This was on my profile but incase it was missed…
Writing Update 11/3/07: Again, I am truly in awe by the number of reviews and comments that I am receiving for Designated Things, about 1 out of 5 hits leave a review. That is amazing to me. As far as the story, I'm trolling over Chapter 12...reading and re-reading, trying to make sure I'm going in the right direction. Sure, I have an outline but it's so easy to change the direction of a story that hasn't fully reached it's peak yet. But to answer some questions that I've received...GatorBait, I see this version of Remy resorting to stealing when he's in some sort of emotional angst. He steals to make himself feel better... Notice, he was arrested shortly after he and Jean had argued as well as Anna's display in class. So I think that the folks at the Renaissance Fair would be safe unless he'd had a particularly craptacular day. lol Brazos, T'Challa is just no damned good...you'll see.
Thanks again for commenting and reviewing and just everything! I've started school again so I'm sure updates will start to come more regularly...I do just about anything I can think of to procrastinate!
Designated Things
Chapter 12
Remy lay in his bed staring up at the patterns in the cracking plaster of the old Georgian ceiling. Remembering how instead of the usual bedtime stories, he and his mother would imagine the twists and turns of the thin veins were trees, swords, or even monsters. They would spend hours making up stories, weaving together elaborate tails of knights and damsels. His eyes roamed over the varying shapes as he recalled various memories of his mother. A peaceful sorrow washed over him at his memories of her. He missed her. He always felt and saw the love she had for him in her voice and in her eyes when she spoke and looked at him. She couldn't have any children of her own and always told him that he was a gift to her. Remy's eyes began to mist at the thought of her sweet adoring words.
"Remy!"
The grating voice of the woman he despised most interrupted his memories causing his body to jerk toward the offending noise. Remy gritted his teeth at the sound of that woman's voice breaking through his moment of silence. He was in no mood for her haughtiness and subtle nastiness.
"Remy!" Again her voice penetrated the thick mahogany wood of his door. He breathed in deeply to contain the anger that was boiling up within him.
"What?" He yelled at the still closed store.
Taking that as an invitation, Emma Frost opened his door and stepped inside. Before meeting eyes with Remy she scowled at every corner of his room in disgust.
"Why don't you clean this mess up?" The bleach platinum blond hissed at the mountain of clothes strewn over his floor. Only glimpses of the dark stained floors and the oversized Oriental rug peaked through from beneath various articles of clothing.
Remy slowly rose up onto his elbows and laid his dark eyes on her cold blue ones before he spoke, "Why don't you get the hell out of my room?"
"Tsk, tsk, Remy", she mock scolded. "Jean-Luc wouldn't approve of your speaking to me in such a rude manner."
"That's because he doesn't know what a bitch you are." The words were spat at her portraying every ounce of bitterness and contempt he held for the woman.
"Awe, Remy... jealous?" She tilted her head and smiled; amused at the way she could always get under the teen's skin. "Need some daddy time? Maybe you should do us all a favor and go find your daddy," she grinned, showing off perfect white teeth, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'd forgotten. Your real daddy didn't want you." She made an "o" shape with her excessively red tinted lips and covered them with her perfectly manicured hand mockingly, as if she'd misspoken.
"Lucky for you Jean-Luc took pity on such a retched creature. It just goes to show that you can't always turn trash into treasure," she clucked, noting with pleasure the hurt and anger Remy tried but failed to keep from reaching the surface of his handsome features. Emma's grin returned with self satisfying pleasure. There was nothing she enjoyed more than putting the arrogant boy back into his place.
Remy's fingers clinched his dark brown down comforter and clamped his jaws shut, trying with all his might to restrain himself from attacking her both verbally and physically.
He despised Emma Frost from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. She agitated him with her too perfect smiles and icy laughter. He hated the self righteous way she'd flip her bleached hair over hear shoulder after she was done ridiculing him. She had managed to worm her way into his father's life immediately after his mother had died. She'd drop by their home almost daily with soups and food for him and his father, always telling Jean-Luc to let her know if he needed anything. Remy saw right through her tactics. He couldn't understand why his father couldn't. Perhaps the pain he felt at the sudden loss of his wife to the barely diagnosed Leukemia clouded his judgment. Jean-Luc soon became dependant on Emma's consoling and supportive presence. It was no surprise to Remy when six month after his mother's death Emma was moving her belongings into their home and packing away his mother's things.
Remy didn't blame his father for his bad judgment. He knew that his parents loved each other dearly. Often he would tease them when he would notice them stealing glances at each other or when he'd catch on to innuendos that they thought was over his youthful reasoning.
"Why are you in my room? What do you want?" He wasn't going to take her bait. She wanted him out of Jean-Luc's life desperately. He was the only thing that hadn't been replaced since his mother's death. She wanted to be the mistress of their home, of Jean-Luc, and most importantly Jean-Luc's money and power.
"Here", she let a slip of paper she'd been holding float from her hand and onto the edge of his bed. "Dinner's at six. Come down on time…or not", she threw over her shoulder as she turned and glided out of his door closing it behind her.
Remy grabbed the piece of paper and crumpled it in his fist as he pounded his anger out on his mattress. He struggled to control his breathing once again laid back on his pillow and stared at the cracked lines of the ceilings, only this time not seeing them. Instead he was willing the thoughts of that witch to leave his brain.
Finally, after a few minutes of seething, he straightened out the many wrinkle of the paper Emma had given to him. He scowled at the curly cues of her script before reading the message, "O. Munroe, math homework" along with the date and time. Remy groaned. Ororo had called him when he hadn't showed at her house. She cared that he wasn't there.
He read over the short message again and felt guilty for treating Ororo the way he had in their drama class. He'd tried to make conversation with her afterwards but she only responded with single syllable answers. She didn't answer at all when he asked her where she was going after school when he saw her walking towards T'Challa and his cronies. And it irked him beyond belief when T'Challa turned back to grin at him as he stared after her, noting T'Challa's hand on her lower back guiding her as they retreated.
Ororo definitely affected him. He had already admitted that to himself. She did not allow him to manipulate her easily like most of the other girls did. She was very sweet and caring, but strong and sure of herself. She reminded him a lot of his mother. He knew that had they met his mother would have adored her.
Remy sighed clearing his thoughts of Ororo away and once again focused the ceiling. This time he focused the cracks shaped like a heart that looked as if it had been broken into millions of pieces. He recalled lying near to his mother in her final days listening to her tired voice telling him of the prince it belonged to. She assured him that the prince's broken heart would surely one day mend. That his pain would go away with time and love.
Remy willed his heart to mend, shutting his eyes tight fighting to hold the tears that crept to the surface from spilling over to no avail. A small sob escaped him as he felt his fat tear roll down the side of his face and into his ear. He worried his trembling lips with his teeth in an effort to hold back his stifled bawls. He hated it when he reminded himself that he was unloved.
