Update, yay! So... this one is still pretty angsty, not as angsty as the last two, but ya... :( Next Chapter isn't though! Shocker, thats a first! haha :p But, this goes back to my looonnggg chapter style of... writing? ... fuck. I am so sorry, you poor readers. It's so long. And probably filled with grammar mistakes... Shmeahhh
Disclaimer: I do not own Drake and Josh
2 years and 8 months. 2 years and 8 months. What is 2 years and 8 months? Well, I'll tell you. Today is Kayle and mine's 2 year and 8 month anniversary. But really, who's counting? Kayle probably doesn't even know.
We have been living in New York now for a little over 2 years. And in those 2 years, I still have not contacted or seen my family. After last Christmas staying up near the phone all night, and after I left my 8th message, I've given up. I've given up on pretending like they care.
Kayle has stopped gambling our money in the stocks. Well, he hasn't 'stopped' per say, but he doesn't put so much away as he did. Needless to say, we have never had another 'eviction' scare... or at least I don't believe we have...
I wish I could say that things are looking up. I wish I could say, that after me and Kayle moved from our small basement suite to our new apartment, everything changed. I wish I could say that Kayle stopped drinking, or at least cut down on his drinks at night. I wish I could say that he stopped partying. Partying was never an issue in San Diego, but there are a lot worse parties here in NY. The ones that are in the bars and dance clubs. They are much more addicting.
Drugs are passed around like candy at a kids birthday party. Kayle, unfortunately, would be the one annoying child who tries to grab as much candy as he can, without anyone else noticing, and eating it all by himself.
Things are still great in mine and Kayle's relationship, don't get me wrong! I love the guy, it's just becoming a little bit of a nuisance buying foundation and a shitload of cover up every 3 weeks to hide the small scratches and tiny bruises.. Not to mention, having to actually go into the store. I usually go to Nordstrom... and have 5 girls attack me as soon as I walk in. They always say that I am the sweetest boyfriend, buying make-up for my girlfriend. I sold them that lie when I bought a necklace with a heart that said Melissa in the middle. I did it so they would stop pestering me about my sexuality. As soon as I left the store that day, I threw that damn thing in the trash.
Thankfully summer has ended, so I don't have to try and be a hideaway inside, anymore. I can walk freely on the concrete, bundled up in an excess amount of clothing.
The bruises and scratches are tiny! It's just that there are quite an array of them, so much as one might become concerned if they look close enough. Thankfully, I live in New York, the place where no one pays to much attention to strangers.
Here, I really am a nobody.
Oh yah, Nick Mateo, still president of Spin City Records, called me the other day. He is the only one from my old, San Diego life that I have heard from within the past two years.
I haven't been sending in songs, and I've given up on a second album. After the failure of the last one, along with the infamous amount of pessimistic reviews, I've decided to take a new route in life... I don't know what route that is yet, due to fact that I haven't chosen it, but I'm sure it'll be good!
Wow, I'm getting off topic, aren't I? Nick Mateo called and said that he's coming to New York, scouting some new talent, I guess. He asked if I wanted to go for coffee. My answer was undoubtedly 'Yes!'
This would lead to where I am now. In a small cafe that is unknown by tourists, and is very much loved by locals. Pretty much, it's the best kind of cafe there is.
Nick relaxes in his chair and sips his black coffee that only makes him hiss in discomfort.
"Ow. Damn that's hot." He mutters dissatisfied.
I laugh quietly, crossing my legs in my chair to become more comfortable.
We're sitting outside, since today has been somewhat nice and incredibly sunny.
I grab my tea and begin stirring it with a stir stick that I picked up at the condiments table.
I don't really have an appetite for food or liquid. My stomach is too knotted for that.
