A/N: Two updates in one day? This must be some kind of miracle. Oh wait, I remember why: I don't have any kind of word goal for this story. :D Still, this chapter is about 4500 words long, I think.
desertstormx: I'm glad you like the different approach. As for reading soon, how's this for you? Less than twelve hours later, in fact. :)
Morbid Crow: Oh, I'm afraid things are just beginning. It all seems so simple, but yet it's not. Thanks for the +fav, too! :)
Anyways, on to the chapter!
Chapter 2: Turn Me Around
Lunch was a typical boring affair for Lilly. She just sat at one of the tables out in the quad, letting the gorgeous California sunshine soak into her skin. But it wasn't enough to ever warm her soul. Her parents had seen to that. They'd abandoned her. They'd forsaken her. They'd let her walk into the abyss, and now refused to drop a life-line to save her. Yeah, well, fuck them too.
She hated being called stupid and retarded. She knew that Maxwell was smarter than she had been at his age, but she didn't know how much smarter or even if he was smarter than she was as a sophomore; he was only in eighth grade, after all. She hated that he got all the attention and love. He was the smart child. He was the perfect angel. Not her. She had turned out rotten. She was very close to flunking out of her second year of high-school and nobody gave a damn. Days moved too fast; her brain moved too slow. She was far from stupid, but she didn't always get the material that was being covered in class that day. Some of it stuck and made sense, but the rest was totally beyond her. She felt like she just needed a second chance, someone to believe in her, maybe even just a short-lived amount of extra help. Even just someone to tell her that she was smart and that she would go somewhere in the world. Was it really so hard to say that she was doing a good job once in a while?
Her father had come home the night before, exhausted after the jet lag from his business trip to Japan, then to London. He was an entrepreneur for a powerful company known as TruCorp. The goal of the company was to revolutionize the way of living with new appliances for the house and new ways of thinking about how to change the preconceived notions that the public had about the way a household should run. To date, her father had conceived plausible ideas for, and built working models of, a toaster that was built into the counter, a touch-activated stove that blended with the counter it was mounted to, a dishwasher that had the ability to scrub individual dishes, a thumb-print-activated deadbolt lock on a door, a bed that could automatically reshape itself through hydraulics and gentle pressure changes to provide unbroken sleep and immense comfort to the body, and a vacuum cleaner that picked up ninety-nine percent of all dust and debris from the carpet. The past week's presentations had been for a television screen that was the thickness of a windowpane, just as see-through, and yet could display 2,000 pixels per square inch of high-resolution imaging and clarity. One of three of the exact same televisions hung in their own living room, the other two contained within TruCorp's main headquarters, one on display, the other running through testing and data acquisition.
Needless to say, with the fatigued man returning home late Wednesday night, he did not know anything about Lilly's grades. Heather hadn't told him. She had no intention of doing so. Lilly wouldn't tell her father of her grades if she didn't have to, so therefore the man would be left clueless, for the better. If he ever found out that his daughter was near the edge of failure, he'd lose it and rip her a new ass.
She contemplated the possible outrage her father could unleash if he knew. She would be the immediate target, followed by her mother for 'wasting her time on a retarded child.' Retarded. That word slashed through her heart every time. She didn't want to be retarded. She hated being called retarded, hated it even though she believed it with all her heart. She didn't want to be stupid, didn't want to be the one that everyone laughed at. It was all up to her, in a sense.
Fifth period health drifted by slowly. Then came sixth period Geometry again. She struggled to pay attention through both classes. Once the bell rang, however, she didn't stand up and leave. She waited for the class to empty. Finally, the teacher looked up at her, a bit startled.
"Lilly, is there something I can help you with?"
The blonde cleared her throat shakily, unsure of herself. "Um...remember when you told me that you had a tutor of sorts who could help me?"
"Yes. That offer is still available."
"Do you know...what this person is doing on Saturday?"
"I can't say I know the schedule, but I can certainly ask. Are you considering utilizing her brain for help?"
She nodded, gazing down at her desk. "I...I don't want to fail. I never wanted to fail. A-and most of all...I hate when people call me r-r-retarded," she choked out, struggling to keep herself in check. She slowly lifted her gaze to her teacher, who, surprisingly, was smiling.
"Lilly, you're not retarded. You just need a little extra help. My TA will help you immensely if you want."
"Y-yes...I would most certainly like the help."
"Well, alright. I'll see what the answer is, then. You'll know at the beginning of class tomorrow."
