AN: I got a new flannel nightgown and some fluffy blue slippers for winter.
No more sleeping in dad's old T-shirts from various universities for me!
Oh no! Anyway, I'm listening to '80s music, so if my writing seems a
little...off, well, that's why. Why is it that I hate the '80s, yet I love
the music? And Tori Amos, well, gotta love her. And Jodie Foster, of
course. And my mommy's macaroni and cheese. And, fishnets, Tim Curry,
garter belts, and PATRICIA QUINN!!!
Pain...what a thing to wake up to. T tried to lift my head, but my hair was stuck to the floor with dried blood, causing my head to hurt more. Slowly, the ringing in my ear subsided, and another sound filled its place. It was the cool, calm, and calculated voice of hatred my brother used when trying to not let his anger get the best of him:
"I don't know what you think you're doing here, Frank, but we're not on Transsexual anymore. You're not the prince out here, and if you ever, *ever* so much as lay a hand, foot, lock of hair, or ANY other part of yourself on my little sister again, you will find yourself out the nearest window, and floating in the black vacuum of space. We still have two months before we set foot on land again, and that's an eternity if you're always having to watch over your shoulder for this..."
I couldn't see what Riff was holding up, but it was obvious Frank could.
"Well, really, you are overreacting a bit, don't you think. I didn't mean to hit her that hard, just enou-"
"I don't care HOW hard you tried to hit her, you son-of-a-royal-fat-bitch! You better take good care of her now; she's your only link to safety. If ANYTHING happens to Magenta, whether it's of you're doing or not, you will die.
I heard the clicks of Riff's boots as he walked away from Frank, coming towards me. He lifted me, and, for the first time since I was small enough to fit in a laundry basket, carried me back to my bed.
"What hit me?" I was more than just a bit confused.
"Frank-Frank threw a brass statuette at your head. It was a sheep." Riff whispered.
"Frank threw a sheep at me?" All right, I must have lost some brain cells with the blow.
"A statuette. Don't worry about it. Let's just get you to bed." There was so much irony in that statement 'Don't Worry about it,' I had to stifle a laugh. It was obvious how much he worries.
After Riff had left, I was again laying against my pillows, in almost exactly the same position I had been in an hour earlier. I though about what had gone on that night. I was more disturbed by what Riff had said than what Frank had done. At least, with Frank, that kind of behavior was not abnormal, but Riff...did he really think he could control Frank like that? *Could* he control Frank? What would happen if he could?
Pain...what a thing to wake up to. T tried to lift my head, but my hair was stuck to the floor with dried blood, causing my head to hurt more. Slowly, the ringing in my ear subsided, and another sound filled its place. It was the cool, calm, and calculated voice of hatred my brother used when trying to not let his anger get the best of him:
"I don't know what you think you're doing here, Frank, but we're not on Transsexual anymore. You're not the prince out here, and if you ever, *ever* so much as lay a hand, foot, lock of hair, or ANY other part of yourself on my little sister again, you will find yourself out the nearest window, and floating in the black vacuum of space. We still have two months before we set foot on land again, and that's an eternity if you're always having to watch over your shoulder for this..."
I couldn't see what Riff was holding up, but it was obvious Frank could.
"Well, really, you are overreacting a bit, don't you think. I didn't mean to hit her that hard, just enou-"
"I don't care HOW hard you tried to hit her, you son-of-a-royal-fat-bitch! You better take good care of her now; she's your only link to safety. If ANYTHING happens to Magenta, whether it's of you're doing or not, you will die.
I heard the clicks of Riff's boots as he walked away from Frank, coming towards me. He lifted me, and, for the first time since I was small enough to fit in a laundry basket, carried me back to my bed.
"What hit me?" I was more than just a bit confused.
"Frank-Frank threw a brass statuette at your head. It was a sheep." Riff whispered.
"Frank threw a sheep at me?" All right, I must have lost some brain cells with the blow.
"A statuette. Don't worry about it. Let's just get you to bed." There was so much irony in that statement 'Don't Worry about it,' I had to stifle a laugh. It was obvious how much he worries.
After Riff had left, I was again laying against my pillows, in almost exactly the same position I had been in an hour earlier. I though about what had gone on that night. I was more disturbed by what Riff had said than what Frank had done. At least, with Frank, that kind of behavior was not abnormal, but Riff...did he really think he could control Frank like that? *Could* he control Frank? What would happen if he could?