... 2 nights ago, Kayle had 4 shots of Tequila, and 2 glasses of Chardonnay Wine. In a rage, he thought I was his father and grabbed a wooden chair. Ever since, my stomach hasn't allowed any kind of contents to remain inside of it, which makes me weary of drinking this tea now. Throwing up on Nick Mateo would not be a great reunion, nor would it be a thing to laugh about in 5 years, even if it was just tea.
"So, how are you, Drake?" He asks, staring down at his coffee. I wish I could just pretend that I didn't hear the worry in his tone.
"I'm great, Nick." I reply quickly. "What about you? How's the company going?"
Nick sighs sadly. "It's great, Drake. We're making more money now than ever."
I nod my head, smiling. "Oh yah. You have, like, 3 main stream artists now, don't you?"
"Yes we do."
I laugh, because there is no other reaction that I can muster to express my feelings. "Well, I am happy to hear that, Nick. I'm sorry that you couldn't find them earlier, though. You wouldn't have wasted so much of your time on me!"
Nick looks up to me in a state of shock, catching the sincerity in my sentence. His eyes are looking at me regretfully. "No, Drake. We never wasted anything on you. And don't ever think that. You were, no, you are talented, and we'd give everything we have to bring you back into the company."
I give a small, unbelieving laugh. It can't be true. It's all a lie. I know it. Nick is lying through the thick of his teeth to make me feel better. "Yaa, sure..."
Nick puts down his coffee and latches onto my hand that was creating patterns on the table with its fingertips.
"Are you still with that one boy?"
Turning my head away from him, I can see a family over to my right. There are two parents, and two children. One boy about 5 and one girl that looks to be a little under a year old. The brown haired boy is tugging at one of the girl's black curls. His Mother sees this and playfully smacks his hand. The father shakes his head, laughing, before helping the boy drink his large cup of Hot Chocolate. The little girl has no comprehension about what just took place and begins to laugh along with her father.
I nod my head after a few seconds, answering Nick's question with an audible 'yes'.
"And how's that going?" He asks with general, unselfish interest that is hard to come by now a days.
"It's going great. Today is our 2 year and 8 month anniversary, actually."
"Oh, well, congratulations." He doesn't say it very happily through his small, whitened smile. He grabs his cup and waves it up in the air as a congratulatory expression. He takes a sip, and hisses once again.
"Ow. Damn. Still hot." He laughs quietly.
Sensing the fact that I am not very interested in our meeting, he feels the need to continue talking.
"Drake... Listen, I don't know what's going on, but there is something different about you. I always said that if you wanted to become a hardened person, go to New York. I didn't actually think that I was speaking the truth..."
"I haven't 'hardened', Nick. Today just isn't the best day." I snap at him instantly. Nick is taken aback but quickly regains his composure.
"Ohhh, well how come?"
"Really, no reason... Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess."
"It wouldn't have anything to do with that bruised nose of yours, would it? It looks new." He's accusing. I have never heard Nick use an accusing tone since... never! I have never heard him use an accusing, somewhat angered tone before... especially with me!
What-the-hell.
"Y'know, I should probably be going now." Grabbing my old and battered jacket, I place 8 dollars on the ceramic table.
"Thanks for the tea, Nick." Nick stares into my cup, realizing that I didn't take a sip of it.
"Drake, if you ever need help-"
I wisp back around, my eyes boring into Nicks. I'm on my heels, yet no one has yet realized the tension that has suddenly made its way into our local atmosphere. Weird, people usually sense these things, as their own lives are so boring that they need to discuss 'the random outburst' at the local cafe while having tea with the girls down at Starbucks...
"I don't need help, Nick! Why does everyone think I need help, geesh. I'm just a guy! A normal, 20 year old guy. There is nothing wrong! Sure, I have gotten into a few fights due to the fact that someone people here don't really accept bi's. But that's the worst of it." I hiss into his face.
"That's the type of reaction somebody in denial would say. I should know. My best friend used the exact same line when her husband was threatening her with violence."
"... Was she actually being hurt?" I ask with ease. I barely even realize that I cock my eyebrow as well. It's become a defensive habit within the past few years.
