For the night has been unkind.
Take me to a place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind:
The memory of choosing not to fight.
-- Sarah McLachlan, Answer
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Epilogue: Me
Lily's POV:
I stumbled into my house, taking care not to slam the door. Glancing up at the wall clock, I winced. It was nearly one in the morning; my parents would surely be after me in no time. However, as I wandered into my living room, everything remained quiet and dark. There was the typical misty smell permeating everything, which only made me sleepier by the second.
Dragging my feet, I plopped myself unceremoniously onto the living room couch, nuzzling my face against the sofa's dingy and worn pillows. Looking at the dark air around me, I felt my eyelids start to get heavy. I entertained the thought of dragging myself up to my bathroom for a long hot shower, but the thought was suddenly dashed when I heard the sound of my father's voice shouting. My mother's sobs could still be heard, loud and clear throughout the house.
And then: "Oh, Irene! I'm sorry; don't start crying again. It's just that-- it's just that sometimes I just can't understand why you are the way you are." There was a pause, the sobs just getting worse. Then I could hear my father purr, "Irene, baby, aren't you happy? Baby, don't cry. For the love of god, please don't cry; you'll wake Nolan again. You know you upset him when you cry like this." Another long period of silence, I could hear my mother quiet herself, peace finally taking hold of the emotional chaos that was wrecking our household. Then, as if he was saying it in his dream, my father murmured, "But baby, baby. . . aren't you happy?"
Sitting up a little, I wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and yell and rave at my father, as much as I loved him. I wanted to scream like a lunatic, "Of course she's not happy, you thick-headed baffoon! You silly man. . . she's not happy because she's not herself. This wasn't the world she belonged to, you idiot! This life-- this three bedroom, two bath, unfinished basement life-- wasn't and can never be her fulfillment. What the hell did you promise her, anyway? A life of brevity, a life of danger? Don't fool her any longer. Don't tell her that this life, if she keeps it up, will eventually bring her happiness. Oh, dad, let her go. For god's sake, let her go to her own world!"
But I said and did nothing. Instead, I sank into the sofa and closed my eyes, hoping for sleep. However, as I was nearly drowning in blissful unconsciousness, the phone rang.
Groaning, I contemplated not answering it. So, it surprised me when I reached over and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, clicking it on.
"Wha?" I mumbled into the phone gruffly, not bothering to mind my manners at one in the morning.
Instantly, I regretted answering. "Hey, Lil'," came the perky voice on the other line. "Whatcha up to?"
Sighing in misery, I turned onto my stomach, glaring angrily at the ceiling. Squinting, I returned back, my voice icy, "What most people are doing at one in the morning, Ray: sleeping."
"Oh. . . yeah," came the awkward reply before I heard a rustle, then a loud bang. A curse could be heard as well as the sound of cat when it's tail gets stepped on.
"Ray?" I asked throatily, "What are you doing?"
"Uh. . ." was all I got back before there was a random change of subject, "So, how was your family time? With Simone, I mean." Ray's tone was unusually chipper for this late. Or maybe it wasn't that late. Maybe I was just emotionally drained. Way beyond my limits.
Sighing, I adverted my eyes to the stairs, listening to the breathing coming from the recently pacified bedrooms. "I really don't feel like talking about it, Ray."
"Oh," he replied simply before there was an awkward silence. I thought about simply hanging up there, since Ray was obviously not getting the hint that I was in desperate need of sleep. However, just as I was about to hang up, his voice came through the line, dark and upset, "What you mean to say, Lily, is that you don't feel like talking about it with me."
His words caught me so off guard, I felt myself bristling. Blinking in bemusement, I commanded, "You're obviously in need of sleep, Ray, because I have no idea what you're talking about. So, good-night, Raym--"
"No, Lily," came his reply, swift and a bit irritated. There was a stiff pause before Ray spoke again, his voice sounding hurt, "What is it about him anyways, Lily? Why him? How come Travis Strong can get you to bare your soul and I can't? Are we not good friends? Lily?"