"Thank you," she mumbled, shyly scooping her stuff up and leaving the room. She felt torn about the decision she'd made to ask for help, but she needed it. She couldn't take the pressure from her parents any longer. She hated being their stupid child. They'd given up on her when she needed them most. She'd show them with a little help, no thanks to any of their work.
Once again she skateboarded home, not looking forward to the dinner conversation. She would have to tell her father about her grades and deal with him panicking and ripping her wide-fucking-open for the world to see. She didn't like the thought, but it had to be done. She had to tell them that she had requested a tutor for her Geometry, though the TA, who was rumored to be in Pre-Calculus, a tough honors math class, meant that there was also the strong possibility of help in other subjects. Lilly hoped so. She was overly reluctant to ask for even one tutor, let alone six.
Her brother was home this time, playing some online game with his friends. She could tell it was a gory game, probably some manifestation of war, as the sound of machine-gun shots reached her ears upon opening the door. He had been addicted to the game for a while now, but her parents never got mad at him for playing; he always had good grades and kept his nose clean while they were around. He was carefree when they weren't; nothing that Lilly said made any difference to them, as they would only believe she was attempting to get their little angel into trouble for something trivial. Thus, upon hearing her brother cuss into the headset he wore lopsidedly over his cranium, she merely shook her head and walled herself up in her room.
A short half-hour later and her mother arrived home, once again entering Lilly's bedroom. This time, the woman looked pleasantly surprised at seeing her daughter relaxed in her black swivel-chair, her shiny blue bass guitar resting on her lap, the floor and bed free of clothing or other debris. The room actually looked inhabitable for once.
"My God, you cleaned in here."
Lilly raised an eyebrow. "You act like you're surprised."
"Well, truthfully, I am. This place looks...decent, Lilly."
She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for trying, mom. Oh, and prepare to be doubly surprised."
"By?"
"Well...I'm going to tell dad at dinner about my grades."
Now it was Heather's turn to quirk an eyebrow. "Lillian, are you sure that's a good idea?"
"He deserves to know the truth."
"You think so?"
"Well, considering I actually bothered to...to ask my math teacher for a t-tutor, yeah."
"You...asked for a tutor?"
"She offered her TA up to me from her fourth period Algebra Two Trig class on Tuesday, and I asked what the TA would be doing on Saturday. You grounded me from my Friday night skate session, and I don't want to ruin whatever the tutor might be doing that evening," she grumbled ruefully.
"Don't be like that, Lillian," she warned sternly. "You and I both know that you can be doing better."
Actually, somehow, I think you lost faith in me. Maybe you don't get it, mother, but this is my way of saying 'fuck you' right to your face. "Yeah...sure."
Her mother's eyebrows furrowed in the instant before she left, shutting the door behind her. Lilly returned to playing notes on the bass, both plucking and slapping the strings with her thumbs and fingers. The fat, jazzy tune that sounded from the amp's depths was enrichment to her soul and made her feel good inside, knowing that she had learned how to play the instrument without any help of any kind. She wasn't in a band, but she had played occasionally with her friends when they decided to get drunk and make noise on the weekends and holidays. She smirked openly, grabbing the thick plastic pick from the desk, her hands cranking out a fast and overly aggressive line of strumming, her fingers flying across the frets in an angered frenzy. She loved the self-expression that she had just through the playing of such a simple instrument. Even as she remembered one particularly rowdy evening consisting of nothing but heavy music and harsh vocals, she smiled, continuing her fast-paced strumming and rhythm. It felt good to vent through her music.
After a while she tired of it and returned the instrument to its stand, the amp powering down and sitting gently beside it. The bass was the only thing that held any value in Lilly's eyes, second only to her skateboard. Nothing else mattered so long as she could ride her wheels and play some melodious expression of her soul.
Her thoughts of blissful music were interrupted, however, when her mother called her to dinner not long after. The feelings of fear and trepidation returned. She had already informed her mother of her decision. Now she just had to build up her courage and find the right time.
Whether by good fortune or bad, as she began eating the luxuriously delicious mostaccioli noodles and pepperoni slices that were baked within a cheesy crust of warmth and flavorful goodness. It was like heaven to her tastebuds since she'd not consumed any food all day and was literally starved. After the fourth bite off his plate, Kenneth Truscott cleared his throat.
"So, how's school been for you two?"
"I've been doing great. My teachers love me to death so much it hurts sometimes," Max stated. His father smiled.
