I own nothing.
Entire story inspired by Copeland's acoustic version of their eminent song, No One Really Wins.
Chapter Two.
Macy Misa had panned out to be a decently interesting girl, and, on top of that, she was fairly cute. But Joe was above her in nearly every aspect, so he really didn't care. He had been here for a week, and she came by the house on a daily basis; almost like she made a routine of caring for his secluded brother.
She'd knock politely at the door until Joe, Stella, or his father had answered, pranced whimsically up the stairs and into Nick's room, made the youngest brother lunch (pasta with butter was his favorite), listened attentively to the old records Kevin left behind with him set on repeat, cleaned the kitchen counters or organized the magazine rack downstairs if Nick was sleeping, and clumsily made her way out of the house in high spirits at sundown only to return the next day.
She may have been a saint in another world, but in this one, she was just a strange; incomprehensible young girl.
Joe didn't know what to exactly make of her.
They didn't cross paths much, but when they did he'd notice the way her hair fell over her shoulders, or how short she was; the small curve and outline of her chest pressed against her numerous college sweatshirts, and the look of knowing in her eyes whenever she glanced at him. He wondered what Nick told her, how he spoke of Joe himself, and if he told Macy what had really happened to Kevin.
Joe figured, though, he'd never receive any of those answers.
And he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know anyway.
"I'm sorry for the other week," she spoke suddenly, beaming perkily at him with her hand resting on the handle of a pot filled with water. She placed it on the kitchen's gray, gas-powered stove, and set the flame ablaze.
It was in the middle the day on a Tuesday afternoon, exactly one week and a day from his and Stella's arrival along with Macy's rather explosive; albeit painful introduction. It was too hot out to do anything, or do anything with productively at least, and Stella was off seeing her grandparents for the day, promising to return to him in the evening or tomorrow morning. He was sitting at his kitchen's island, scanning an old Maxim magazine he found lying underneath his old bed's mattress when Macy traipsed into the open room and began to rummage through the cabinets in intent to cook Nick food.
It irritated Joe, to say the least. It just aggravated him to no ends that this girl -- who could be spending her summer tanning, shopping, going to movies or whatever the hell girls at her age did -- was wasting her time on Nick, rather than having a real vacation like she deserved.
She peered at him curiously, studying his furrowed eyebrows and concentrated eyes, and waited for a response to lessen the awkward tension held between the two.
"Don't be sorry," he answered shortly and she smiled pleasantly at him. He shifted in his chair, squinting at the pages before closing the magazine dulled from its age. "It's Nick's fault he didn't tell you."
He began to chew gingerly on the inside of his cheek, silently playing over careful words in hopes of getting a rise out of Macy. He watched her in a vigilant manner, observing her unmarred face fall in confusion at the drop of his statement.
"The subject of you coming home never came up is all," she lied. "Nick does talk about you, though. He says you're starting your third year of college in the fall, aren't you?"
Joe shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah." He paused, shifting the subject, "so you and Nick are best friends?"
"I guess… well, yeah, we are," she blushed. "I know you haven't heard of me before, but I just moved here from Chicago. Nick was the first person I talked to in school and then that… that thing happened, and, well, yeah."
In theory, Macy was the complete opposite of Nick.
Deemed as a collective and severely calm individual, not in a million of years would Nick become 'best friends' with an eccentric, stuttering and stumbling girl like Macy Misa. And, admittedly, Joe was relatively curious to why his younger brother had become so dependent on the antonym of himself.
She nervously checked her pot of heating water.
"I'm sure you know our stove's always been on the fritz," he commented, stretching lazily in his seat. "It takes, like, eighteen minutes to boil one pot of water."
Macy turned to him, flustered and averting his gaze. "You don't have to talk to me, you know."
"Well, you spoke to me first so I figured it'd be polite to respond." He rolled the crinkled raunchy magazine in his hands; boldly looking at her. "And you don't have to pretend like you don't know me, too. I'm sure Nick's told you every single thing about me. Or his reasons for hating me, at least."
"Nick hasn't anything bad about you," insisted the young girl.
Joe felt like she resembled a lamb a tiny bit. And he was the big bad wolf; unintentionally of course.
"Really? Then what has he said?"
"Not much at all, really," she answered truthfully.
"Ah, well, Nick's not much of the articulate type anyway."
She swallowed loudly, jumping at the abrupt ring from Joe's cell phone resting on the marble counter. He stared at it lamely, figuring by the second ring he should answer it, and Macy's eyes darted back to the iron gray stove when he hit the green 'call' button of his phone to answer.
"Mmhmm?"
"Lunch got cut short with my grandparents," informed Stella Malone. In the background he could hear muffled noises of honking horns and the faint sound of engines whispering against the wind. She was driving somewhere; maybe to her parent's house, maybe to his. "Wanna do something?"
"Sex," he responded and Macy stiffened.
Stella's pretty laugh rang through his ears. "You always want that. Anything else I can service you with?"
"I guess we could just hang out and get me out of this house," he suggested earnestly and he could imagine the blonde biting her lip in thought of what to do in order to entertain the pair. "And no, Stell, I don't have any particular thing in mind. Surprise me, will you?"
"I'll come by in five."
Joe wittily agreed with a dry remark in hand and hung up; immediately noticing Macy's disappearance. The water had yet to begin to even steam and the glossy front page of his Maxim issue, with some nameless yet attractive celebrity girl posed in a borderline trashy position, was slightly curled from his earlier attempt to roll it up and rested on the edge of the island's counter.