My eyes started to smart with tears at his wounded words. My heart instantly ached for him, and yet I felt no true guilt. There was nothing to apologize for. Of course, Ray would never understand that. So, with a gentle voice, I said, "Of course we're good friends, Ray. You're my best friend."
More embittered silence before: "But it's not the same. The friends part of it, I mean. Travis can just-- well-- you're a different person around him, Lily. You know?"
My heart was beating so fast I could hear it reverberate in my ears; I said nothing.
A minute passed quietly, Ray simply making a few irritated sighs. Then, he said, "What does he do, exactly? To you, I mean. You guys don't, you know, you don't--"
Catching his intention almost instantaneously, I felt heat prickle my skin. "Oh, shut-up, Ray!" I snapped helplessly, wishing him to quit his sudden and maddening peacefulness about Travis and my situation.
"Hey, it's a valid question! I mean, if you guys were, you know, doing anything. . ."
"Oh, Ray, be quiet! Please, just shut-up!" I curled up in a helpless ball, trying to pretend that I wasn't having this squeamish conversation with Ray Brennan.
He was quiet for a few more seconds before he prodded suspiciously, "So, does that mean you guys are, well, you know. . .?"
Suddenly feeling very annoyed, I snapped waspishly, "That's it. I'm going. Good-night, Ray."
"Wait!" He exclaimed, another crash heard on the other line. "Wait, Lily!"
"What Ray?" I bark impatiently before gritting my teeth.
"Oh, come on, Lily," he begged innocently, trying to sound pathetic-- and succeeding. "Why are you leaving so early?"
His words and their unintentional irony hit me like a slap in the face. Reeling back, I stared at the phone, placing it in front of my face for surveillance. Then, rumbling like thunder, a dark and ironical chuckle growled out of me.
"Oh, Ray!" I laughed, hearing the confused static on the other line. "Why amI leaving early? Why am I leaving early?" Another row of laughter erupts from me before I explained, so matter-of-factly it sent goose-bumps rippling over my skin, "Leaving early is. . . what I do."
There was a confused panic on the other line as I laughed uproariously. Then: "Alright, you've convinced me. You need some serious sleep. Good-night, Lily."
My laughter suddenly ceased to exist as I heard those words. Sighing, I felt the ache creep back into my body. Licking my lips, I replied gently, "Good-night, Ray. Get some sleep yourself."
"Yeah, I think I will." He was silent before he whispered awkwardly, "I love you, Lily."
I pursed my lips at this. It wasn't the type of love confession I had been expecting for awhile now, which I dreaded enormously. Instead, it was a covert way of him saying, "Don't forget about me, Lily."
"I love you too, Ray," I say back, feeling guilt rise in my throat. I wanted to add, "But I'll never love you like you want me to," but I didn't. Instead, I let Ray go off into his own little dreamworld as he clicked off his phone.
Placing the phone back on the coffee table, I stripped down to hardly anything, discarding my wet jeans and Travis' jacket. Grabbing an afghan off the back of sofa, I curled up into it, feeling the first physical warmth in hours. But, despite this warmth that spread over my skin, I shivered. Something inside me was aching, churning and breaking me up.
Grabbing Travis' damp jacket from off the ground, I pressed it against my face. It still smelled rustic and earthy-- like him--, despite the downpour and my wearing it for nearly four hours (I had been blindly wondering the streets of Roscoe for nearly two hours when Robbie had stopped in his car and asked me what the hell I was doing. He had shoved me into his small sedan before driving me promptly to my house, saying nothing, but his lips were pursed and there was that little knot of concentration knitted in his eyebrows; or otherwords, he knew what I had been doing, and who I had been with).
I fell asleep there, Travis' aura permeating my dreams, which consisted of me traveling down the forest paths of Roscoe, lost and confused. I eventually wondered into a field which was sprouting gigantic pumpkins everywhere. Ray was there, and he asked me if he had seen his pantaloons, but Robbie told me that Ray was really looking for Audrey, because she had his peanut-eating dog.
