Chapter 8 - Are you too scared to look within?
Title name was taken from the Song, Other side by David Gray.
This is a little chapter between chapters, just something to keep everything ticking along. I'm so sorry I haven't updated for, well, ages is the nicest way to put it. First it was exams, then I started work on a couple of other projects, and then I got block, well, you get the idea. I've been Lazy, but I got myself off my but for long enough to type this up. Trust me, the next chapter should be interesting, if nothing else.
But please, forgive my laziness.
Notes? Yep!
1/ Remember that Old Lady. I think you can guess what's gonna happen next. Or you might not.
2/ Art teacher next chapter, yeah, I know. Boring.
3/ Okay, I might have overstepped the Mary Sue line with her parents, but at least she isn't adopted by drug addicts, which is the usual route these sorts of stories go. No real actual tragedy, just nothing that would make you want to be Jane. I hope it isn't too Sue.
4/ Johnny Depp said he had modelled his performance of Edward on all the Dogs he had owned, but I didn't see it that way. I've based him on an autistic child, but that just what I think.
Please enjoy!
*********
Jane, true to her word, went back there every day after school to sketch him. He often looked over her shoulder curiously, and looked puzzled; as if he didn't quiet understand what was happening to the paper. Jane spent lots of time sketching his scissor hands though, they intrigued her. The shape, the metal, the grey tint, she took more photographs of them than the rest of him all together.
She had painted his picture at home late at night, hiding it under the bed so her parents wouldn't bother her as she poured through the sketches, photo's and the old book she had taken from the mansion. She regretted taking it, disturbing it seemed like a crime to her, but she had sat up reading it until late in the morning. It showed exactly what Edward was, how he had been made. She had heard about some old renaissance artists who had studied anatomy because they thought it would help them draw more life- like pictures, and looking at the old lists of materials and apparatus needed, she found herself understanding him more. Maybe not him, as he was, but what he was.
She had one art lesson between the double period she had on Thursdays, and most pupils had used it as an excuse to slack off or, as some of the more grade conscious pupils had done, get some of their piece finished. Jane had sat at the back of class and pretended to sketch a few of the buckles on Edwards body, not wanting the teacher to see what she was drawing until the last moment. The came over a few times and tut-ted something a long the lines of 'I can see that D+ already Miss Parsons.' Jane had done the infuriating thing and ignored his comment, continuing to shade them in. Only when she thought his back was turned she put the buckle picture to one side and continued with drawing the eyes. She had spent most of her Saturday with him, talking to him as she drew in some of the more important details. She had drawn his eyes, but she had decided not to paint them until the last day. Edward had enjoyed his time with her. He said he hadn't been with another person for a long time, how long was a mystery, but they both knew it had to have been over ten years.
On Saturday evening, (although she had been loathed to leave him [as she always was]), sitting down to dinner with her parents it was almost completely silent. It always was. They didn't talk any more. Her parents were the sort that if one of them talked to the other, an argument wasn't far away. There wasn't a night she knew that they hadn't been arguing over something like the mortgage, Jane, work, the dishes, Jane, Religion, politics, Jane, toast, the TV, which one hated the other more, Jane, Jane's grades, the usual sort of thing. Oh, the pretended they had the perfect marriage when they were out, but at home it was a different matter. Jane switched herself off to it most of the time. It was the one thing she knew how to do, switch off and go into your own world, your own thoughts when things got bad. Jane wished they would divorce, but they were the type that stayed together out of spite to one another.
The silence was uncomfortable. Jane could tell by the air of the house that there had been another argument before she had come home. The two of them were avoiding eye contact, and when they did look at each other they flashed each other dirty looks. Finally, Jane's Dad said in a rather contrived friendly fashion,' So, Jane, how was drama club?'
Jane's fork stopped in mid-air. She had to find an excuse and quick. One popped into her head. Sullenly she mumbled, 'I quit.'
'Where have you been all day then?' exclaimed her father in the voice he always used to start off one of his "I'm very disappointed in you and you're grounded" speeches.
'I was at a friends house, doing my art coursework. ' She answered, repeating the same manner. She didn't think her parents would know if she had any friends or not. They let her keep her life to herself as long as she lived by the rules of "no boys; get homework in on time; No late nights. Ever."
