Heads up to anyone who reads this: I am not particularly a fan of Twilight. I have no problem if the books are taken as what they are: pure fiction. It's when people start obsessing when I get a little twitchy. So, if sometimes my characters seem a little...off, or if my OC's get a little snappish, it's probably because there is something there in the story that bugs me.
Anywho, this is an angsty fic, mostly because I think the characters spend too much time whining when they don't really have that big of problems. (Apologies to fans, it's just my opinion.) Well, it's also kind of dark because of the character from Twilight that I'm going to be using. Therefore I apologize in advance to anyone who gets offended, and for any little details that don't seem to fit. The last time I read any of these books was probably over a year ago. Make that possibly two.
If you like it, enjoy and please read on!
(Nothing belongs to me that you recognize from the books)
Age 12
Small windows looking out over small lives and small lights. Inside it's dark, the only light on is in the hallway to the apartment. Darkness is so alien to the city that never sleeps. The city carries on beneath the twelfth story window.
They say cats can survive falls from higher than the seventh story.
"Mom? When's Dad getting home?"
"Later, he'll be back later." The words come out, but neither one really believes it anymore.
"I bet he's having an affair," is the pouted reply. The blond head turns to stare out the window. A sharp intake of breath is her answer. It's also a warning. Broken glass echoes through the apartment and both heads turn towards the kitchen.
"Stupid Merlin," the girl mutters. "Stupid cat, always getting into things. You stay here, Mom, I'll get it. Merlin!" A cat yowls in response.
The digital clock on the window reads out the time. 11:57. The neon light barely helps to illuminate a face worn beyond its years. The woman scans the passersby one last time.
"He said he'd be back by ten," she murmurs softly to the clock. "He promised. He promised." She turns her wedding ring around her finger. Another promise.
"Mom?" The child peers in again. "You alright?"
Her mother smiles at her. "I'm fine, honey. I'm fine." Both of them sigh and look at the clock. 11:59.
"Maybe he won't come back," the girl muses as she slumps back to her seat by the window. "Maybe he'll get killed in an accident on the way back, and we can take his money and lea-"
"He's coming back," is the soft cut off. Blue eyes look at tired brown ones. The blue eyes shut and sigh.
"Sure sure. He'll come back. And it will get worse!" A fist slams down on the window sill, making the clock jump. 12:00 a.m. "He'll be drunk, and smell like a woman! Then he'll go to work, drink, win some, lose some, get promoted, and stay out even later! He'll take more trips, until we're the ones left behind, and...and...shit."
"Hey! Young lady, that is not the kind of language I have taught you, is it?" For the first time that night, there is fire in the tired brown eyes. It quickly fades as they wander back to the clock. 12:02 a.m. "Where is he...?" The question doesn't really need an answer. It doesn't really want one.
"Mom, are you okay?"
Age 15
Rain sprinkles down on the casket as it is lowered six feet into the ground. All around eyes stream, noses run, and sobs are muffled by tissues. Black umbrellas spread across each other as the gathering huddles around the grave.
Amber Delancey-Gray. Loving mother, giving wife.
All eyes run, except for the three pairs standing at the head of the grave. One belongs to a man dressed in a crisp black suit, holding an umbrella over himself and the woman next to him. She sniffles in sympathy and leaks a few tears. His dark hair is combed back perfectly.
The other dry eyes are that of the priest reading out the standard lines. The young man behind him holding the umbrella keeps his head down.
The last pair belongs to the late woman's daughter. She stands without an umbrella, shielded from the rain by the one her grandfather holds. Staring across the grave to the dry-eyed man and the woman standing behind him, she rips a flower apart, petal by petal, and lets each white shard fall into the darkness at her feet. What sorrow is in her eyes is overwritten by anger.
The priest closes his book and leaves. Family members gather to toss in flowers and bits of dirt. The man turns and leaves after another minute of staring. The woman trots to keep up, chatting actively about the next court case that awaits him.
"You don't have to come back for another three or four days, I figure. Time of mourning and all that." The words and the bubbly tone float back towards the gathering, in complete opposition to the somber surroundings. Blue eyes glare towards the two retreating backs. A warm and wrinkled hand presses on her shoulder.
