Witness
by Peaches
A/N: Okay, this has nothing to do with my other fic, Those Returning. It takes place when the gang is in Grade 11. They're not as close as they used to be... well, they're actually not close at all. It's told from Spinelli's POV. It's inspired by The Wildflower Ministries, by VC Andrews.
Disclaimer: Standard
1. My Broken Family
If you'd have asked his friends, they'd have told you that Ryan Phillip Wood was a kind, caring man, who loved life, was very social, and was a charitable benefit to our society.
They'd have told you he treated his step-sons, Vitto Tybalt Spinelli and Joseph Antony Spinelli, like his own sons, and that his daughter, Ashley Mignonette Spinelli, was treated like a little princess. Maybe they'd have told you that he was understanding, and harboured no ill-feelings toward Robert Spinelli, his wife's ex-husband.
You might have been told that he was strong in his convictions, loved his wife, Florence, with all his heart, and that he would never raise a hand to another human being.
Well, that's a damn lie.
Please allow me to shed some light on the shadowy curtain of lies that hang over 148 Third Street...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was 11 when my parents divorced. My brother Joey, who was 21 then, fresh out of prison, was home again, preparing to turn his life around. He was a spitting image of our father, Robert in his younger years. He had bright green eyes and a jovial smile (when he bothered to smile). Though he was short, he was well-built, probably because of the time he spent weight lifting in prison. I didn't hold any judgement against him for having been in jail. He was my brother, and I loved him. Besides, it was funny, the looks I got when I told people he'd been in prison. No one messed with me much after he got out.
My other brother, Vitto, was 15, and as strange and mysterious to me as all teenagers were. He looked more like the men on our mother's side. He was tall and wiry, with the trademark jet-black Spinelli hair, and deep chocolate eyes. He looked like our Grandpa Gambini, our mother's father.
I remember our parents calling us into the living room for a 'family discussion' one night in January. I hated those discussions. They usually revolved around not drinking out of the milk carton and who left the toilet seat up.
That night, though, the atmosphere was different. Our parents were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, as though avoiding each other at all costs. My mother's eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she kept giving us the parental look that said 'We know what's best for you'. My father was sitting up rigidly straight, as though there was a steel pole in his spine.
When they delivered the news, they followed it with the old 'We're only doing what we think is best for the family' speech. I don't remember much after that. Just a lot of yelling (mostly on my brothers parts) and crying (mostly on my part), some harsh words being said, and Vitto blowing up at dad and stomping out of the house. I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to dad that night.
"I guess you can have your cake and eat it to, huh, dad? Or, in this case, your secretary!"
I didn't understand back then, but I do now.
Well, less then six months after the divorce, my mother got engaged to a man named Ryan Wood. At first glance, one could see why my mother had fallen for him. He was tall and only slightly chunky. His hair was blonde with little streaks of silver, which was understandable, considering both he and my mother were well-into their 40-something's when they met. His eyes were the most startling part about him. They were grey, but so light, there was almost no colour at all. In all honesty, his eyes scared me the most, aside from his other less-then-desirable traits.
You see, Ryan liked his liquor. Worse then that, he was a violent drunk. How many nights did I lay awake in bed, just wondering what part of my mother's body her next bruise would be on, as I listened to their frequent yelling matches. No one else heard these, as I was the only child still living in that house. Joey had left for college in Little Rock, and Vitto and dad were working on their relationship, so he moved across town with our father. I lay listening to the sound of breaking glass, terrified that Ryan would run out of ways to take out his anger on mom, and decide to wail on me for a little while. Those nights were the scariest nights of my life. Of course there had been arguments when dad was still around, but nothing even close to this. If you asked my old friends, they'll probably say that's about the time I became sullen... withdrawn from everyone. I know I'd had a cocoon of anger and bitterness around me for most of my young life, but even my teachers had started to worry about me by the sixth and seventh grades.
Now, years later, through the court-ordered therapy, my psychiatrist is attempting to make sense of my actions through all of this. She's already decided that the reason I started dressing in black when I was 12 was because of my "subconscious effort" to make myself unseen. Christ, I could have told her that. Well, whatever makes Miss Shrink happy is fine by me. Let her psycho-analyse me until her nose bleeds for all I care... It doesn't solve anything.