"Sometimes it's what happens, son. Better loved than hated, right?"
Lilly couldn't help the light pink tinge that just barely tapped her cheeks. Within a half-second, her father was on her case as well.
"And you, young lady?"
He had more of a condescending tone with her. She sighed.
"Not so hot," she mumbled to her plate.
"What's the trouble this time?"
"I...I have three C's and three D's," she admitted. There was silence for a moment. She could hear her father cleaning his teeth with his tongue, something he did when he was either frustrated with news or angry with someone. Lilly suspected both were true.
"Three D's."
She nodded glumly.
"Heather, what the hell kind of child are we raising here?"
"Ken, dear, please-"
"No, Heather. I've tried being nice, I've tried being supportive, I've tried helping, and now she's gone and pissed on my foot and tried to tell me it's raining. You shouldn't have to pressure her anymore. She's not a child. She's in high-school. She'll be in the real world soon, where reality will whip her ass for being lazy and incompetent."
"I'm not incompetent," Lilly growled.
"Then why are you failing?"
"I'm not failing, dad, I'm struggling."
"With what? We've given you all the help we can."
"It's not something you can help with."
"Clearly," he scoffed. She was reaching the breaking point.
"Look, I don't particularly care what you think about me. Call me whatever names you want, say what you will, whatever. I don't care what you say behind my back; it just confirms what I already believe to be true, that my parents are too afraid to just tell me to my face. And in case you're ready to insult my intelligence and call me stupid or retarded or trash or whatever the hell else, I've asked for a tutor for this Saturday since mom won't let me go out Friday night."
"Damn right you won't go out Friday night. You aren't going anywhere this weekend. You now have no life for these grades, Lillian."
"I don't care," she returned violently, dropping her fork to her plate, glaring at her father across the table. "I don't care how little of a life you give me. I asked for a tutor to help me, and that tutor will be here on Saturday to aid me if I have any say whatsoever. I'm not stupid, dad-"
"Then why the hell are you failing? Why do you need a tutor?"
"Because the damn class isn't long enough to learn anything!"
She was alight with anger at her father's lack of comprehension. She had figured that he would at least be open-minded enough to maybe understand the situation, even if he didn't like it.
"So you're wasting my good money to pay for this tutor person?"
"It's a free tutor, dad! It's someone who goes to my school. And if it isn't free, I'll be shelling out my own money to pay for it, thank you very much!"
She glowered at her father, the angry blue coals burning in her irises, daring him to challenge her. He shook his head slowly.
"I can't believe my child didn't learn anything in class," he said quietly. She nearly snapped.
"And I can't believe my father doesn't have any faith in his child," she returned just as venomously. She stood and shoved her plate away, storming off.
"Prove me wrong, then! Show me you're better than that!"
"You're gonna eat those words!" she called over her shoulder.
"Lilly, what about dinner?" her mother asked desperately.
"I'm not hungry!" she roared, slamming her door. The handle locked of its own accord, leaving the blonde with nothing to do but to flop into her chair in anger. The conversation hadn't gone the way she'd hoped it would. Still, she would show him. She would show everyone. They all thought she was retarded. She wasn't retarded. She didn't require special education. She didn't need a resource class or an IEP. She just needed a leg-up to help herself out. That tutor was going to be her leg up, she was sure of it.
Even as the music began blaring through the speakers again, she reflected on the evening. Nothing had gone the way she had planned. She wondered distantly if anything could help her out of her emotional turmoil and lack of self-confidence. She had never had a very high self-esteem, and the only way she seemed to ever feel comfortable or good about herself was when she was riding her skateboard or playing music. Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed fair.
The quiet knock on the door was almost missed amid the loud rantings of the music, which were hurriedly dimmed once the noise registered in Lilly's mind. The lock clicked as she swiped at the handle with her open hand, and her mother's worried face poked its way in.
"You alright, Lilly?"
"Just peachy, mother."
"Your father may not seem like it, but he's glad that you're taking your education seriously."
"Yeah. No thanks to either of you."
Her mother seemed a bit taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"You both gave up on me. Called me retarded. Called me a failure. Threatened to kick me out. You've both given up on me, and you want me to believe that you're glad that I'm thinking of my future?"
"Lillian-"
"Save it, mother. I promise you now, I will work my damnedest to pull through and bring you amazing grades, just so I can rub your stuck-up, prim, proper, perfect nose in those small, powerful letters on the piece of paper they send home every now and again, just to say 'I told you so' with a mocking smile and a nagging voice."
