Dirt
Rosalie loved the smell of her father's garage. The cold metallic tang mixed with a dusty and greasy scent. The air tank was rumbling in the background beneath the crooning of Arctic Monkey's lead singer. There was grease underneath her fingernails again; she had most likely scrapped all of the paint off her fingernails. Her mother was not going to be happy; she was supposed to maintain this manicure. Her grease covered hands fumbled with a bolt and a wrench as she tried to secure the fuel line into its bracket. Putting in a new fuel line was proving to be more difficult than she had thought; she definitely needed a second hand. Her frustration grew as she heard her music go off and then the click-clack of her mother's pristine heels on the concrete floor. She rolled out from underneath her car and pulled a rag out of the back of her jeans to wipe her dirty hands off.
"Darling, must you really be out here getting all dirty," pestered her mother. "This is not ladylike at all. Her mother's gazed lowered to her hands, and as she caught sight of the destroyed nails she tsked but left it at that; thankfully.
"Mother, please, I'm enjoying myself," she replied, "Just go away."
"That is not an acceptable way to talk to your mother," boomed her new stepfather's voice. She rolled her eyes as he tried to reprimand her; he was not her father. His tall figure pushed its way into the garage to stand next to the recently and now newly married woman.
"Maybe we should ground you, and then you will learn to be more respectful, little girl," he continued. He stepped even closer to her, and as he did she instinctively stepped farther away from his menacing figure. Rosalie could feel the color drain from her face, giving away her fear. She had been avoiding the house as much as possible since he moved in, but her mother had refused permission for this recent sleep over.
"Now, now, honey, don't get so worked up," her mother addressed her new husband, turning to splay her perfectly manicured fingers against his chest, "let's leave her alone to play tomboy. We need to pack for our honey moon." Her mother voice started dripping seduction towards the end of that sentence. It was disgusting. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him back towards the house; he turned back long enough to sneer at Rosalie before trailing behind his new wife. Rosalie was sickened when she saw him smack her mother's ass followed by her mother giggle. She couldn't wait for them to leave on their belated honeymoon. She would be left alone to do as she pleased, with occasional checkups from her aunt Esme. Her relationship with her mother had never been decent and had not gotten any better since her father died; her father had been much more excepting of her tomboy ways. Her mother had wanted a perfect and pristine debutante not a girl covered in grease with a wrench and a shop rag in the back pocket of her baggy jeans.
She crawled back underneath her car to continue her work. Her mind slipped back towards her new stepfather and his threats. Royce was practically a gold digger; her mother had started dating him when her father was on his death bed fighting for his life. She couldn't forgive her mother for cheating on her dad and now she had married the creep. He was always staring at her, and would touch her when her mother wasn't around; the touches had stopped just being on her arm and had moved to her thighs. He always found a way to corner her, and she had tried to tell her mother but she had been too preoccupied with her wedding and honeymoon planning. Her frustration grew as she stripped out yet another bolt; she threw it out from underneath the car, and dug into the bag for another bolt. She felt for it but couldn't find one. She turned her body as far as she could to see. One last bolt sitting in the corner of the bag, she grabbed it and pushed the line back into place. Last time he cornered her, his hand had started to move up her and underneath her shirt, his hand was over her mouth and his body pressed against hers, thankfully her mother had just arrived from her spa trip and he had to back off. Tears were welling in her eyes and then her hand slipped on the wrench and punched into the underside of the car. The pain jarred her back into reality; the throbbing was excruciating and her cracked knuckles had started bleeding, again, she really needed gloves.
She strode into the house, and to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror glared back at her. Shaggy blonde hair hung around her pale face, blue under eye circles marring her pretty face; she looked just like her mother. She wasn't skinny like her mother, she had much more curves than she did, but she tried to wear clothes that fit not the skin tight clothing her mother always tried to put her in. 'You need to show off you figure more, darling.' She loved dressing up when she went to school, loved wearing heels to accentuate her nice calves, but she loved the freedom of dressing down when she was in the garage. She thought she perfectly pulled off being a girly tomboy, her mother didn't agree, the same with the kids at school. Though as the stress of losing her father and her mother remarrying took its toll on her mental state she had stopped changing out of her tomboy clothes for her nicer things, she had stopped shopping with her friends (Tanya, Irina, and Kate) at school, though she couldn't really call them friends. They had begun calling her a dyke and butch, they had even convinced the guys they hung out to follow suit. Tears welled up, but she wasn't going to let them fall, there was no reason to cry over mean, fake people.
Please review, tell me what you do and do not like, but please be nice.