The Gift
Episode 6: Beautiful Like You
By Sulia Serafine
This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE fic. This is the sequel series to It Could Be Worse, which will end with season 4. NOTE: You can read it if you have not read ICBW. It's possible. You won't get the foreshadowing and the cameos, but you will, eventually. I'd explain them. Credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.
Warning: Rated PG-13 to R for more cursing than usual.
~~
"You're so vain, Vince. Stop looking at that mirror," Yvenne ordered. She adjusted the car's mirror and glared at me.
I hadn't meant to look vain. I had merely wished to see my eyes again. I hated my eyes, but I could help staring at them, reminding myself of what I truly hated. Myself. I suppose that was a self deprecating gesture, like a person who injures himself over and over thinking that he deserves it. I'm sure I do.
It's more than just seeing the blue in my eyes. It's seeing everything. Or nothing. My lack of feeling. My… nothing. After that night in the motel, after dreaming of my sorry excuse of a childhood, I had tried to start seeing myself, really seeing myself. There's nothing to look at any more.
I'm glad that I'm here. I never doubted that I would be. But that's just compared to being in there. There's nothing that is beholden to me. I should be grateful, though. I should be! But…
"We're going to be there soon," Yvenne announced, glancing down at the fuel gauge.
"Where are we?" Faleron asked sleepily from behind.
"Beauford County, apparently. That was the last road sign I saw." She turned to me as we pulled into a rest stop. "You drive. I'm tired."
We both climbed out of the car, lethargic in our movements. I couldn't remember a time when I was wearier than this night. I felt like I ought to see buzzards circling over me at any moment. If there were any scavengers, I would taunt them by living. I'd be taunting myself.
I drove without much thought on anything else. The car was quiet with the exception of the engine and the soft snores of my passengers. It was usually during their slumber that I was able to meditate on my own thoughts. The deathlike tranquility of sleep was often a comfort to me.
It was an escape. My only true one. My mind was still a prisoner to men in white lab coats, so I no longer considered that an achievement. Sleep was my haven but it is also their hunting ground. I cannot find solace in my dreams sometimes, but oh, it is wonderful to delude myself into thinking that it is a pure escape.
We reached the next motel in silence. I never remembered the places we went anymore. The moment my mind knew that there were no answers in a particular place, I lost all interest. And so we continued. Our migratory lifestyle had wasted much of the summer. I would notice Faleron's antsy behavior. Half his vacation had gone by, but he wanted to stay with us forever.
More specifically, he wanted to stay with me forever. I could see it in his mind. He had adopted me as if I was the child and he was the parent. I never understood why he felt like this. I couldn't bring myself to care unless I thought of Cleon Kennan and his trusting but sad smile. Why me? Why did I look like a father to him? I never had one. I don't know the first thing about being one. You couldn't even consider me as big brother material.
( Scene: Black and white rerun. Enter: Vincent.
Vincent: [grinning at camera] "Hey, Squirt!"
Faleron: [beaming up at him] "Hiya, Big Bro!"
[They go skipping off into the distance hand-in-hand, being brother-like.] )
Yvenne dragged herself out of the car, having violently kicked open the door. "Wait here. I'll go pay for the room."
I obeyed without fuss, anything to get my mind off the usual torture.
Faleron awoke. In a rare bout of natural childishness, he emitted an annoying groan. I cringed and turned. The boy was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his middle.
"What's wrong?"
Faleron pressed his face into the old leather seat. "I feel sick."
Figures. You think he would have listened to me when I told him not to eat so many chilidogs. But did children ever listen? I supposed I'd better do something about it before he makes a mess. That would be a pain in the ass… "Do you want some Tums?"
"We don't have any," he reminded me, half moaning. The boy looked like he was about to cry. "My Mommy used to warm up milk along with the chewable tablets."
Do I look like your Mommy to you? I sighed and shook my head. "Okay, okay. I'll go see if I can find some milk and whatever. Stay here."
For a little kid in pain, he sure sat up quickly when I got up. "Don't just leave me here!"