"Yes, severely. She was put into the hospital for 3 months that year. Her husband was charged and thrown into jail. He smashed her head into the wall, though. That blow to her head changed her, too. Ever since, she's never really been all there."
"Well, luckily, I am not in an abusive relationship. I have just been getting into fights, Nick. Stop worrying, kay?"
Nick Mateo sighs, not believing a word of my lie. "It's okay to talk, Drake."
"Yes. I agree. So, why don't you go find someone who is in an abusive relationship, hmmm?"
A hand makes its way to Nick's forehead, which at the moment, is slightly covered with perspiration.
"Okay then. I guess I should probably get moving as well. I need to be at a meeting in less than an hour." Nick gets up from his chair, throwing a 10 dollar bill down as well.
"It was nice seeing you, Drake."
With an attempt at smiling, I take his hand into my own. "It was nice seeing you too, Nick."
The tension from stress that is seemingly engraved on his forehead shows no signs of release. This only guilt's me, because I know that I put it there.
"And stop worrying about everything, Nick!" I attempt at a whole-hearted laugh, but it is interrupted by another one of Nick's distressed sighs.
"You know that I never will."
It's the truth.
"... I know."
With each step leading up to my apartment, I can feel myself becoming heavier, my shoulders leaning forward to try and balance out the increasing weight.
By the time I reach the large white door, my knees collapse from underneath me.
Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. In and out.
I can't understand why that conversation got me so worked up. For the past two years, it's felt like no one really cared, but then, all of a sudden, Nick shows me genuine concern.
Inhale, Exhale. Inhale, Exha-
A sudden crash on other side of the door brings me out of my trance. Quickly glancing at my watch, I see that it is already 7 pm at night. I have been gone for 7 hours?
... Another crash makes it's echoes heard from inside the apartment.
Sighing, I pick up my exhausted feet and force myself through the entrance.
A delusional Kayle is screaming, stomping and hitting anything he can on the other side of the room. Hearing the door shut, his head weaves towards me. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He barks.
Lifting my hand up in a non-violent manner, showing Kayle that I'm not here to hurt him, I simply say "It's me, Drake."
His glazed eyes continue to taunt me. "I said- What the fuck are you doing here?"
I repeat calmly. "It's me, Drake."
"You hurt Carol."
"No. No, Kayle. I did not hurt Carol. I am not your father."
"You always say that." He is now baring his teeth at me.
"I say it, because it is true." I pronounce each word very slowly and with tranquility. I have been here and done this only one too many times too count.
"You're lying! You hurt Carol. She's bleeding on the floor over there. How dare you... But... now you're back. You're back for me. Ohhh, no! You're not going to get me, Bryan. This time, you're not going to get me." His tone equals mine as he grabs an empty bottle of scotch from the table. He brings it up in the air and flings it towards me.
Luckily, his aim is off and my adrenaline has kicked in. I merely dodge the flying glass. I have learned from experience that moving too fast will upset Kayle further. He'll think that it's Bryan trying to come at him from a different angle and pounce. I have also learned from experience that not dodging the flying glass can also cause damage... mostly to my head.
How do you think I got the bruise on my nose, Nick?
Softly, I repeat the words that have been said only one too many times. "Kayle, it's me, Drake."
"I don't know anyone named Drake. Stop playing mind games, you fucking prick!" He lurches his body towards the kitchen, opening all the cupboards and grabbing as many glasses as he can.
I do not stay put. I try, very carefully, to walk up to him and force him out of this episode once again.
"I'm Drake. Not Bryan. Drake. Your boyfriend of 2 years and 8 months. I have remained by your side all this time, and I do not plan on leaving. So, come on. Let's just put down those cups carefully."
Tears are making their way down Kayle's contorted face. "No... You're lying. You're trying to fuck with my head. No... I know nobody by the name of Drake, you dick..."