And then, confused and lost, I sat down and cried, watching Ray run around pantaloon-less while Robbie told Audrey that she should really give Ray back the dog.
Then as Audrey was demanding that I tell her what Ray's middle name is, a pair of strong arms enwrapped me before a gruff voice mumbled in my ear, "Shall we leave?"
"But we'd be leaving early," I said, not bothering to see who it was.
"Precisely."
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Travis' POV:
The back door had been unlocked. Thanking the god of mother-forgetfullness, I crept quietly into the garage of our house. Sure enough, my mother's BMW was parked serenely in there, glistening from a recent washing. Frowning at it, I slipped silently through the garage, testing the door to get inside. Assured it wouldn't make too much noise upon enterance, I opened it quietly.
Entering the kitchen to my house, I stepped back a few yards, not fully registering what was in front of me. The kitchen light was on, the party hors d'oeuvres scattered messily around. Snorting, I figured that my parents would get so smashed they wouldn't have the sense to clean up their state-of-art kitchen (whatever the hell that was anyways).
However, what was so odd was the fact that a person was still there, perched upon the kitchen island. Their legs were folded indian-style, while a large book was in their lap. They were reading it with interest, their eyebrows knotted together, while they munched thoughtfully on some of the cheese and cracker hors d'oeuvres. However, upon my entrance, their eyes drifted towards me, appraising me with a dreamy stare.
"Hullo, Travis," the person said before cocking a head at me.
Blinking in bemusement, I stared at my sister, who was still chewing thoroughly on her snack. Shaking my head, I cracked a crooked grin. "Hey, Rachel," I greeted back before walking towards the kitchen island. Glancing over the food scattered there, I asked, nodding towards the appetizers, "Any of this good?"
Rachel, however, didn't answer. Instead, she started humming some tune(which sounded eerily like "The Monkey Song") while she renewed her interest back into her book.
Raising an eyebrow at her profile, I sighed and shook my head. Picking up something that semi resembled normalcy, I chewed it slowly, deciding if I liked it or not. Being pleasantly surprised, I picked another one before offering to Rachel, "I'm gonna have some wine. Want some too?"
She stopped her humming and looked at me curiously. Then, playing with a piece of her golden-brown hair, she lilted, "Mmm. Chilean, please."
"What year?" I asked back, looking through my parents' vast wine rack.
"1995," She replied before saying, "A good year. Yesss. . ." And then she resumed humming, her throaty sounds filling the kitchen like an old scratchy record.
I couldn't find a 1995 year, so I simply popped open a 2000 chilean red wine, hearing the crisp sound as the cork unscrewed. Grabbing some wine glasses, I poured a small amount for each of us, and a much smaller portion for Rachel, since I had the distinct impression that she might have been born perpetually intoxicated.
Walking over to where she was sitting, I ate the little cracker with some kind of odd French cheese-spread over it before handing Rachel her glass of wine. She sipped it before giving a glance that told me that she knew it wasn't a 1995 wine. But she didn't say anything. Instead, she stopped humming and simply resumed her reading.
"You reading Nostradamus again?" I asked, noticing the book she was reading was thick enough to be a dictionary. Snatching another cracker, I bit into it and observed her over my food.
Rachel's eyes glided over towards me before a half-smile formed on her
face. "Oh, no," she said matter-of-factly, "it's Harry Potter now."
She grabbed a cracker too, watching as I scrunched my eyebrows at her.
"Nostradamus was getting too silly for me," She added as an afterthought,
as if she had deemed Harry Potter a much more worthy subject of study.
Raising my eyebrows, I took another sip of the wine before sighing.
Leaning onto the island, I bit my lip and observed the mess around me before
asking quietly, "Was Mum, uh, upset that I didn't show up to her
little show-off party?"
At this, Rachel chuckled. Flipping a page of her book, she replied, "Silly Travis. Silly silly Travis. Mum didn't even notice you were gone. Silly boy."