"I'll be right back. And Yvenne shouldn't take that long."
He stubbornly shook his head. "I want to get out of the car. The smell makes me sicker than the food."
Okay, we'll buy a car air freshener, too. I sat back down, rubbing my hands over my face to keep me awake. I wanted to fall asleep into my peaceful oblivion so badly, but more things continued to delay my rest. I got out of the car and moved the seat forward, allowing the boy to climb out and take a breath of fresh air.
I rested my hand on his forehead, feeling for a fever. Thankfully, his stomach was his only ailment. It occurred to me that he barely came up to my waist. It was hard for me to imagine myself as that small. I know I was, once, but living as proudly and arrogantly as I have always made me feel a little taller than I really was.
"Come on. I think that drugstore is open." I pointed to a place just across the street that had one neon sign blinking on and off. It wasn't the nicest looking of places, but it didn't look as bad as the drugstores in Carthak. For that, I was extremely relieved.
When I realized Faleron wasn't following me, I turned around and found him crouching on the ground, arms still wrapped around himself. Annoyed, I also lowered myself so I sat back on my haunches. I peered into his face. "Are you going to do it right here?"
Vomit = unpleasant, to be blunt. Bluntness should be a virtue.
"I don't think so. I just can't move," he complained. His whiny voice was really starting to get on my nerves, but blowing up at him for his innate nature wasn't going to get us anywhere. Yvenne wouldn't stop scolding me for that either, so what could I do?
He gratefully let himself be lifted up in my arms, just as I had always done when we needed to move him in his sleep. I had the strangest suspicion that the boy was losing weight because he seemed to be getting lighter every time I picked him up. Or maybe I was just getting stronger. He shouldn't have been losing weight. His family would kill me when he finally returned home at the end of the summer.
The drugstore was open. The man at the counter retrieved a bottle of children's Pepto-Bismol chewable tablets and pointed to the back refrigerator for a bottle of milk. He scowled at me, however, when I asked how fresh the milk was. It was an honest question. I don't want to give spoiled milk to a sick boy. That would defeat the purpose of the remedy, wouldn't it?
"Yvenne's at the car, waiting," Faleron muttered, pointing over my shoulder. I quickly paid for the two items and supported the boy with both arms as I carried the plastic bag looped on my wrist.
When we reached the car, Yvenne looked at us skeptically. She eyed the contents of the transparent bag and came over to feel Faleron's forehead, just as I had done. She looked at me accusingly. "What happened?"
"Nothing! He was just having a stomachache. Why do you always have to look at me like it's my fault?"
"Because it always is." She jangled the keys in her hand. "I'll get the bags, I guess."
"Does the room have a microwave?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Okay. Give me the keys. We'll meet you there."
She handed me the keys. Then she popped the car's trunk, sorting through our stuff for what we needed that night. I walked ahead, trying to match the numbers on the key tag with the numbers on the doors. The room ended up being the one at the far end, with the least amount of light reaching it. I squinted in the darkness for the keyhole.
The first thing I did after flicking on the light was set Faleron down on the nearest bed. I moved the trashcan to his bedside, just in case. There were a few plastic cups in the bathroom. I poured the milk into one of these and set it in the microwave. Just as I had set the timer and pressed the start button, I heard Yvenne enter the room from behind me, dragging our belongings with her.
Yvenne flung them as far as she could to the other side of the room, grunting with the effort. Wiping her hands off on her thighs, she sat down beside Faleron and stroked his head. "How are you feeling?"
"Bad," he replied, half groaning.
"The milk will be warm soon. Just a few more seconds," I told them. I stood a few feet from the microwave, stretching my arms behind my back. The tension in my shoulders loosened, and I rolled my head slowly left and right until the muscles in my neck eased, too.
The timer went off. I removed the milk from the microwave, made sure it wasn't too hot, and sat down on the bed beside my traveling companions. I fished around the plastic bag for the chewable tablets. Faleron reluctantly chewed and swallowed them, washing them down with half the cup of warm milk. Yvenne smiled and got up to get ready for bed.