Remaining calm is the key to success in these situations. If I leave, he could really do damage. Not only to the apartment, but to himself. If I freak out, he'll freak out as well, which would only cause damage to me.
I have learned this all with experience.
"... Kayle, come on. Give me the glasses."
"No!" He screams. As soon as the echoes die down, he begins aiming and throwing. Aiming and throwing. Aiming and throwing. All towards me.
The impact of it all forces me up against the wall of the door. I press myself against it, trying to become one. Walls are inanimate objects, correct? They don't feel pain.
The broken glass shatters on top of me, beside me, under me, everywhere around me. The pieces break into thousands in the air, tearing tiny bits of skin from my exposed face and neck.
"Get out!" He screams once again. This time he's in the utensil drawer. The forks and spoons clack their way across the wall. A spatula hits my chest.
In a fit of rage, he stops throwing things at me and begins just throwing anything he can onto the floor.
Pots, pans, vitamins.
I feel myself paralyze as he turns towards me.
"Why are you here?" He barks. "You hurt Carol. She's bleeding on the floor over there. How dare you... But... now you're back. You're back for me. Ohhh, no! You're not going to get me, Bryan. This time, you're not going to get me." He's repeating what he's already said. As soon as he starts repeating, I know that excruciating pain is coming very soon.
"... I'm Drake." I squeak. The knock to my head from a whisk is apparently doing a good job and creating pain.
He's shaking his head in fury, as he goes toward the knife drawer. It takes him a while to choose his favourite. A long steak knife is lifted into my sight.
Shit.
"Kayle!" I scream. "It's Drake! It's your boyfriend! I love you, you hear me! I love you. And because I love you, I would never hurt you! I am not your Father! Please, Kayle. Please!"
"That's what he says." Kayle is walking towards my pressed up silhouette, his eyes still glazed over in a delusional state. "How pitiful... I can't believe I ever let you touch me."
"Kayle..." My eyes are wide and dry, which only makes me want to blink. But I can't blink. Not now. If I blink, I might miss the slightest move. I might miss my chance to run. Hide. Dodge.
Kayle begins shaking his head once again, screaming and crying out. Slamming the knife onto the table, he grabs a wooden chair by the legs, hurling it towards me.
I hear a loud smack and possibly a crack that was covered up by a thudding. The chair made contact with my kneecap, before it made contact with the floor and my right foot.
I prevent a scream from escaping my lips. Kayle is screaming. No profanities. No phrases. No words. Just common, terrifying, Bloody Mary screaming.
I latch onto the doorknob and fling the door open, escaping from this hell if only momentarily. If I am going to save Kayle, I have to calm down first. A long, brisk walk will do that.
I hope he doesn't hurt himself in there...
I am limping along Peck Slip St. which is just off of Pearl street in downtown New York. Don't know where it is? It's right beside the Brooklyn Bridge.
I've always liked this street. It's reasonably safe. Well, as safe as you can get in Downtown New York. It's very close to our apartment building, so it only takes 15 minutes to get there. Kayle doesn't understand why I like it so much. Truthfully, I don't either. It's just a street right? I don't know. I like going up to the fence and staring into the water. The somewhat fresh breeze that never fails to blow itself onto my face. Maybe it's the water? Maybe it's the street name, Peck. Haha...
"H-sheyy, Buddiee!" A drunk man with a full head of hair, and a not so cleanly shaven face, stumbles beside me, feverishly observing my body. "I hash a fity dolla bill. Wanna give me a blowjewb? Youssh look like you give em' gooood!"
"Fuck off, Drunk Man." I say nonchalantly. You get used to these types of request after a while. A person just has to have the ability to learn how to say no, which is something that I wish I knew how to do 2 years ago with Mr. Mortella. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought.
"Whoo's yeu callin' Dwunk, dick."
Is it saddening that the only word he pronounced correctly was "Dick"? Is it saddening that I noticed that that was the only word he pronounced correctly?