'Who's?' asked her Mother.
'Umm, Tara Fullers?' she said in what she hoped was a confident voice.
'Oh.' There was silence again. Jane finished her dinner and was about to go to the kitchen when her father said, 'Jane, don't forget you're going over to old Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work. '
'WHAT?' she exploded, turning around.
'You're going 'round to Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work for her.' repeated her father.
'Dad! I didn't know this, when I was I told this?'
'Right now, your mother saw Mrs Peterson today and told her you'd do it.'
'Derrick! Don't you pass the blame onto me!' interjected Her Mother, 'you were the one to say she'd be glad to do it.'
As they began to bicker she yelled, 'Okay, I'm going over there tomorrow! I'll do what she wants, and I'll let you two decided which one screwed up your lives.' And with that she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, her parents barely noticing her.
**********
'Do you want another glass of lemonade, Dear,' said Mrs Peterson.
'NO thank you mam' 'said Jane as she mowed her lawn. She wanted to get this job over and done with as soon as possible. It wasn't that Mrs Peterson wasn't a sweet old woman, she was as nice as they came, and used to baby sit her when she was little, but when Mr Peterson had died in an unfortunate sheering accident five years ago she'd gone a bit do-lally and became what she called a 'cat woman.' All right, maybe she only had three cats, but they'd made enough mess in her garden to keep Jane busy for too long. It was just the lawn to mow and the garbage to take out.
Jane was using Mrs Peterson's old 'push along' mower, and had to stop for breath. She wiped her brow with her bound hand Mrs Peterson looked a little concern and asked, 'what happened to your hand, me 'dear?'
'I cut myself with a compass in maths,' she lied.
'Let me take a look at that,' said the old lady, grabbing her hand. Undoing the makeshift bandage she had made Mrs Peterson looked at the cut.
'My oh my that's a clean cut for a compass. ' She said, tutting. Jane stood silently. Was she going to ask about it? Mrs Peterson winked at her, 'Oh, I know what happened...' oh no, thought Jane, does she know, does she remember? '.....You were chasing boys when you cut yourself.'
'Yeah.' Giggled Jane nervously,' that's what happened. '
Mrs Peterson patted the hand and said, 'don't worry dear; I used to get cuts like that all the time. Now, how about I get some antiseptic, wrap it properly and you finish that lawn, eh?'
'Thank you mam'.' Said Jane as Mrs Peterson let her hand go. That had been close. She didn't want Mrs Peterson telling everyone about Edward, even thought she doubted they would believe her. They said she'd never been the same since her husband died.
Jane stopped thinking about Mrs Peterson as she came out of the house. 'All that blood dear, and all from a little cut.' She said, 'now dear, just let me dress that thing.'
**********
Edward was worried. As he rattled around the old house, going from one room to another, his mind was tattered. She was late. She wasn't here. That was how everything bad started. When people were late, it meant that something had happened to them, and most of the things he could think of weren't that nice. Jane was nice. She came up here and talked to him for a while. But she was late.
He clicked his blades. She hadn't ever been late before. As he walked around the front hall his thoughts were ones of slight panic. He didn't like it when people were late. It meant that he didn't know when they were coming. That meant that they might not be coming, that might mean that he was left alone again, like when his father, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word, but when he..........when he..........died, and like when Kim didn't come back. Being Alone for a Long Time. Edward didn't like it when he was alone. It meant he remembered things like when his Father was still alive, and when he though Kim and him were going to be together. But all these times, all he could remember were his hands. He didn't know why. It was like as soon as Jane had come around that he started to remember that his hands were different. Funny that, he hadn't really noticed before. Maybe because before people had made a fuss about them, but Jane, well, Jane did, but she tried to hide it. Odd.
But she was late. He stood next to the machine as it churned and spun, not producing anything from its labours. He stared at it; his heart feeling like it had sunk in his chest, his insides feeling burning hot. He liked looking at things. People liked to rush, they didn't like to look, but they wanted you to think something of it, or to follow what they wanted, but he liked to look at things. But these things were moving too fast. He couldn't look at them properly. People never seemed to understand that he didn't like fast things. He liked it when things moved slowly enough for him to examine them completely, but they always moved it on too fast. Things felt like they were moving too fast, and Edward didn't like it.