"I hear there's a racing track not too far from here. Horses."
I looked up, one of my fine eyebrows arched inquisitively. "Oh? And what do you expect out of me? We have enough money right now. I'd rather wander around the towns and enjoy my useless existence."
She chuckled and entered the bathroom, toting a bag of her nightclothes. I stayed where I was, truly feeling useless. Okay, okay. Perhaps the word I should have used was lazy. There's nothing wrong with being lazy just as long as you don't stay lazy forever. And after having spent my whole childhood as one of the most productive, efficient, self-serving little bastards in the whole hospital, I thought I was entitled to some laziness.
"Feeling any better?" I asked Faleron, still curled up on his side. Without thinking, I reached out and stroked his brow, like I'd seen Yvenne do. The little boy crawled over until his head was resting on my knee. Then his breathing started to slow and I knew he was falling asleep.
Yvenne came out of the bathroom just as I was removing his shoes and jacket. She helped me tuck him into bed and sat with me at his side. I yawned again, my eyes becoming watery with the strain of keeping awake.
"You know, Vince, I think you'd make a pretty good father," she said softly, gazing down at the young boy, fast asleep.
Me? Father? I snorted at the idea and stood. She also got up, reaching out one last time to brush Faleron's bangs from his face. The feisty sprite looked up at me, an unusually peaceful and content expression on her face. It bothered me for some reason I couldn't describe. I looked away.
"Vince?"
"Vinny," I corrected gratingly.
She grinned. "Sorry, Vinny." Here she paused and tilted her head, as if trying to see me in a different light. "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were just some hotshot smartass who only looked out for himself. Now I know…"
My head jerked back towards her. I subconsciously balled up my fists and glared at her. "What do you know? You know nearly nothing about me. What you do know is that you don't like traveling alone and I don't like being poor."
This was the part where she was supposed to have either slapped me or stormed out of the room. Neither happened. Instead, she reached up with one soft, sweet smelling hand, and cupped my face. My eyes widened as she rose on her tiptoes and leaned forward.
I quickly backed away from her, shaking her hand away from my cheek.
"Don't do that," I warned through clenched teeth. My hand touched my cheek, trying to remove the sensation she left there. I couldn't stand it. There was something, some unidentifiable something that was creeping me out. It was a half formed image in my mind, like an ice statue that had been left in the sun. I frowned, confused and angry.
The untouchable girl reached toward me, a look of hurt on her face. I couldn't have explained to her that she was giving me bad vibes. I knew I would offend her no matter what I did, so I should have at least kept my secret from her. No, she couldn't touch me. Shouldn't touch me.
Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, this was the part where I should have fled the room in search of a place to get drunk and pass out. Since I am neither attracted to the idea of imbibing nor of losing consciousness in public places, this, of course, didn't happen.
"Vinny—" she began, her eyes wide with humiliation and puzzlement. She was ashamed. I would be, too, if I were susceptible to things like that.
I held my hands out, palms facing the floor and fingers spread out. "Look, Yvenne. You're my friend and all, but…" I shook my head helplessly. It wasn't as if she couldn't guess what I had to say. She watched soap operas. She knew the line better than I did. "Why don't we just go to sleep and forget about all of this?"
Yvenne blinked rapidly, probably trying to banish oncoming tears. She moved past me to the bathroom. "Right. Sorry."
I kicked off my shoes and rolled up my sleeves. I couldn't care less if I wasn't ready to go to bed. I had to be asleep before she came out of the bathroom again. Women! Nothing but trouble, I tell you. I've said it before and I'll say it again: no relationships, not now, not ever. There is no room. There is no chance.
"Do you really want to hurt me…"
The bad last-era love song was not the best thing to listen to at that moment. I rose from my bed and pounded on the wall. I screamed at the top of my lungs for the occupant of the next room to shut off the music or die a very painful death (insert more expletives here). I shouldn't have yelled so loudly. Faleron sat up, groaning in his whiny, attention-craving way.
I ran my hands over my face and shuffled to his bedside. My hands placed his blanket back over him and nudged him into lying down again. He looked up at me with a frown.