She wasn't coming back, he concluded. At least, not with him around.
He fixed his hair and pulled together some suitable clothes; eventually deciding that he'd wait for his blonde best friend on the curb of his driveway instead of in his kitchen.
Might as well make it easier for Macy, you know.
Generally, Stella was always late.
And it wasn't in five minutes that she picked him up, but fifteen. It was okay, though. Joe was accustomed to her half-promises and statements. She'd say all these things in good intention; of course, she'd never follow completely through with them and apologize profusely and sincerely afterward. But that was Stella for you. And that was all Joe could ask for.
They sat in the open bed of her 2008 silver Chevy truck, matted with solid dust and raw memories of their wistful teenage years. It was dusk and the black atmosphere hurriedly spilled over their heads and they had decided earlier on that they'd spend their evening at the neighborhood's local park on the town's highest hilltop, parking Stella's truck in its deserted parking lot.
She came prepared -- blankets, cigarettes, her dad's alcohol and all too.
It culminated to be a pretty good evening so far.
"It's always weird coming back here, don't you think?" She toyed with the cigarette in between her fingers, ultimately refusing it and placed it back into its carton. She appeared slightly proud of herself. "Like, nothing's changed except you."
"Nick sure hasn't changed," Joe replied, thumbing the rim of his Keystone can.
"Well, he's only seventeen, Joe," reminded the blonde.
"I don't get that girl either." He stared long and hard at the fading horizon, tracing the town's artificial light's limitations straining against the sky with his eyes. "The one who's always around the house; taking care of him. I can't read her."
"She's only seventeen too," Stella said. "She's just trying to help Nick out. He isn't coping with Kevin's death healthily. And… sometimes, I'm not sure if your dad is either."
"What I don't get," he murmured, "is why she's even putting up with him. Or how she puts up with him. You think she already hates me -- just by whatever horrible things Nick's ever said about me and what terrible things I've done?"
He felt the small curve of Stella's chin resting gently on the crook of his shoulder, her soft golden hair tickling his cheek. He pressed closer to her and inhaled her airy vanilla scent.
"Joe, stop," she commanded quietly; nearly pleaded. "You're not this vindictive, awful person you make yourself out to be and you know it. Sure, Nick's angry at you, but he's only a teenager; he's usually angry. But right now he's hurt, and your dad doesn't know how to cope with Kevin's death and your mom and Frankie's somewhere back East, so that's why he clings to Macy. She's a sweet girl, and I think it's wonderful that he's found someone to console in."
"You think she's like you," he smiled in a corrupt manner and he could feel a tiny tremor vibrate up his side as she giggled. "Trying to fix that broken, good-looking Lucas boy."
"Neither of you are broken," she whispered. "just badly bruised, for a good reason too."
Joe peered upward, the universe glaring back down at him.
"Remember our senior prom night when they had that huge bonfire over here?"
Even under the moonlight's dim glow, he could still make out the laughter filling Stella's eyes beneath the shadows covering her face. He took a sip of his second beer, and she glanced at him with a smile on her face.
"Of course -- how could I forget? You took that nasty, mean girl. What was her name? Marrissa Maye? And, oh gosh, her dress. It was such an ugly orange color! I told you orange isn't your color -- I even told her that!"
He allowed a chuckle to escape his lips and she leaned on him. "Always looking out for me, huh, Stell?"
"Things sure have changed," she mused lightly, and notably a little sleepy, too. She took the can from his grasp and took a large gulp from it, laughing to herself. "I hated you for a week after that. Nick tried to convince me to talk to you, told me you were real torn up about it; that you didn't think asking Marrissa to prom was that bad."
She was starting to sound bitter.
He patted her cheek and she kissed his. "Joe, you know I'll always love you."
He did know. He always knew. From the moment he met Stella Malone.
Sometimes, he thought he might be in love with her too just because, you know, he thought he ought to be. Because everyone just assumed they'd end up together, happily ever after. But he wasn't sure if he was, if he'd ever been, or if he'd ever be truly in love with Stella.
Sure they had kissed in college before, even had sex. It was the college thing to do, wasn't it?
To experiment, run a trial and error. And his dorm was only a hallway down from hers. They had practically the same classes, and they studied together, hung out with the same well-dressed, good-looking, outgoing friends; partied with one another, clung to each other in comfort or in stress, and when they finally kissed in the middle of a kickback a little too noisy and crowded to be considered one, he figured it was the kind of thing he should do. It felt nice, but it didn't necessarily feel amazing. It just felt… well, sort of what he expected it to be.
He turned to her and he felt her soft familiar lips on his.
When she pulled away she had this sweet, pixie-like curve to her mouth -- a sincere grin, and he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "You do know that, don't you?"
"Yeah," he swallowed, "yeah. I do."
She didn't need any more reassurance before leaning in to kiss him again.
Alright guys, so I decided to get another job on top of my honors and AP classes so, yeah, this definitely reduces my life basically to: searching for scholarships, school, work, sleep & if I'm lucky of any sorts, maybe a party here and there. Whoever told you senior year is the easiest year you've been gravely mistaken, haha. So my updates will probably be super scarce, however, I'm not giving up on this story; I just have prior engagements that regard more to my future. Sorry :/
On story-related news: I'm super overwhelmed and thankful for the feedback guys, really, I appreciate it a lot :) Also, I responded back to all my reviewers and I wondered if you guys would rather me not reply in general and just answer those who have questions? And, lastly, I think I may change the rating of this story but we'll see.
Reviews always mean love, too. Thanks!