Hey Guys, This was my first story on my old profile, Vuk Misic. I began to have too many issues with it after my old computer crapped out and died on me, and when I attempted to do anything with my documents or account, they were corrupted and/or missing, so I just gave up for a while. Well no more. My new computer now has my redone documents and I finally deleted the story from my old account, saving the documents I wanted and can now re-update it here. Hopefully I don't get in trouble for doing this... Anyway, enjoy the new and Improved Story: The Cold Dark of a Fragmented Mind.
Calvin opened his grey eyes, and looked around his room with his one good eye, while the other just looked at the blurry mess that was his room.
His average sized corner room sat at the front right corner of the two floored brick house owned by his cousin Brandon and his wife, Georgia. The backyard was spacious, sloping gently downward towards the back fence, which was little more than a wall. When moving his meager amount of belongings into the house several months ago, Brandon had hinted that if Calvin made any friends here, he'd condone a few of them over, his special passive-aggressive way of saying to the teen:
"We're not moving again, so make some friends will you?"
Calvin had even considered it, with the deck and fire pit perfect for the colder nights of Northern California and the inground pool even more suited to the warm ones. Other than that, his home was… average. A single two car garage sat connected to the house by a small hallway, and the front yard was kept superbly watered by Georgia, who Brandon stated would go on a rampage if one of her flowers died from thirst.
Stretching his limbs, the brunette sat up and swung his legs over the side of the full sized bed, eyes now adjusted to the light coming from the two windows on either wall, and his bare feet pressed against the steel grey and black carpet covering his wood floor. Yawning he stretched his arms again, loosening his contracted muscles as he stood. Looking around the dark yellow room, he took in the fact that the floor was clear of debris, mainly clothes that never made it to the hamper tucked in the corner by the closet door.
Meaning Georgia had cleaned up before she left for work.
He hoped that she hadn't seen him in a nightmare…
Groggily and evidently half asleep, he walked, well more like waddled, over to his closet, from which he retrieved a pair of tan chinos from a hangar, then over to the dresser in the corner opposite his bed, and retrieved a fresh pair of boxers, and a t-shirt from their respective drawers. Now more alert and awake, he stuck his head out into the grey carpeted hallway that ran the length of the house, before ending in a staircase that lead into the living room downstairs. Across the hall from him was the linen closet, where he retrieved a fresh towel, before walking down the photo filled sky blue and brown hallway towards the bathroom, two doors down.
He pushed his head against the door, humming or sound came from the bathroom, meaning that it was unoccupied.
He pushed open the door, stripped out of his pajamas; consisting of a pair of boxers and a ragged old tee, and climbed into the shower. He silently swore at himself when he realized he forgot to let the water warm up, and would have to suffer the fate a cold shower. Screw it. Twisting the chrome shower handle over to where it let out water, he showered as the now lukewarm water ran down his body, wiping off the sweat and grime from last night, and trying to rinse away the nightmares that had plagued him since he was a preteen. He could not for the life of him, remember what had caused them. Every time he tried, his mind would lash out, and the fear would turn to rage… and well, the other foster homes hadn't reacted well to him after that.
Finishing, he dried off himself, and slipped into the outfit he had brought with him to the bathroom, before doing his daily routine. He shaved quickly, spiked his brown hair into his usual mini faux hawk, and brushed his teeth till they were perfectly whitened to his liking. Smiling his usual smile: teeth glittering and shit-eating, trying to hold the desperate mask he formed throughout life. The mask of humor and deflective answering.
Finally, he could face the day, or maybe just breakfast.
He slipped on some socks, and cautiously ran down the wooden stairs, trying not to slip as many a times someone in this house had done before. It had been a good laugh, when Georgia was carrying an overloaded laundry basket up to the linen closet, slipped, and her perfectly folded towels went flying. The explicit that came from her mouth were a moment that can only be experienced once in a man's lifetime.
Till the effect wore off and the two guys of the house would check to see if she was alive. Though most of the time her cursing answered that question for them.
The living room was empty, though the sounds of cooking and Brandon singing in French alerted him to the man's presence. Calvin sulked, knowing that Brandon would pester and probe him about how he was feeling, and how he slept, and probably remind him that he had yet another therapy session today with the school counselor.
God how he hated the therapy.
But he did it because it made Brandon and Georgia a bit happier. For some reason, whenever the two of them looked at him, their eyes filled with that of pity, almost as if he was some poor helpless animal caught in a trap. Like he had been through such trauma, and thus he couldn't live on his own.
He was sick of it.
Entering the wide open kitchen, he caught a glimpse of something he would desperately be trying to wash from the insides of his eyes: his cousin Brandon, cooking something like a pancake on drugs, in a pick 'kiss the chef' cooking apron, singing a song in French.
"Great, this is just one image that will be seared into my brain for the rest of my life." Calvin called, letting the cook know he had company.
"Good morning cousin. How's your morning going?" Brandon replied without turning around, or breaking concentration on his 'meal'.