Her mother clenched her jaw, the muscles visibly tightening. "That is no way to talk to your mother."
"And yet, I've just shown you right there that I'm not as stupid as everyone believes me to be. Thank you, and goodnight."
The woman shut her daughter's door, at which point loud music immediately began playing again. Lilly believed that she truly was a smart person, if only someone who didn't always understand everything that she was expected to learn. School wasn't her interest. It was just a way to waste the days of her life with meaningless drivel, just the way it had been for the past eleven years she'd been attending. Her interests didn't include schoolwork. The only things she liked about it were the fact that her friends were there and that she could be away from her parents. Beside that, there was no point in going to that institution. She only wanted to play music and ride her skateboard. Even creative writing had lost its appeal with her since she'd been told by her English teacher that it was no good and was written by someone with a sixth-grader's voice. That had crushed her more than anything. She loved writing, loved the freedom of self-expression and vocabulary growth, but what was the point when her teacher, just one year before, had told her that she sounded like a child with everything she had to say?
She sighed, gazing once again at the computer screen. There was nothing to interest her there. She had hidden all her writing away in a folder, never to be opened by anyone ever again. The last time she'd written anything, it had been a poem, a series of sonnets of some kind (though the exact name of it escaped her) written the day of her birthday in mid-July. It was entitled 'The Circle' and it had only taken Lilly ten minutes to write the thirteen stanzas at fourteen lines apiece within her head, another fifteen to get the kinks ironed out on the paper and create a presentable representation of the poem. However, she never let anyone read it, ever. It was too personal, too violent, too sexual, too much of things she had little knowledge of.
She rubbed her temples, wondering why she was still awake. Then again, it was only about eight-thirty in the evening. She technically didn't have curfew for another hour-and-a-half, yet the fatigue of the day was beginning to catch up with her. She didn't know if she'd be able to make it much longer. Oh well. Shit happened.
She kicked off her shoes, letting them reside under the desk. Her pants and shirt followed suit, landing in the clothes-hamper. Then went her bra. As she tossed it away, she caught her reflection in the mirror that was also her closet door. She gazed at herself in silence, the music having played itself out, and drank herself in. Long, oily blonde hair that flowed from the top of her head down to the bottom of her shoulder blades, framing her angelic face perfectly, even with the thick tendrils of unclean hair. Her eyebrows were neat and clean, hovering gently over dull blue eyes that looked like they'd seen better days. Her nose sat, cute as a button, right above her lips, young and healthy as they were. Her neck was a bit long, but it made her look just a tad bit older, her shoulders leaning down a bit as if burdened by a heavy weight. Even her breasts seemed to sag just a bit, the pink nipples soft and malleable in their unaroused state. Her taut stomach beneath matched that of the slight muscles in her forearms and biceps from all the skating tricks that she did. She seemed so much like a boy, and yet, she wondered what it would be like to be just a bit more feminine. Nothing could be helped.
Her stomach flowed seamlessly into her waist and hips, gentle curves that could become more pronounced and turn heads should she ever care to accent them or present herself in such a fashion. She preferred boys and their sense of not giving a fuck about anything rather than being a girly-girl who liked to dress up and look cute and chase after the popular boys. She had much better things to do with her time, as her strong thighs and calves well claimed. She could see prickles poking out of her legs. She definitely needed to shave. First she needed to put the razorblades back into her shaver.
The razorblades.
Memories of Tuesday night came back to haunt her. She hated slashing her wrists as much as she enjoyed the happiness that eventually resulted from it. She never truly felt better after she woke up the next morning from the blackout while her body recovered, and the scars on her wrists never faded, only dulled, leaving her looking marred and unclean, as though she'd been some holy artifact dropped in the mud, forever stained with the repercussions of her actions. It was the only way out of her suffering. Either that, or she could die.
So why didn't she?
The answer was simple, really. She believed that she was only given one life. She only had one chance to change herself and become a better person. She only had one time to live, and if she ended that time, there was no coming back. She didn't cut because she wanted to commit suicide, she did it because it relieved the day, or week, or month, or even extension of months' worth of pain. And even as she gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes catching sight of the evil little steel blade, she knew that she had to at least try and give it up. The risk for dying was too great, and even though she hated being called names by her family and peers, she hated even more the prospect of dying. She gritted her teeth determinedly.
I can do this.