It doesn't pull a blind over the events of October through November of 2003... and I don't know if anything ever will.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
by Peaches
A/N: Okay, this has nothing to do with my other fic, Those Returning. It takes place when the gang is in Grade 11. They're not as close as they used to be... well, they're actually not close at all. It's told from Spinelli's POV. It's inspired by The Wildflower Ministries, by VC Andrews.
Disclaimer: Standard
1. My Broken Family
If you'd have asked his friends, they'd have told you that Ryan Phillip Wood was a kind, caring man, who loved life, was very social, and was a charitable benefit to our society.
They'd have told you he treated his step-sons, Vitto Tybalt Spinelli and Joseph Antony Spinelli, like his own sons, and that his daughter, Ashley Mignonette Spinelli, was treated like a little princess. Maybe they'd have told you that he was understanding, and harboured no ill-feelings toward Robert Spinelli, his wife's ex-husband.
You might have been told that he was strong in his convictions, loved his wife, Florence, with all his heart, and that he would never raise a hand to another human being.
Well, that's a damn lie.
Please allow me to shed some light on the shadowy curtain of lies that hang over 148 Third Street...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was 11 when my parents divorced. My brother Joey, who was 21 then, fresh out of prison, was home again, preparing to turn his life around. He was a spitting image of our father, Robert in his younger years. He had bright green eyes and a jovial smile (when he bothered to smile). Though he was short, he was well-built, probably because of the time he spent weight lifting in prison. I didn't hold any judgement against him for having been in jail. He was my brother, and I loved him. Besides, it was funny, the looks I got when I told people he'd been in prison. No one messed with me much after he got out.
My other brother, Vitto, was 15, and as strange and mysterious to me as all teenagers were. He looked more like the men on our mother's side. He was tall and wiry, with the trademark jet-black Spinelli hair, and deep chocolate eyes. He looked like our Grandpa Gambini, our mother's father.
I remember our parents calling us into the living room for a 'family discussion' one night in January. I hated those discussions. They usually revolved around not drinking out of the milk carton and who left the toilet seat up.
That night, though, the atmosphere was different. Our parents were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, as though avoiding each other at all costs. My mother's eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she kept giving us the parental look that said 'We know what's best for you'. My father was sitting up rigidly straight, as though there was a steel pole in his spine.
When they delivered the news, they followed it with the old 'We're only doing what we think is best for the family' speech. I don't remember much after that. Just a lot of yelling (mostly on my brothers parts) and crying (mostly on my part), some harsh words being said, and Vitto blowing up at dad and stomping out of the house. I don't think I'll ever forget what he said to dad that night.
"I guess you can have your cake and eat it to, huh, dad? Or, in this case, your secretary!"
I didn't understand back then, but I do now.
Well, less then six months after the divorce, my mother got engaged to a man named Ryan Wood. At first glance, one could see why my mother had fallen for him. He was tall and only slightly chunky. His hair was blonde with little streaks of silver, which was understandable, considering both he and my mother were well-into their 40-something's when they met. His eyes were the most startling part about him. They were grey, but so light, there was almost no colour at all. In all honesty, his eyes scared me the most, aside from his other less-then-desirable traits.
You see, Ryan liked his liquor. Worse then that, he was a violent drunk. How many nights did I lay awake in bed, just wondering what part of my mother's body her next bruise would be on, as I listened to their frequent yelling matches. No one else heard these, as I was the only child still living in that house. Joey had left for college in Little Rock, and Vitto and dad were working on their relationship, so he moved across town with our father. I lay listening to the sound of breaking glass, terrified that Ryan would run out of ways to take out his anger on mom, and decide to wail on me for a little while. Those nights were the scariest nights of my life. Of course there had been arguments when dad was still around, but nothing even close to this. If you asked my old friends, they'll probably say that's about the time I became sullen... withdrawn from everyone. I know I'd had a cocoon of anger and bitterness around me for most of my young life, but even my teachers had started to worry about me by the sixth and seventh grades.
Now, years later, through the court-ordered therapy, my psychiatrist is attempting to make sense of my actions through all of this. She's already decided that the reason I started dressing in black when I was 12 was because of my "subconscious effort" to make myself unseen. Christ, I could have told her that. Well, whatever makes Miss Shrink happy is fine by me. Let her psycho-analyse me until her nose bleeds for all I care... It doesn't solve anything.
It doesn't pull a blind over the events of October through November of 2003... and I don't know if anything ever will.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~