"Sorry you had to hear that."
"The music would have waken me up anyway," he excused, shrugging his shoulders.
How accepting. How easily forgiving children could be. I wish—
"Does your stomach still hurt?" I asked gently, offering a half-smile.
"No. Thanks, Vinny. I know I can be a real pain sometimes."
I ruffled his hair. My head lowered a few inches toward him. As I realized that I meant to kiss him on his forehead, I stopped and thought of Yvenne's earlier observation. I smiled more widely to keep him of suspecting anything and retreated to my bed again.
"Good night, Squirt. Leave some room for Yvenne, okay?"
"I will. Good night, Vinny. I wish I had a brother like you."
It was a harmless little restatement of everything I already knew, but I don't know why it stuck with me like it did. Why was I still in this damned little motel room?! Yvenne still hadn't left the bathroom. I was afraid that I would still be awake by the time she came back out. Curse my own sobriety for not storming out of the room earlier to go pass out in a bar. I'm sure it wouldn't have been half as complicated as staying here.
~~
I awoke the next morning to the musical styling of Boy George. I sat up in my bed, turned toward the wall, and began pounding on it. "Turn the volume down, asshole!"
It should be considered illegal to play such music so early in the morning. It was barely nine o'clock. The only noise I expected to hear were the birds chirping or the garbage truck making its early morning rounds. This was sheer torture. Thankfully, the neighbor turned the volume down, only after accidentally turning the knob the wrong way and creating five seconds of extremely loud music.
Half dressed, I stumbled out of bed and toward the bathroom to splash water in my face. The night before was practically forgotten. On my mind now was a rather obscure 'vision' I'd received just before waking up. It had something to do with women with makeup on, smiling for cameras. I didn't understand it.
Maybe clairvoyant minds need to be normal guys' minds, too. You know, ones occupied with swimsuit models and the like. I suppose.
After the first splash of cold water on my face, I felt a tug on my shirt. I straightened my bent form and reached for the towel. Faleron waited patiently for me to address him.
"Yes?"
"The car is gone and so is Yvenne."
Oh. Fuck.
"What do you mean she's gone?!" I yelled. When I saw him cringe, I groaned and crouched to his level. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Now, what happened, Fal? What do you know?"
He glared at me, not hurt by my outburst at all, just a tad bit annoyed. "I woke up half an hour ago because I was hungry, and Yvenne wasn't around. She'd never moved the covers, so she obviously never crawled into bed." He pointed toward the door. "I looked outside to see if she slept in the car, but the car wasn't there, Vinny!"
No, no, she wouldn't. Would she? No! She couldn't! …Could she?
"Are you sure she didn't move the car?"
The young boy lifted his foot and pointed to his sole. It was dirtied, probably by walking outside barefoot. "I looked. She's nowhere. Her stuff is gone, too."
Money… I panicked and reached down the side of my boxers, feeling for the tiny drawstring bag that was always at my hip. Faleron wrinkled his nose at me, turned around, and retreated to his bed again. I promised myself to explain it to him later.
When my hand closed around the tiny bag, I let out a deep sigh of relief. At least I had my money.
And Yvenne had hers. Yes, she had hers. Her purse was ten times as filled as mine with dozens of credits, lined up in their little plastic rows. She'd been supporting us a lot lately. I hadn't paid for a hotel room in ages. The short little bookie witch had been the breadwinner for weeks now.
"Do we have any clue as to where she's gone?" I asked Faleron, now trying to count how many nobles and coppers I specifically had. Twenty… twenty-five… twenty-six, twenty-seven… TWENTY-SEVEN ONLY?
Faleron was starting to get dressed. He reached for the remote and turned on the Holoscreen to the news. "She left us, Vinny. Get over it. I know I'm the child and I'm the one who's not supposed to accept the separation, but that's okay. I'm fine with it."
I dropped my money to the ground and gave him a scathing look. "Now I know you did not just apply a divorce metaphor to this, you little pipsqueak."
He smiled nonchalantly and continued to dress. I rolled my eyes and sat down.