The razor found its way into her hand along with a bra and a new pair of black panties from the topmost drawer in her dresser. She then wrapped one arm nonchalantly across her exposed breasts and strode into the bathroom midway down the hall, shutting the door and locking it. The light clicked on, only preceding the shower by a brief instant, the clean garments earning their place on the back of the toilet, hidden by a clean, fuzzy towel. Her panties came off and she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the bathroom mirror, this time taking in the previously-covered section of skin on the front of her body. She slotted the blade back into her shaving razor and decided that she was in need of being clean and trimmed all over.
The hot water greeted her like an old friend that had been forgotten, both happily and sadly at the distance and the lack of affection. It had been a week since she'd last gotten a shower. She figured that she never needed them, even as she shampooed her golden locks into a white, lathery beehive atop her head. The water then cleaned the soapy mess from her hair and she moved on to applying the conditioner to soften her hair up a bit. She had forgotten how much she missed getting herself cleaned up in the shower.
With the conditioner set atop her head, her hair once again balled up, she reached for her razor and began working the blades against her legs. She moved slowly and deliberately, making sure to slice every hair cleanly and neatly under the water. There was no need for cream, just some lotion with aloe mixed into it to help soften her legs up and revitalize the underlying skin. After her legs came her pits, which had begun to form small pumpkin patches of hair on their own. She shuddered. Even though she preferred acting and dressing like a boy, she certainly didn't like the hair that came with it. She still had some girly quirks about her.
Finally she finished under her arms, feeling satisfied with her work. Next up: her crotch. She gazed down at her pelvis and below, taking in the unruly patch of fuzz that had grown. It was actually longer than generic fuzz, but it wasn't long enough to be called much else. She sighed and began gently dragging the razor across her sensitive skin, trying not to leave nicks or cuts in any uncomfortable places. Nothing pleased her more at that moment than to know that she would be clean, crisp, and done shaving for who knew how long. The soapy washrag then replaced the razor in her hand, and she scrubbed at every inch of skin she could reach, which was everywhere except for the spot on her back that sat just below the center of her shoulder blades, about a quarter way down her spine. Even her feet were scrubbed clean, the dirt and grime coming free easily under her abrasive scrubbing, her body looking, feeling, smelling cleaner than it had ever been before. And as the conditioner rinsed from her hair, she wondered suddenly why she was going through the trouble of cleaning herself?
It's symbolic. I'm cleaning up my act, so I've gotta clean up my body.
She giggled a bit at the thought. It made sense in a delirious sort of way. The water shut off and she stepped out of the shower, her skin steaming in the cool atmosphere of the bathroom. She toweled off and then wrapped the fuzzy white cloth around her hair. Her gaze once again caught the mirror and she noted how clean, how strong, how 'pure' she appeared to be. But of course, that was a lie. Lilly Truscott could never be pure, could she?
She stepped into her panties and slid them up to snugly hug her hips and cover her crotch. Her bra followed, lifting her breasts a bit, gently holding them for her. She smiled gently at her reflection. Even though she didn't like everything that she saw, there was no mistaking the bit of sexual attraction that she had to offer. She wasn't willing to give it, though. She thought she was anything but attractive to anyone. Sexy, debatable. Pretty, not so much.
She cut the light and moved back to her room, shutting the door. The bra fell back off as she retrieved a night-shirt that hung to the middle of her thighs. She had only needed the garment of clothing to cover herself for the short journey it took to get down the hall again. The towel came undone and landed in the hamper, much the same way Lilly landed on her bed: a mass that hurtled through the air and then unceremoniously landed on the object beneath it, where it would then remain for the duration of the night.
The Angel Of Death has been moving along slowly for me in terms of writing...I've got about four of the sixteen pages I need in order to update the story, so don't expect to see a chapter until tomorrow at the soonest, though I doubt that it will come out of me that soon. I will try my very hardest not to go on hiatus with it; Part I ends at the close of Chapter 10, which will most likely be shorter than the other chapters. Chapters 8 and 9 will be as close to 10000 words as I can bring them. Then comes Part II. :D
As for this story, time seems to slip past more than anything. There's really nothing taking place during the moments of seemingly stream-of-consciousness narrative. Guess what: it's symbolic of her life slipping past her as she continues to go down in a ball of flames. Now, the question is, do you think Lilly will fail, or will this 'mysterious' TA save her hide? You tell me what you'd like to see, other than the eventual Liley that this will become. :)