"As well as it could without coffee." Calvin joked, before pouring the steaming black coffee Brandon made every morning into a mug. Sipping, he smiled as he remembered why he loved his cousin's coffee. The man made it so strong it could strip paint off a wall. Brandon chuckled, throwing a smile of his own at the teen.
"I'm making crepes."
"We're having paper ribbons for breakfast?" Calvin sighed.
"Crepes are a very delicious French breakfast, I'll have you know. It's sorta like those enchiladas we had at that Mexican place a few months ago, just not with all the cheese, salt and meat. And best of all, with these, you can put almost anything in them."
"Where's Georgia, doesn't she want some of these magical french pancakes?" Calvin replied, his face in a humorous glance as he leaned on the counter.
"She went to work, called into the OR earlier than we'd have liked, and they are not pancakes." Brandon defended. The teen rolled his eyes at the craziness. Calvin often wondered what drove Brandon to be this weird at times. He could understand the crepes and French singing, the dude was a high school French teacher, not to mention his French teacher, but the apron and the happy go lucky attitude was new, and quite frankly, deranged in Calvin's mind.
"Can I just finish this cup of coffee and go to school?" Calvin asked. Brandon was not always the best cook, and when he tried making something new, it took a long time, multiple tries, and many more explicits, before they possessed a bearable amount of radiation, as to be ingested into the human body, with little to no adverse side effects.
"No, you are going to start your first day at a new, and permanent school, so before you do, you're going to have a good breakfast. Then you're going to go and make friends, and maybe in the future get a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, if you swing that way. Oh and maybe join a team, so you aren't at home so much." Brandon stated. "This is going to be different Calvin."
"Thanks, Brandon, are you trying kill me? If so, by what? Embarrassment? Poisoning at breakfast, hit and run with the staff golf cart?" Calvin muttered, not intending for the man to hear him.
"No, why would you assume I'd be trying to kill you?" Brandon questioned, of course hearing him anyway, all while serving the now complete crepes onto a glass plate that Calvin had not noticed was already in front of him. Calvin risked a glance at the plate.
"What the…?" Calvin stared. The large dish contained a large crepe, overflowing with what he could only assume was Nutella, an orange slice, and some bacon Calvin had not smelt before now.
"Now, eat." Brandon said, before sitting down across the rectangular table from him and began digging into the crepes on his plate. " They have nutella in them so, eat."
Calvin gave the flat meal a second glance, then looked up at Brandon, who had paused, watching and waiting for Calvin to take a bite. Calvin groaned.
"Are you serious right now?" he whined.
"Don't whine, it's very unbecoming. Now eat." Brandon replied.
Calvin swallowed. Truly, the way he was acting was a bit more paranoid than necessary, but as of late, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't safe. He picked up the fork, and cut into the warm crepe, letting the smell of warm nutella fill his nostrils and relieve much of the stress he had that morning. He stabbed the fork into the thin dough, and before the piece fell off, he lifted it into his mouth.
It was warmth and perfection. He chewed, letting out a small moan, which caused Brandon to smile in pride, and swallowed.
"Good, right?" Brandon asked. Calvin grunted in response. "Hey Calvin?"
Calvin swallowed. "Yeah?"
"How did you sleep last night?"
Calvin stopped chewing, and the room was silent. Calvin's eye appeared to darken a bit, and his tone changed to a much sharper and annoyed one. "Fine, why?"
"It's just Georgia was worried, and the counselors in Boise told us..."
"To what? Watch me while I sleep, record anything that happens? Treat me like a lab rat? Stop saying there is something wrong with me! I am FINE. So what if I wasn't all that happy in Boise, doesn't mean that I need so much goddamn help!"
Calvin breathed. Brandon tried to speak up, but Calvin, now breathing heavier, stopped him.
"Can we just eat in peace?"
They ate their breakfast in silence, till Brandon yelled that they had to go, as the time for school was approaching fast, and they had to drive there. Brandon ran off upstairs, while Calvin grabbed his one-strap backpack from by the front door, filled with empty school materials, most of which would be filled with doodles and other non-school based creations.
As Brandon had yet to get him a sketchbook.
"Come on Brandon, we're going to be late." he mumbled, as his cousin clambered down the stairs, dressed in black dress pants, and a half untucked white collared shirt, brown boots heavy as he ran towards the door.
"Ready?" Brandon asked, not paying attention to the fact that Calvin was standing there, prepared to take Brandon's car and leave him behind.
"No…." Calvin gestured to himself for reference, " I'm not."
"Don't get smart."
Calvin sighed as the black jeep wrangler pulled into the school parking lot, into the staff spot reserved for Brandon.
"I know what you're thinking Calvin, but this is the last time we are moving. I know we've said that a lot, but this time we are staying till you go off to college. And you are going to college, if not, its tech school or the military. No ifs ands or buts."
"That's what the rest of the foster homes said. Look where I am now…" He shut the door, silencing his cousin before he could fire out a response.