This was just what I needed. One stupid encounter and now I was back on my own—well not technically on my own. Faleron was here. But that was the problem! I couldn't care for a kid by myself! I couldn't drag him with me as I tried to find my parents! That's what Yvenne was for! To keep him distracted from figuring out the truth. I knew she wouldn't figure it out, but that little genius of a snot-factory could have figured it out. I saw it with my gift like it was written on his forehead.
Collapsing backwards, I stared at the ceiling for an extended amount of time. I recognized vaguely that I was hungry for breakfast, but I wouldn't have money for breakfast tomorrow, so why bother with today? I could spend that money on something else, something…
"Vinny."
"Shut up, Fal. I'm thinking."
"Vinny…"
"Fal! Didn't I just say that I was thinking? You have pocket change. Go outside to the vending machine and get something to eat," I ordered, closing my eyes.
He got up and headed toward the door. Before he exited, he giggled. "I just wanted to tell you that Yvenne's on the Holoscreen. I think she looks pretty."
Huh? I sat up and directed my gaze to the flat screen against the wall. A line of women dressed in long, semi-formal dresses were smiling at the camera. A local beauty contest. No… At the end of the line was a short young woman, curvy at her sides but so stiff-backed, one could see she wasn't really happy to be there.
"Yvenne, you fool…" I murmured, wide-eyed and unblinking in shock. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Why? Why did she do that? I know I'm an asshole, but how did that tie in with her entering a damn pageant? My anger was stronger than my confusion. And I admitted that I was a bit hurt—hurt because I got screwed over in the most heinous way. I should have known better. What else is this stupid gift for?
I supposed that we had better go after her. I'd rather not have her company if she was going to be like this, but someone needed to watch out for Faleron. I couldn't do it alone. I'm not the parent that she says I could be. I refuse to be stuck with this job.
Yes, the reason was as selfish as that.
Faleron came back, munching on a granola bar. He sat on the bed as if nothing had happened. It was hard to believe he was just a child when he acted like this. The boy was definitely taking it better than I was. Good for him.
"Watch the news," I told him. "I'll be ready soon and we'll hop on a bus."
I went into the bathroom and took a shower. To tell the truth, I took my own sweet time. Hell, I even shaved for the first time that week. There had been stubble on my chin for days. Why should I have hurried? The damage was done. She wouldn't move on from her beauty contest until the day was over.
While I was shaving, I received a small premonition from my gift. The sudden shock of it caused me to jerk, the razor slipping against my jaw and cutting across my skin an inch. I dropped the razor onto the bathroom counter and grabbed a tissue. I dabbed at the bright red blood while cursing my gift's incredible timing.
It would have been strange to have left half my face still rough with week old stubble, so I tore off a piece of the tissue and laid it over the cut, letting the blood soak in and hold it there. Then I carefully continued my task, trying to ignore the little vision that had been sent my way.
By the time I was done, the cut had long since stopped bleeding. In fact, it looked like a day old scar. At least there was an upside to being a freak. I threw the bloodied remains of the tissue into the trashcan and inspected the scar. It was still a little pink, but the skin was not broken nor did it sting with pain.
"Let's go, Fal. Are you ready?"
The boy was lying belly-down on the bed, watching the continued news coverage of the local beauty contest. He turned his head toward me, looking at me through half-lidded eyes. How irritable he was. "I've been ready, Vinny. You've been in there forever! Now let's go! I want to see Yvenne looking pretty."
"Well, doesn't she look pretty enough from the holoscreen?"
"What do you think?" he asked me, trying to trick me into a word trap. I glanced at the image of all ten contestants standing in front of a building. Each had a large white ribbon (their names were written on them) draped across their fronts. They posed for the cameraman, arms gracefully placed at their sides and smiles pearly white.
I spotted Yvenne at the end of the row. The earlier vision I had received reminded me of screams and frustrated cries. I looked away.
"I don't know. Whatever you think," I replied. "Come on. Get your stuff. We're getting on the first bus out of here."