Grinding my teeth, I bit back some of my anger. As much as it seemed to be endless amusement to Rachel that our parents cared more about the cars in the garage than their children, it never failed to make something hot and resentful bubble in the pit of my stomach.
"But," came the sudden and strange announcement, "the real question is," Rachel paused here before taking a sip of her wine. Then putting it down, she ran her finger over the rim of it, making an eerie sound reverberate throughout the room. "The real question is: Did you leave early again, Travis?" Her large eyes (the same color as my mother: startling lavender-blue) peered at me, curiosity swimming in them. "Because you never fail to leave early."
Staring at her, I felt her words echo through me as if I was a hollow room. Licking my lips, I blinked at her before stuffing a cracker in my face. Seeing that I was trying to deviate from an answer, Rachel simply sighed.
Putting her book down, she cocked her head at me. Then, with unnerving understanding, she said confidently, "Of course, she never helps. You both leave too early." She picked up a cracker of her own before chewing on it meditatively. "But then, you must leave early, I suppose. Oh, Travis-- I don't think I can understand. No, no. . . I don't belong in that world. Not really."
Her words always hit hard, especially when she conversed about Lily in such a way as if she knew her intimately. In reality, Rachel had only said a few words to Lily. Acquaintances, perhaps, but not friends in the least. Lily, for all as I knew, thought Rachel a bit unnerving, but she said she liked her alright.
"La, sir," Rachel sighed, which was a habit of hers that she had picked up from somewhere. She finished her wine before lumbering down from the kitchen island. Brushing off her skirt, she stared at me, her wide eyes examining me.
Such wide eyes. Where'd they come from anways? Mother, I supposed. There were disarming and unnerving at the same time, as if she was stripping you of your soul, so that she might examine it thoroughly.
A crackle of thunder sounded somewhere far off. The thunderstorm had been swept away from Roscoe, leaving only it's fingerprints in the cool sidewalks, in the muddy puddles that would drown my mother's new geraniums outside.
A grin formed on her face suddenly. Then, she said, "You saw her today, did you not, Travis?"
Feeling as if this point had already been established, I nodded, confused. Then, thinking for some reason she might get the wrong idea, I mumbled, "Well, we don't really go out. . ."
Laughter erupted from her when I said this. Staring at her in horror, I watched as pure amusement formed on her face. "No, no, of course not, Travis," she said, as if she thought the notion of Lily and I going out as simply absurd and delightfully hilarious.
Then, as her laughter died, she kissed me cheek and said, "Good-night, Travis." As she was walking up the stairs towards her bedroom, she turned and glanced at me over the railing.
"So, did you leave early?" She asked dreamily, but in a manner that deemed she already knew the answer.
A small smile grew on my face, and I stared intently into my wine. "No, Rachel," I stated before looking at her. "I didn't leave early. Any second later and I would have left too late." I paused thoughtfully before whispering to my glass of wine:
"No, no: We left precisely on time."
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A/N (The last ones. . . I know you're rejoicing from joy): Okay, so the story was a bit. . . odd. But, hm, I don't really know. . . it made sense in the little warped mind of mine (that's not saying much, though). But, explaining relationships is intriguing, eh? And I just realized that this chapter could have been ignored, but the story just seemed incomplete without it. Ug, I hate when stories talk to you. . . (you're thinking I'm crazy right now; you are right.)
But ANYWHO, if you wouldn't mind leaving me a review. Flames,
praise, etc. will hold me over until September, when the new eppies of
RFR finally show. Ug, that's so long. Let's start a mob and
storm the studio, taking the few episodes that we can get our hand on (not
to mention Nathan Carter, or er. . . you didn't hear that for the record).
But, pwetty pwease, leave me a review. THANK YOU to everyone who
has already reviewed: you all are beautful. And, btw, I will get
around to reviewing a few of you guys story when I get some free time.
I'm at, er, summer school right now (no, I'm not an idiot and I didn't
fail a class. It's,er, complicated. Yeah.) so I'm very busy, but
I will have time after that to do some reading. But, anyways, thanks
all. See ya around!