Excuse Me! Yeah, you. Readers of this story. Review, damn it! I'm starting to think no one likes this and if that happens, I'll stop updating. So... REVIEW!
When I came around, it was because there was a soothing pressure in my hair and something wet was on my face. I managed to peel my eyelids back to see Matt sitting over me, balancing my head in his lap while tears rolled down his face. Several fell onto my chin and cheeks. He didn't seem to notice he was crying though; his eyes were glazed over and almost haunted.
"Matt," I said, "you're crying." He looked down in surprise and hastily wiped the tears away.
"What... why?" he asked softly. As though I had a headache and he was afraid of disturbing me.
"That's what I wanna know," I replied in the same, soft tone. "And why am I in your lap?"
He wiped his eyes again and shrugged, a light red hue dusting over his cheeks. "It's what I do for Stasia when she's not feeling well. I thought it'd comfort you a little."
The name brought a pang to my chest, recalling my big sister's illness. I frowned when he made to move out from under me and grabbed his hip, then blushed at my own action and wound my arm around his waist. Not that that was any less intimate, but I'd play it off as being sick if I was asked.
"Please stay... I like it," I murmured, nuzzling his stomach. He relaxed again and his hands went back to my hair, threading through the strands that I hoped like hell weren't dirty. I closed my eyes and sighed, almost silently though it took some of the fight out of my body. "Why were you crying?" I asked a few moments later, determined to get an answer. I stole a glance up and saw him staring off into space. It looked like he wasn't going to answer and I was about to repeat the question when I saw his mouth open, then close.
"I don't know," he said after a while. I closed my eyes and relaxed a little further, soothed by the weight of his hands against my hair. It didn't take long for my shoulders to slump and though Matt's scrawny and his thighs are bony and my head was elevated weirdly, I fell asleep.
...
I woke up when Matt threw a blanket over me and left, and later I would feel a bit lonely and cold and wonder why he didn't curl up with me again. But I snuggled deep into the bed and sighed, falling back asleep instantly.
...
Stasia was in my dreams that night. It sort of alternated, like fading scenes that held no significance or had any pattern. It began with the blonde girl that was sleep ridden and in a huge shirt and a pair of black shorts, sort of dancing into the room. I hadn't noticed the first time around, but she walked on the balls of her feet with a distinct bounce in her step. Her hair was fine enough that it fluttered behind her at the sides, shimmering in the fluorescent light. Her arms hung down by her sides, though her palms faced forward and her wrists stuck out a bit while her arms flew behind her just a little.
Then there was her in her car, bobbing her head to the music she played. Once again, details I hadn't noticed before became clear. She was wearing those ridiculous, paint splattered clothes that hung off her too thin frame.
Then I was in her studio, staring around at the drawings. Whether or not the drawings I saw were real or not, they were good. Then I saw her with her hair done up in the chopsticks, throwing her arm at the canvas wildly. It looked as though she might dislocate her shoulder. Then I saw the paintbrush in her hand and watched the bloody and grey splatters that maimed the canvas before her. It rippled and shifted into a heavy bag that was hanging from the ceiling, marred with cuts. The brush in her hand morphed into a knife that wounded the bag, slicing it to pieces. And she was screaming in frustration, panting and throwing her body into it with renewed vigor.
Then I saw the painting she had made, details complete. The canvas was alive though, shaking slightly and warping before my eyes. The paint broke away from the canvas and the bloody vines wrapped around the swaying characters, tightening and pulling them apart. Blood fell from where the vines cut into the letters, dripping down the canvas.
I sat up straight, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat. My clothes stuck uncomfortably to my skin and my hair was sticking up on one side, slightly damp.
I shakily stood and dropped the sheets onto the bed, intent on cleaning them up later. I stumbled into the bathroom and stripped out of my jeans and shirt, dropping them into a hamper and leaning against the counter. I looked up at my reflection.
She had a softer face, longer hair that was lighter and finer. Her eyes were lighter blue than mine. Aside from that, she might as well by my twin. It was frightening, really, just how much she looked like me.
But she was dying. Our own flesh and blood parents had been the source of her destruction, the reason she probably wouldn't see twenty. I gripped the counter tighter. And the way she'd said it... 'I ruined the image of the perfect family... and it was their fault.' My stomach turned.
I wondered briefly how she lived on a day to day basis. Did she paint and draw and watch Matt work on his cars, dirt biking when she felt like it and taking her cars for spins? Or had I only caught a glimpse of her life?
I stepped away from the counter and leaned over the shower, turning the water on. I adjusted the temperature while my mind came up with random scenarios about how she lived. Could she cook? Did she ever sit around and watch television? What kind of music did she like? I shook the thoughts off and stepped under the hot, almost scalding spray.
Then thoughts of another sort entered my mind, plaguing my body. Matt had willingly put my head in his lap. Fuck, I'd have liked to been awake and aware, so that maybe I could have done something else...