"Just leave me alone, okay old man?" He's not very old. Actually, from this angle, he doesn't seem old at all. Late twenties, maybe?
"You prick!" He yells, tackling my body to the ground. I can feel his soft fists hitting the crook of my back. Heh, he's so drunk he can't even hit properly. Turning my body around with ease, I give him my specialty. A right hook across his cheek and nose. I feel the blood smear across my hand as I break it.
"y-Yeu b-broke m-m-ma nose!" He wails. "Yeu'll p-payy for dis, I swear it!"
"Ya, ya. Go drink your booze." I say harshly, standing up from the cold pavement, wiping the dirt from my jeans.
What a bastard.
"Hey! Hey! This is the police! You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Drop any weapons you may possess!" A man in a blue suit yells from behind me, a gun placed stiffly in his bulky hands.
My hands are up in the air in an instance. I do not want to be shot, especially by a pissed off cop.
"Washh...whassh goin on ere'... Conroyy?"
"Get up, you lazy fuck." The man with the gun is only a couple feet away from me, grabbing and lifting the poor drunk onto his unstable feet. "You were on fucking call. Why the hell are you shit-faced, again!" The man whispers with infuriation.
Maybe if I walk away reallll slow, these people won't notice, and, well, I can get away. Shot free, ticket free, and possible-time-in-jail free!
"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going? You do know that it is illegal to flee from the scene of a crime, right?" The man yells again. I guess my shuffling along the sidewalk plan didn't work out to well...
"Ummm, no. I didn't know that... How is this a crime scene?" I ask, hands still in the air. Due to the fact that the man is behind me, I don't know if his gun is still pointing at me. The gun that I just know is begging to see some action.
"Well, from what I saw, you gave this kind man here an awfully good right hook. He's bleeding, and from what I can tell, you broke his nose. Now here is the shocker. This man is a fellow police officer. You've just assaulted a police officer, and now the charges must be made."
Police officer. What?
I turn my body to look up to the man wearing a blue suit. Early thirties, probably. He's tired, and the wrinkles are already being placed lightly on his face. They're not very prominent, though... Heh, poor bastard, he's already balding.
"I-...what! Who are you? I have a right to that knowledge, don't I?" I demand, trying to avoid the oncoming snicker from the 'balding' comment.
"... I guess you do." He sneers at me angrily. "Officer Conroy. Please to make your acquaintance. Now, as I said before, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law... get in the ba-"
An older man who's wearing the same uniform runs up to us, interrupting Officer Conroy's speech.
"Officer Conroy. Let me take care of this. We have an A.1 50 50 on South Boulevard. Don't worry, I'll take care of this one." He gives Officer Conroy an evil grin.
Officer Conroy glares at the older gentleman, before snaking off towards his 'ghost' car, the drunk officer with the broken nose in his arms.
We watch the two leave with hidden disgust.
"Listen, officer-"
"Call me Clarke. Dwayne Clarke." He says gently.
"Alright... Officer Clarke... Listen, it was self defence! Really, I was just defending myself!" I plead.
Officer Clarke just laughs kindly. "I know, kid. I saw the whole scenario. The man who attacked you is a fellow police officer. Unfortunately he has a bit of a problem with the alcohol, if you know what I mean. We were on call and he was nowhere to be found. So we came here, where his favourite bar is. Unluckily for you, you happened to be here as well."
"Ohh... Can I leave now, Sir?"
He eyes me up and down. "You live near here, son?"
I nod my head. "I'll give you a ride. A boy limping in your manner with that whack of cuts and bruises on his face does not deserve to be walking by himself late at night."
"Oh, no! I ca-can't, really. I live very close, it'd just be a nuis-"
"Oh nonsense! I'd be happy to!
"Listen, Officer. Really I'm fi-"
"Get in the car, kid. I am not letting you go by yourself. It'd be wrong on my part. And, if you don't come along, I'll charge you for resisting arrest. It's not true, but I can and will make you go to jail for it." He states, winking at me.