But Jane was late. His blades clicked again. He hated being alone. He didn't exactly hate the castle, in fact he loved it, but it was as if Jane's presence had stirred something inside, something he was beginning to dislike. Some thing that made him want to leave, something that made him wish he wasn't.....wasn't here. Away. A change. Most of all he wished for everything to go back to how it was when he was in the town. Right now he would even go back and face Joyce if it meant he could escape, but he couldn't. There was no reason he could think of, except he was frightened. He was frightened of the mob. It sounded stupid, but he was frightened that if he went back he might find the mob was still looking for him, and still wanted him dead.
It was best to stay up here, safe, no one could hurt him here. No one ever came up here, no one ever wanted to hurt him up here, he had to stay up here, away from the people who wanted to hurt him....
As he thought this the door opened. Like an obedient Dog, Edward's ears picked up, and he turned around to see it was Jane.
'I'm sorry I was late, my parents made me do some chores, ' said Jane apologetically. She smiled gently at him, and Edward felt himself feel happier. She walked in, taking out various pads of paper and pencils, laying them on a handily placed chair, before looking up at him.
'Ed, what's wrong?'
Edward looked at her blankly, almost as if he was trying to hide something.
'You seem a little off today.'
He just stared at her, unable to answer. Edward couldn't lie, not properly, but he didn't want to say what had been crossing his mind. He merely looked at her, and, her eyes twinkling with concern she said, 'is it because I was late? I'm sorry, I really am, it was just an old neighbour of mine, I had to help her. '
Edward just stared for a moment, then he nodded his head slowly.
'Edward, please forgive me. '
Edward let the corners of his mouth go up, just a little bit, as if uncertain if he was allowed to. As Jane met his smile with a grin of her own, he smiled, his whole face lighting up. She gently touched one of his blades, and said, 'Thanks Edward, you don't know how much that meant to me.'
And Edward never did.
**********
Thank you for reading, and hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have thinking up this story. Thank you, as always,
Xandra the Blue.
Title name was taken from the Song, Other side by David Gray.
This is a little chapter between chapters, just something to keep everything ticking along. I'm so sorry I haven't updated for, well, ages is the nicest way to put it. First it was exams, then I started work on a couple of other projects, and then I got block, well, you get the idea. I've been Lazy, but I got myself off my but for long enough to type this up. Trust me, the next chapter should be interesting, if nothing else.
But please, forgive my laziness.
Notes? Yep!
1/ Remember that Old Lady. I think you can guess what's gonna happen next. Or you might not.
2/ Art teacher next chapter, yeah, I know. Boring.
3/ Okay, I might have overstepped the Mary Sue line with her parents, but at least she isn't adopted by drug addicts, which is the usual route these sorts of stories go. No real actual tragedy, just nothing that would make you want to be Jane. I hope it isn't too Sue.
4/ Johnny Depp said he had modelled his performance of Edward on all the Dogs he had owned, but I didn't see it that way. I've based him on an autistic child, but that just what I think.
Please enjoy!
*********
Jane, true to her word, went back there every day after school to sketch him. He often looked over her shoulder curiously, and looked puzzled; as if he didn't quiet understand what was happening to the paper. Jane spent lots of time sketching his scissor hands though, they intrigued her. The shape, the metal, the grey tint, she took more photographs of them than the rest of him all together.
She had painted his picture at home late at night, hiding it under the bed so her parents wouldn't bother her as she poured through the sketches, photo's and the old book she had taken from the mansion. She regretted taking it, disturbing it seemed like a crime to her, but she had sat up reading it until late in the morning. It showed exactly what Edward was, how he had been made. She had heard about some old renaissance artists who had studied anatomy because they thought it would help them draw more life- like pictures, and looking at the old lists of materials and apparatus needed, she found herself understanding him more. Maybe not him, as he was, but what he was.