My eyes widened when I found my body reacting particularly to that line of thoughts. Hell, that line of thought wasn't okay! Matt and my long lost, dying big sister were best friends. Lifelong friends. Childhood friends. So obviously having latent sexual feelings for him wasn't alright.
That didn't stop an embarrassing but oh-so-fuckin'-wonderful reaction from my hands that seemingly developed their own minds. (Yes, I'm ambidextrous. 'Cause I'm awesome.) So I ended up leaning against the cool tile wall, trembling and imagining that a certain redhead was standing before me.
Oh, I was so figuratively fucked.
...
I turned the water off and pushed the curtain aside, grabbing a fluffy towel and drying myself off. My hair dripped down against my shoulders and I roughly ran the towel through the locks, trying to dry them off. I pulled a brush through my hair then, pulling it back in a high ponytail.
I stepped into my room, still naked, to find that the sheets had been changed and the damp ones taken away. I furrowed my eyebrows and looked around, then went to my bag that I probably needed to unpack. While digging through for a clean change of clothes, I was met by my mother's rosary. I pulled the beads out slowly, looking them over carefully. Then I threw the jewelry on the bed.
I eventually fished out a pair of jeans and an AC/DC shirt. I padded down the stairs hesitantly, not understanding why I wasn't met by anyone. I made it to the ground floor and looked around the entrance hallway. I knew which direction the kitchen was, but didn't quite remember the rest from my tour. So I'd go to the kitchen.
I walked in to find that I'd slept through the night and it was late morning. Really late morning. If I gave it thirty more seconds, it'd be lunch time. Matt was standing in the kitchen, making omelets. Music was coming from a room over, which I later found to be the den.
"Na na na na na na na, na na na na na na! Na na na na na na na, na na na na na na! I guess I just lost my husband, I dunno where he went. So I'm gonna drink my money, I'm not gonna pay his rent! (Nope!)" I looked over at Matt, who was bobbing his head to the lyrics.
"Shouldn't Stasia be the one cooking?" Matt laughed.
"Generally, yes. But she can't cook to save her life," he replied.
"Hey!" an indignant shout came from the next room. "So, so what? I am a rock star. I got my rock moves, and I don't want you tonight!"
Matt rolled his eyes and kept cooking, swaying his hips sinfully to the beat and dancing along. In the second chorus Stasia came in, clad in a blue kimono with red flowers on it. She grabbed Matt's hands and they started dancing around, singing loudly and being stupid. Then on a turn, Stasia's eyes locked with mine and she sobered, dropping Matt's hands. He looked at me and we both blushed a bit, looking down.
"Are you alright Mello?" Stasia asked me. "You gave us quite a scare last night." It was as though she were speaking of the weather, with a mostly indifferent tone laced with slight concern.
"Y-Yeah," I finally responded. "I'm fine." There was a tense silence, which apparently Matt felt the need to break.
"Soooooooooooooooooooo," he said, dragging out the word. "Breakfast is ready." He went to the doorway and leaned against the threshold, sticking his head out. "B! L! I made breakfast, so get your asses down here!"
I sat down and Stasia sat next to me, pushing a plate towards me. I dug into my omelet slowly, looking at the girl beside me in confusion. She finally seemed to feel my stare and looked over at me, taking note of my face.
"Now you know. You can choose to take that knowledge how you wish, but... I can't afford to mourn. I don't have the time. So I won't." With that, she turned back to her breakfast, which she coated in ketchup.
"That's really gross," Matt piped up, sitting across from us with his own plate. "And what's with the outfit?" The look on Stasia's face was pretty epic; a hint of indignation, a delicately arched brow and a condescending quirk of her lips. Matt blushed intensely and his eyes darted around until he cracked.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "You look good." She smiled and took another bite of ketchup coated egg white.
The two ravens sauntered into the room. B had a slight limp that he was trying to hide, but was failing miserably. Both had a slight glow about their skin and darker bags under their eyes than usual, making me sort of want to puke. Stasia set down her fork and sighed.
"That's gross," she addressed them before standing and taking her leave. I sighed and Matt and I followed her, avoiding looking at the older two. Stasia had flung herself over the couch dramatically and was staring up at nothing in particular. Matt shuffled his feet sort of awkwardly before sitting next to Stasia's feet.
"Listen, uh... I need to talk to Mello. Is that alright?" She nodded with a smile and darted up the stairs, singing as she went. I looked over at Matt, who was looking at me evenly. My heart was hammering against my chest and I couldn't help but wonder what the hell about him got me so excited.
"So uh... Wammy said that I should talk to you. He said introducing you to my late family would help to form stronger bonds..." I swallowed and sat down on the couch beside him, waiting for his next words. But a thought came to my mind.
"Stasia said your name was Mail... why do you go by Matt?" The pained spasm that came across his face made me regret the question. But he pulled out his wallet and extracted a little picture that had been folded over time and time again. I unfolded it to see a picture of a little red-haired boy, cradling a baby. He wet his lips and parted them slightly...