Sighing, I follow him into his police car, driving off into the distance.
"Where do you live, kid?" His asks me gently.
"Just around the corner." I say.
"Wow, the nice part of town! Parents rich, boy?"
"No, sir. Well kind of – yes. But, it's my boyfriend...M-my boyfriend works for Nasdaq... and I live with him." My tone reaches regret as soon as I bring up Kayle. I shouldn't have left. What was I thinking? Why did I have to be so selfish and leave! He needed help. My help! It wasn't his fault that he had another episode!
"Nasdaq, wow. Fuckin' important job. Stock Markets..."
I cringe as he speaks.
"Nasdaq. Fuckin' important job. Stock Markets..."
That's what Bryan said...
"So I've heard." I bark harshly.
"Listen, kid. Are you alright?"
"How do you know I'm not some lying criminal?" I ask unintentionally.
"I don't, I guess. Why're you bringing that up?" He cocks his head to the side, eyes gleaming of interest.
"How do you know that I didn't just lie to get out of this car quicker? How do you know that I'm not some person living in a grow-op, selling marijuana?" I cry, my frustration taking control.
"Well, you're not, are you?"
"No!" My voice hits the edge of exasperation and crazy.
"Exactly."
"But, then, why are you being so nice to me? You're a police officer in New York. You should know better than anyone about the lies and hardships that take place here."
"That is true. Lies, pain, death. It happens everywhere, everyday. You probably can't even imagine some of the things I've seen. But, I've also seen some good things, too. It doesn't happen very often, but it does happen." He sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. "Truthfully, you remind me of someone."
We pull up next to my apartment building, but I don't exit. I just stare up at the lights that are painted onto the gloomy, modern building. The specific light that I'm looking has been painted black for the evening.
"Who's that?" I ask, obviously not that interested in the subject. My interest and only care is what's going on in my apartment. Kayle. I'm worried sick, but I can't seem to be able to force myself out of the vehicle.
"My sister."
I take another look at the old man before falling back into my seat, my hand running through my hair. I need a haircut...
"And how do I remind you of your sister?" I ask with my playful smile. It's painful, but it's all I have to be normal right now.
"You have the same eyes as her..."
"Oh, you mean small, squinted and dark brown?"
"Haha, well no, actually. She had large, round, bright blue eyes."
Uh-huh?
"... okay then?" I say, stating my confusion in the most obvious manner.
"What I meant to say is, that you have the same look as she did. The same emotion. I know the signs now."
"Signs?"
"Do you mind if I tell you a story, boy?"
Taking another glance towards my apartment, I nod my head. Officer Clarke smiles with that kind, old man, smile. The kind that shows total sincerity. Something that seems safe and trustworthy.
Taking a deep breath, he begins.
"It all started on a farm in South Carolina. Its where I grew up, along with my 9 other siblings. I had 9 siblings! Only three of em' were related by blood, though. The rest were from our whore of a step mother. Even her own children hated her. But, she was rich, and she kept the farm running."
Breathe
"Marianna was my twin sister, my best friend... Marianna... She was gorgeous, and lord, did she know it! Long black curls, along with large, bright blue eyes. Haha, I had to fight off a few boys to stay away from her... But there was one man I could never keep her away from. There was someone who noticed her in a light that he probably shouldn't have seen her in. I-it was our Uncle Dale. He was a disturbed son of a bitch. He fought in the war, which just fucked with his mind entirely. He wasn't able to deal, mentally, with what happened. Not that none of that matters, I guess. Nothing can forgive him for the pain he caused."