She had one art lesson between the double period she had on Thursdays, and most pupils had used it as an excuse to slack off or, as some of the more grade conscious pupils had done, get some of their piece finished. Jane had sat at the back of class and pretended to sketch a few of the buckles on Edwards body, not wanting the teacher to see what she was drawing until the last moment. The came over a few times and tut-ted something a long the lines of 'I can see that D+ already Miss Parsons.' Jane had done the infuriating thing and ignored his comment, continuing to shade them in. Only when she thought his back was turned she put the buckle picture to one side and continued with drawing the eyes. She had spent most of her Saturday with him, talking to him as she drew in some of the more important details. She had drawn his eyes, but she had decided not to paint them until the last day. Edward had enjoyed his time with her. He said he hadn't been with another person for a long time, how long was a mystery, but they both knew it had to have been over ten years.
On Saturday evening, (although she had been loathed to leave him [as she always was]), sitting down to dinner with her parents it was almost completely silent. It always was. They didn't talk any more. Her parents were the sort that if one of them talked to the other, an argument wasn't far away. There wasn't a night she knew that they hadn't been arguing over something like the mortgage, Jane, work, the dishes, Jane, Religion, politics, Jane, toast, the TV, which one hated the other more, Jane, Jane's grades, the usual sort of thing. Oh, the pretended they had the perfect marriage when they were out, but at home it was a different matter. Jane switched herself off to it most of the time. It was the one thing she knew how to do, switch off and go into your own world, your own thoughts when things got bad. Jane wished they would divorce, but they were the type that stayed together out of spite to one another.
The silence was uncomfortable. Jane could tell by the air of the house that there had been another argument before she had come home. The two of them were avoiding eye contact, and when they did look at each other they flashed each other dirty looks. Finally, Jane's Dad said in a rather contrived friendly fashion,' So, Jane, how was drama club?'
Jane's fork stopped in mid-air. She had to find an excuse and quick. One popped into her head. Sullenly she mumbled, 'I quit.'
'Where have you been all day then?' exclaimed her father in the voice he always used to start off one of his "I'm very disappointed in you and you're grounded" speeches.
'I was at a friends house, doing my art coursework. ' She answered, repeating the same manner. She didn't think her parents would know if she had any friends or not. They let her keep her life to herself as long as she lived by the rules of "no boys; get homework in on time; No late nights. Ever."
'Who's?' asked her Mother.
'Umm, Tara Fullers?' she said in what she hoped was a confident voice.
'Oh.' There was silence again. Jane finished her dinner and was about to go to the kitchen when her father said, 'Jane, don't forget you're going over to old Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work. '
'WHAT?' she exploded, turning around.
'You're going 'round to Mrs Peterson's house tomorrow to do some yard work for her.' repeated her father.
'Dad! I didn't know this, when I was I told this?'
'Right now, your mother saw Mrs Peterson today and told her you'd do it.'
'Derrick! Don't you pass the blame onto me!' interjected Her Mother, 'you were the one to say she'd be glad to do it.'
As they began to bicker she yelled, 'Okay, I'm going over there tomorrow! I'll do what she wants, and I'll let you two decided which one screwed up your lives.' And with that she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, her parents barely noticing her.
**********
'Do you want another glass of lemonade, Dear,' said Mrs Peterson.
'NO thank you mam' 'said Jane as she mowed her lawn. She wanted to get this job over and done with as soon as possible. It wasn't that Mrs Peterson wasn't a sweet old woman, she was as nice as they came, and used to baby sit her when she was little, but when Mr Peterson had died in an unfortunate sheering accident five years ago she'd gone a bit do-lally and became what she called a 'cat woman.' All right, maybe she only had three cats, but they'd made enough mess in her garden to keep Jane busy for too long. It was just the lawn to mow and the garbage to take out.
Jane was using Mrs Peterson's old 'push along' mower, and had to stop for breath. She wiped her brow with her bound hand Mrs Peterson looked a little concern and asked, 'what happened to your hand, me 'dear?'
'I cut myself with a compass in maths,' she lied.
'Let me take a look at that,' said the old lady, grabbing her hand. Undoing the makeshift bandage she had made Mrs Peterson looked at the cut.
'My oh my that's a clean cut for a compass. ' She said, tutting. Jane stood silently. Was she going to ask about it? Mrs Peterson winked at her, 'Oh, I know what happened...' oh no, thought Jane, does she know, does she remember? '.....You were chasing boys when you cut yourself.'