As everyone leaves, the girl stands to stare down into the ground for another few minutes. Plucking a rose out of a bouquet someone left, she tosses it down. A clump of dirt lands on top, obscuring the red even more. Someone calls her name, and she waves to let them know she's coming.
"See you later, Mom." The whispered words come out of chapped lips, and form foggy clouds in the air.
Later that day.
"Repeat that. Say it again!" The man roars, furious. The advocate at the head of the table jumps and stutters.
"'I, Amber Delancey, leave everything I own to my daughter, Audrey,'" comes the nervous reply. The man fumes, glaring daggers first at the advocate – who visibly shrinks and pales – then to the girl sitting across from him and next to the advocate.
"What does that mean," he says with forced patience. "That she leaves everything to her?" He points a finger across the table. Blue eyes avoid his, staring at badly painted nails and the edge of the table.
"It means just that, sir," the advocate replies more strongly. "This is her last will, and she leaves everything to her daughter. Now, do you have a complaint?" For the first time that day, blue eyes spark up to stare directly back at the man.
"Got a problem, Dad?" The sarcastic question is shot, meant to sting more than mean anything.
"She can't do that! I'm her husband. I should get something!" he growls. The advocate looks at the girl as she shrugs.
"Jealous much? Because she loved me instead of you?" she murmurs. "What's she doing here?" Her chin juts out to motion towards the woman sitting to his right. The woman jumps and looks away.
"Heather is here because I have an important case awaiting me."
"Okay, then. Use up your alloted 'mourning time' then and get on with it," she sighs. "I'm done here. And don't even think about trying to get any of my inheritance. It's mine, got that?"
"You will speak to me with respect," her father growls, standing as she gets up to leave.
"Oh sure," she retorts. "When you turn back the clock and apologize to Mom." Reaching into the little purse she's carrying, she pulls out a broken digital clock, the face still reading a time. 2:56. Placing it down on the table, she leaves and waits out in the hall.
Age 17
"I've had enough of this, young lady." Her father is growling at her as she takes off worn high tops, the white toes colored with sharpie, and places them next to the door. Her blue eyes hold only contempt and boredom as she crosses her arms. Jeans slung low on her hips highlight hip bones that press against the denim.
"That's nice. So have I. Now, can I go to sleep? I have school later today." As she starts to push past, he grabs her arm.
"Do you know what time it is?!" Eyes flash to the clock on the wall. 2:55.
"One minute ahead of you," she growls.
Her father fumes. "You stay out late, you get into fights, and your teachers send you to detention for mouthing off in class. Do you have any idea how that reflects on me?!" The final shout echoes through the apartment. A glass breaks in the kitchen.
"Can I go clean up after my cat?" she asks, shrugging out of his hold.
"You stupid animal!" a female voice curses. A cat yowls and the feline culprit sprints down the hall. Blue eyes go wide.
"You brought her over again??" she accuses. "How could you?!"
"It's been almost two years," is the calm reply. Eyes glare at each other.
"I want out of this house. I feel sick," she says.
"Don't even think of pulling that crap with me again, young lady!"
"Mom left me a house, you know! I could live there without you. I don't need you!" Hateful words pass through the air. Half an hour later doors slam at opposite ends of the apartment.
One month later her father is fired for being involved with his secretary, and Audrey is on probation for another fight. The decision is made to move out of the state. Bags are packed, the apartment sold, and visitors come to say goodbye.
"You really should have hit him harder if you were just gonna leave anyway," said a brunette as she helped her friend pack.
"Yeah, I wish. He was a real jerk," laughs the girl. "I'm done!" Flopping onto the mattress, she observes the boxes in her room.
"How can you be leaving me? And during senior year, too!" her friend fake sobs, sitting down beside her.
"Honestly? Maybe it will be good for me. Who knows. Whatever. I don't care anymore."
"Are you okay?" Her friend peers at her. She gets a wane smile in return.
"Yeah, fine. Hey, you want to come with me real quick? I have something I need to do." Her blond hair bounces as she jumps off the bed.
"Going to say goodbye?" Audrey just nods. "I'll come. Just let me grab my coat."