Breathe
"Marianna said whatever she thought, which led her into trouble more often than not. Uncle Dale liked her sass... a little too much. I later learned that the first place it happened was in the barn behind the house. I remember that she tried so hard to stay normal. She tried so hard to live her life, but when Uncle Dale was clinically labelled as "Mentally unstable", our step mother happily let him live at our house. That's when Marianna decided that she couldn't deal with it anymore. She tried to get away. First in books, and school, trying to get the top grades of the class so she could get out of town sooner, by skipping a grade. It didn't work, of course. She was only 12 went it all began. By the time her 15th year came along, she had discovered sex, alcohol and drugs. Name anything and she probably did it."
Breathe
"... I remember coming home after work, and having to help her disgracefully walk up the stairs to our room, where she would cry, and then laugh, and then break down in sobs once more, screaming at me not to touch her. I tried my best to help her. I got a job so I could send her away on a bus, and maybe put her into some boarding school, or something. By the time I was 17, Marianna was a broken piece of human. Barely got off the couch. She drank her Sherry and Brandy all day, mixing it with whatever drugs she had somehow obtained. She also had a beast of a boyfriend. He was large, mean, and treated Marianna none too well. And, as awful as it was, Uncle Dale was still living in our house, still making his daily trips to our room when I left for work or school. I was 18 when I left to New York, I tried to force Marianna to come with me, but she claimed that she was in love with the beast of a boy. They were planning on running away together."
Breathe
"Finally... 5 years later, it was our father's funeral. It was my first time visiting the farm in 5 years. My entire family came, all of my 9 siblings, Uncle Dale, and Marianna included. She was still with the beast of a man, and had a small child in her arms. She still had those large blue eyes, though. Even through all the abuse, and the stress that made its way onto her young face, those eyes still shined brightly, even if they were only pretending. That night we shared our bedroom with the same old beds from childhood. When we were getting changed, I remember glancing over to her skinny, pale body. I remember all of the cuts, and bruises seemingly painted onto it. I was worried, so I asked how they got there. She started screaming, like all those years back. I was 15 again, and unable to help my sister. She and her husband left abruptly the next morning. They never even said goodbye. There was no note. Nothing."
Breathe
" Life went on for another 15 years, as usual. Until one day, I finally got a card in the mail from Marianna, saying that she was in New York when I had just busted one of the biggest drug dealers out there. She found my name in an article of 'The Times'. She made plans on the card, saying that I will meet her at this so time, and that so place. I followed along, just hoping to see the old Marianna again. The one from childhood. The one that never took shit from anyone. The leader of the group. My twin sister..."
Breathe
"I wasn't given such an opportunity. She was completely malnourished. Her hair was frayed and limp. She had a scar on her cheek, along with a couple of bruises. The stress had increased and was now shown in wrinkles on her face, along with racoon eyes. It killed me. She was completely delusional. She was saying how her beast of a boyfriend had become the CEO of all of wall street and her kid, god I don't even know his name, was an honours student hoping to graduate and get into Harvard Law or Medical School. I remember there was this rip in her blouse, along with these fragments of blood. She was missing two teeth. Her eyes were no longer pretending. She'd given up. After that lunch, I learned that she jumped off of the Brooklyn bridge. She couldn't handle it anymore. So, in her own way, she wanted to see me to say goodbye. I'd like to think of it as disclosure. The only person on earth who ever really cared about her, still cared kind, of thing. I think that was all she needed. Someone to love her, take care of her and treat her properly."
Breathe
"... It's a funny thing. For some odd reason, I drove back to my the farm last year. Apparently it was sold to some local stud with a lot of money, too much time, and a master's degree in business. I didn't even know that my old home was gone. Where did all of the stuff go? I pray to god that it isn't a the junkyard... My childhood home has been torn down now, and made into a suburban mall."
Breathe
"Heh, I've always wondered. What would people do if they found out that they're trying on swimsuits on the same grounds where blood was shed. Where a young, innocent girl had been repeatedly abused, molested, and ra-... well, you know, I hope. I just always wondered if people would cringe and step away, or would they even care? I would hope it's the first, but something tells me it would be the latter of the two. It happened so long ago, what relevance does it bare now?" He finishes his long story with a huff, wiping his eyes clean from the oncoming tears.