'Yeah.' Giggled Jane nervously,' that's what happened. '
Mrs Peterson patted the hand and said, 'don't worry dear; I used to get cuts like that all the time. Now, how about I get some antiseptic, wrap it properly and you finish that lawn, eh?'
'Thank you mam'.' Said Jane as Mrs Peterson let her hand go. That had been close. She didn't want Mrs Peterson telling everyone about Edward, even thought she doubted they would believe her. They said she'd never been the same since her husband died.
Jane stopped thinking about Mrs Peterson as she came out of the house. 'All that blood dear, and all from a little cut.' She said, 'now dear, just let me dress that thing.'
**********
Edward was worried. As he rattled around the old house, going from one room to another, his mind was tattered. She was late. She wasn't here. That was how everything bad started. When people were late, it meant that something had happened to them, and most of the things he could think of weren't that nice. Jane was nice. She came up here and talked to him for a while. But she was late.
He clicked his blades. She hadn't ever been late before. As he walked around the front hall his thoughts were ones of slight panic. He didn't like it when people were late. It meant that he didn't know when they were coming. That meant that they might not be coming, that might mean that he was left alone again, like when his father, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word, but when he..........when he..........died, and like when Kim didn't come back. Being Alone for a Long Time. Edward didn't like it when he was alone. It meant he remembered things like when his Father was still alive, and when he though Kim and him were going to be together. But all these times, all he could remember were his hands. He didn't know why. It was like as soon as Jane had come around that he started to remember that his hands were different. Funny that, he hadn't really noticed before. Maybe because before people had made a fuss about them, but Jane, well, Jane did, but she tried to hide it. Odd.
But she was late. He stood next to the machine as it churned and spun, not producing anything from its labours. He stared at it; his heart feeling like it had sunk in his chest, his insides feeling burning hot. He liked looking at things. People liked to rush, they didn't like to look, but they wanted you to think something of it, or to follow what they wanted, but he liked to look at things. But these things were moving too fast. He couldn't look at them properly. People never seemed to understand that he didn't like fast things. He liked it when things moved slowly enough for him to examine them completely, but they always moved it on too fast. Things felt like they were moving too fast, and Edward didn't like it.
But Jane was late. His blades clicked again. He hated being alone. He didn't exactly hate the castle, in fact he loved it, but it was as if Jane's presence had stirred something inside, something he was beginning to dislike. Some thing that made him want to leave, something that made him wish he wasn't.....wasn't here. Away. A change. Most of all he wished for everything to go back to how it was when he was in the town. Right now he would even go back and face Joyce if it meant he could escape, but he couldn't. There was no reason he could think of, except he was frightened. He was frightened of the mob. It sounded stupid, but he was frightened that if he went back he might find the mob was still looking for him, and still wanted him dead.
It was best to stay up here, safe, no one could hurt him here. No one ever came up here, no one ever wanted to hurt him up here, he had to stay up here, away from the people who wanted to hurt him....
As he thought this the door opened. Like an obedient Dog, Edward's ears picked up, and he turned around to see it was Jane.
'I'm sorry I was late, my parents made me do some chores, ' said Jane apologetically. She smiled gently at him, and Edward felt himself feel happier. She walked in, taking out various pads of paper and pencils, laying them on a handily placed chair, before looking up at him.
'Ed, what's wrong?'
Edward looked at her blankly, almost as if he was trying to hide something.
'You seem a little off today.'
He just stared at her, unable to answer. Edward couldn't lie, not properly, but he didn't want to say what had been crossing his mind. He merely looked at her, and, her eyes twinkling with concern she said, 'is it because I was late? I'm sorry, I really am, it was just an old neighbour of mine, I had to help her. '
Edward just stared for a moment, then he nodded his head slowly.
'Edward, please forgive me. '
Edward let the corners of his mouth go up, just a little bit, as if uncertain if he was allowed to. As Jane met his smile with a grin of her own, he smiled, his whole face lighting up. She gently touched one of his blades, and said, 'Thanks Edward, you don't know how much that meant to me.'
And Edward never did.
**********
Thank you for reading, and hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have thinking up this story. Thank you, as always,
Xandra the Blue.