.
She switched her old-fashioned radio record on as I plopped down on her worn sofa, kicking my boots off. A slow, lilting tempo began to wash over the room, she came over and pulled me towards her, kissing me long and hard. She was quite a bit shorter than I was, but so much stronger. She suddenly broke the kiss and stared into my eyes for a minute, as if seeking permission to do something. I reached over and stroked her cheek, memorizing every detail of her face. "Je t'aime," I whispered.
Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms.
Nobody's gonna come and save you,
We pulled too many false alarms.
A moment later, she had my crop top off. I followed suit and slid her tank top off. I wrapped my arms around her and turned over, leaning back against the armrest, so that she was almost on top of me. Her kisses roughened and her tongue fought its way into my mouth. My hands ran down her back, caressing her smooth skin. Meanwhile, her hands were already feeling up my thighs under my skirt, getting dangerously high. Little noises escaped my throat, and I yanked at her skinny jeans in retaliation.
We're going down,
And you can see it too.
We're going down,
And you know that we're doomed.
My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room.
I'd never felt anything similar in my life; by now, I was moaning audibly, basking in the painful decadence of it all. It wasn't a pleasant feeling; part of me wanted to break free and cry, but the better part of myself wanted to stay and let her debauch me. It was all happening so fast, and that scared me because when things go fast, they're bound to end before you're ready for them to end.
I'll make the most of all the sadness,
You'll be a bitch because you can.
You try to hit me just to hurt me
So you leave me feeling dirty
Because you can't understand.
We're going down,
And you can see it too.
We're going down,
And you know that we're doomed.
My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room.
I lay back on the sofa, exhausted and in a pretty damn lot of pain. She got up and escaped to the bathroom for a minute. As I stared up at the ceiling, I heard my phone buzz. I grabbed it from the coffee table, only to find my Dad's name staring at me in the face. "Oh fucking shit." I said to myself, thinking of a way out of this. I answered the call, only to hear my father's voice literally scream my name. My heart dropped down to the pit of my stomach.
"YOU PIECE OF LESBIAN GARBAGE, COME HOME RIGHT NOW OR I'LL LET YOU SLEEP IN THE STREET TONIGHT," he hollered in Chinese, which he only used when he was angry. HOW THE FUCK DID HE SUDDENLY KNOW?
"Wh-what?" I stammered.
"YOUR SISTER TOLD ME EVERYTHING. YOU SNUCK OUT AND WENT TO SOME SLUT'S APARTMENT, DID YOU? I'LL DEAL WITH YOU WHEN YOU GET HOME." I heard him slam his Blackberry down, so I ended the call. Bewildered, I stared into space as I hurriedly put my clothes on. I knew we were being watched as we walked down the street to her place. I just knew it.
"Where are you going, babe?" she asked, emerging from the shadows wearing an oversized button-down.
I stood up, trying not to look at her. "My life is over," I uttered softly. And somehow, she understood why.
Go cry about it - why don't you?
I had one foot out the door when she grabbed me by the arm. She gently put her arms around me and whispered, "Be strong. You can get through this. Come right back here if anything happens." We lingered there for what seemed to be a very long time, and then I finally broke away, ready to face the music.
My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room,
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we shoulda learned somehow?
Her voice faded out as she rang out her last chord. "I love you, Ri," she said, looking straight into the camera, right through me. "We'll burn together." And then, the screen went black.