I don't own Transformers, only my OC's
A MASSIVE thank you to all my reviewers. You guys are always so helpful :)
I received a question on last chapter, regarding Mel's parents. No, the tornado did not hit her house. Feasibly I could not have Melry see her parents die (as it would have been the only way for us to see it) because she would have been mentally insane if she had. It's for that same reason none of her friends died in that house (originally I did have Jeremy die, but every time I looked at the chapter it bothered me. Not because a character died, but because Melry just seemed far too calm to have witnessed a death. I wrote and re-wrote that chapter countless times, but in the end the death of the boy just didn't work and got changed). But, given Mel's descriptions of the events, you can imagine how her parents (or anyone) would have died from a tornado.
The only thing left to say is, to any British people reading this, please don't be offended by a word that pops up in this chapter. I found out a Cybertronian swear word is a rather mean British term. The Cybertronian word is "Slag" (it can also be broken down into "slaggit" "slagged" "slagger" and "slaggin'"). The word has no defined definition in the realm of Transformers, but I often interpret it as "damn" or "damn it".
On with the story!
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There was something knocking in the distance, it sounded almost hollow. Ignoring it I nestled further into the softness of my bed, letting sleep tickle my senses.
Something warm brushed against my forehead, shifting my hair. "Mel," a soft voice prodded me awake.
Groaning I gave in and opened my eyes. They felt oddly swollen. My uncle was looking at me from the front seat of the truck.
Truck?
I bolted up. Truck! Ron! I suddenly remembered what had happened a few hours ago.
A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over me. I clapped my hand over my mouth. I refused to throw up. I refused!
"Hey, hey, hey" uncle was at my side. "Come on, let's get you inside."
Quickly but carefully I was ushered out of the truck and into the house. I scarcely made it to the bathroom before I vomited.
So much for resisting.
Only after making sure I was alright for the eighteenth time was I left alone to have a shower. The hot water felt absolutely divine, loosening all my tense muscles and the familiar scent of my strawberry soap relaxed my mind.
I stood under the water, washcloth pressed to my eyes, until it ran cold. Wrapping a towel securely around me, I stepped out into the chilly air of the hallway. My feet padded softly across the wooden floor as I made for my room. Annabelle's toy piano was clinking away in a sharp, un-rhythmic fashion downstairs.
I sighed as I put my hand on the doorknob. For one so small she sure made a lot of noise. I pushed the door open.
Ron looked up from where he sat on my bed. For a moment we just stared at one another. Then I became painfully aware of the being garbed in nothing but a towel, my hair dripping over my shoulders.
I closed the door and walked back to the bathroom.
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About an hour later I was sitting against the truck test driving Little Ironhide. Aunt Sarah had come up to check on me. Apparently Ron had said something on his way out.
He had been in my room, I discovered, to see if I as alright. Why my uncle and aunt thought it was a good idea for him to wait in my bedroom and not downstairs was beyond me.
I felt heat spark in my cheeks at the memory. How embarrassing!
I half watched the toy truck race around the lawn. A few times I took a turn too hard and it flipped, but with all the momentum it always landed back on its wheels. Over all it seemed to be running well and its speed was up to par with what it had been before. I would have to see if I could get it to be faster.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway. I looked up to find Ron. He silently sat down next to me.
My eyes widened and I snapped back to Little Ironhide in time to watch it roll over and keep racing on. Why is he still here, I mentally groaned. As if treating him like a shrink hadn't been enough, he had seen me in a towel!
"It's quite maneuverable," Ron eventually said, "for a children's toy."
I nodded dumbly. Out of the corner of my vision I could tell he was watching me. "Don't you have work?" I mentally cringed. Way to be inconsiderate.
"Are you telling me to get lost?"
Part of me wanted to say yes. Talking to him last night had actually helped to get deal of pain off my chest, but it had also resurfaced many emotions. I was a bit of a mess because of it. I just needed to work it off. "No."
Little Ironhide whirled around in three consecutive donuts.
"I apologize for earlier," he said earnestly.
"It's no big deal." Liar.
Awkwardly we sat there, watching the little truck rumble along. I didn't know why, but there always some sort of awkwardness between us.
"Here," I handed Ron the controller. Might as well be civil.
For a moment he looked at me, brows raised, before taking it. After a bit of tinkering he figured out the controls.
Little Ironhide crashed into the apple tree.
Well, he sort of figured them out.
"Slaggit." He growled.
I couldn't help it, I laughed. "What?"
Ron shot me a confused glance, than shook his head. "Never mind." Little Ironhide backed up and went on cruising.
"No, no, no" I pressed. "What did you just say?"
He didn't answer.
"Is it some kind of military curse?" I fished for an answer.
Still nothing. Little Ironhide flipped, but this time he didn't make a full rotation and was stuck on his back, wheels spinning madly. "Slaggit!" Ron tossed the controller in my lap and crossed his arms, a rather disgruntled expression plastered on his face.
I shook my head with amusement before placing the controller on the ground. Birds were chirping from within the trees. Soon they would be gone, heading south for the winter. I didn't know what I would do come winter. It would be foolhardy to sit outdoor at night when it was well below freezing.
The thought of my nightly activities reminded me of my latest one. I shifted into a more comfortable position.
"I'm sorry," my voice was meek.
Ron's brows raised, "for what?"
"Last night."
"You have no reason to apologize."
Annabelle came running out of the house, scampering towards where Little Ironhide lay. She had it in her hands before uncle Will could say otherwise.
Lifting a knee I rested my cheek upon it. It was not so much having told him my story that bothered me as it was the aspect of my bawling. For some reason, appearing weak in front of him troubled me.
His hand came down upon my head. "You've been through a lot for a kid." I smiled weakly when he ruffled my hair. "Did talking help at all?"
I smiled and nodded. "Thanks for listening."
Uncle Will peeling the toy truck out of Annabelle's tiny fingers and placed it back on the ground, wheels first.
He gently brushed loose hair out of my face and behind my ear, "Any time."
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Next chapter preview:
Usually when I got up in the morning I was drowsy from having only two or three hours of sleep and was in desperate need of a cup of coffee. This morning however turned out to be a little different.
I awoke to shouting.