"... What does this have to with me?" I ask, voice bland, sans any emotion.
"Like I said, you have the same look in your eyes. You've been hurt. Probably still are. You won't admit it though. That was always her problem... you're not delusional like she was, yet. Her eyes were so crazy, and so far away from reality. You aren't there, but you're at the same point that she was when she was 17. Limping, depressed, still has a little bit of sass, but you're losing it. Whenever I see a young one like yourself, with those emotions in your eyes, I try to help. I try to talk to them. I'm not sure if my assumption is even correct. I may be completely wrong, and you might have a great life, you just had a bad day or something... but, maybe I am right, So I have to try, right? So please? Think about what I've said?"
I grab onto the handle, opening the door swiftly. I'm about to get out, my legs making their way from rubber to pavement when the soft sounds of husky crying from the old man stop me.
"... Whatever happened to Uncle Dale?" I ask unintentionally.
Breathe
"... He was only 10 years older than us. He fought in the war... Other than that, he's lived a healthy life. Got married, had a stable job, had 3 perfectly normal children who also all had perfectly normal children. He survived, and got away with only a few scratches and memories from the war. He was only there for 6 months... And those were the good months where we were winning every battle. He lived, and came out relatively unharmed, yet he destroyed multiple other lives. Marianna's. Mine. Her son's. Her son's children. It's a vicious cycle that he started, and god knows where it'll end. Dale is still alive today, living at a veterans hospital in Seattle. He's getting dementia, though. That's the worst he's had it in years."
I can't take it anymore. The injustice of it all only creates more anger. It isn't fair.
What Marianna went through.
What Megan and Mom went through when Dad died.
What Josh went through when his parents split, only to be forced to live with me in my home, rather than his.
What Kayle went through...
It isn't fair.
I slam the car door, and walk up to the apartment, without so much as a Thank-You. I don't feel guilty yet, but I know I will in the morning. Maybe I'll send a card or something... a card? How much of a pussy can I be?
I can hear the window rolling down. "Be careful, son. Remember, if you ever need help, just call your local Police Department, and ask for Dwayne Clarke. Something tells me he'll be there in a jiffy." He yells with a sniffling laugh.
I know he'll help. We don't need help, damn it.
Everything is fine! Fine! Fine! Fine!
Why does no one believe me?
'Because it isn't true' I think as I limp up the steps once more.
Entering our apartment, I find Kayle passed out on the couch. A porno movie is on the large screen T.V in the corner at the moment.
In between the 'oohs' and 'aahs' of the girls, I hear my shoes make a crunching sound beneath me.
Glass...
Looking towards the kitchen, the knives have been thrown everywhere, along with the contents of the fridge. Milk is now soured and stained against the carpet and wood floor.
They're mixing with the objects that had been thrown earlier, when I came into the room trying to help.
I glance at my watch.
3 am.
... Time to start cleaning.
Chhaappppter donne!
I had to put the 'Peck' street in. When I found out that there really was a street with the name 'Peck" in it, in New York, I was sooo happy. Just a little Drake and Josh actor trivia, haha :p
And time to criticize! I really like the idea of what happened to Marianna and that story, I just don't think I did it justice. It could have been SOOO much better. I re-wrote it and re-wrote it. It-I-Just... Gahhhh.
Okay, also another note (Sorry!), I like to be atleast 4 chapters ahead of the chapter that I'm updating. I'm really behind, since I'm like, only 1 and a half chapters ahead right now... So, prettty much, there migghttt not be a chapter update next week (if I am lucky and don't get Shitload of homework/tests this week, there will hopefully be an update). I just want to try and get caught up! Also, I only have like 5 1/2 (could be more if they end up being really long chapters and I want to split them in the middle, which sometimes happens...) more chapters to write... That makes it sounds like its going to be easy... mehh!
Review :)