As we rushed for the bus station, I thought to ask him on his opinion on the whole matter. "Why do you think she's run away like this? She's not necessarily known for having feminine impulses."
The bus was already there. We paid for our seats and got on, feeling the bus rise slowly as it hovered and speed away. We should have taken regular transportation. It would have been cheaper, albeit slower.
"Well, you're the one who rejected her. Maybe she's trying to reassert her female identity in her time of weakness," Faleron answered.
Smart aleck.
"Wait a second! Were you listening to us last night? I thought you were asleep, you little faker!" It was amazing how little my sixth sense was picking up these days. I had received fewer of my 'visions'. I also hadn't received physical little impulses to warm me of potential mishaps (I got splashed with puddle water from a passing car just the other day). I suppose I was spoiled, growing up with this charm on my side.
How in the world did she manage to find a beauty contest and all the clothing and make-up she would need? I suppose I ought to give her resourcefulness more credit. But understand that I really don't see the good reason behind this. What good will come from it? None. Will she really be satisfied if she wins? Won't she feel worse if she loses? It would be doing her a favor to stop her and resolve this mess.
There's a reason why I rejected her. I could never say it to her face, of course. After all, my story was unbelievable. I didn't think she'd buy it. More than likely, she'd be insulted that I made up such an incredulous story instead of telling her that I don't like her.
I was not attracted to her. That's true. But that's cruel to say. It's also cruel to tell her that I have a rule about not being involved. As a matter of fact, it doesn't matter what you say. The infatuated ones always take it personally.
There's very little in the world that really catches my attention anyway. Most of my mind is governed by supersensory impulses that make me into Madame Ruby, the psychic. And the rest of my weird body also makes me the Amazing Bionic Man.
Basically, both my body and mind are a big mess. Some would envy my gifts. They seem to forget the drawbacks:
1) I'm miserable.
2) I make other people miserable.
3) I'm alone.
4) I have no control over my fate, even if I know my fate.
5) Did I mention I was miserable?
6) I have to lie, cheat, and steal to get my money.
7) I'm afraid that the Gray Men will come back for me.
8) I'll be in a straitjacket for the rest of my life, once they do find me.
9) And oh, let's not forget that I'm still miserable.
I feel like tap dancing—don't I look so happy? Don't be discouraged if you haven't picked up on my sarcasm yet. You're better off, and my effort is a wasted one, anyway. I wouldn't take pity and I wouldn't give pity. So why bother?
We arrived in Carlton, a little place in the middle of nowhere with a population a little over five hundred. Most of the women in the contest were just campaigning for a future husband, standing on the stage as if they were merchandise in a storefront window. If Yvenne chooses to marry in this hellhole, I'll shoot myself out of grief—not for her, but rather for the sheer stupidity that a person could have.
The sky was bright blue. I hated the color and would have felt much more at home with gray. But of course, when do I ever get anything I want?
In what I assumed was Town Square, a stage had been constructed. I'd never seen a more picturesque portrayal of Midwestern Mithros in my life. Red brick buildings of moderate size, ground cars and hover cars mixed intermittently—all of which were shiny and well kept— polished store front windows with homey decorations and signs. I was even sickened by the number of perfectly arranged trees planted at intersection corners.
Garden-variety flowers of red and yellow were wrapped around an arch over the stage. There was an assortment of red and yellow streamers flying everywhere, from bunches tied around lampposts to the white foldout chairs in the audience. A crowd of locals was already gathering around. A small marching band of a dozen men were belting out a tune as if they were auditioning for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. Their uniforms were neat and their instruments polished. I'm sure this was one of their few gigs.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! May I present to you the beauties of Beauford County!" the announcer called over the loudspeakers. The lilt in his drawling voice more than convinced me that this was a nice, simple town. And it doesn't matter if you're a city-slicker or a townie… I'll pull a fast one over your eyes before you know what's going on.
Ten young women from ages eighteen to twenty-five gracefully ascended the stage in long gowns. I'm surprised they had reached the final stage of the contest when it was only noon. Had I missed the swimsuit competition?
Yvenne was at the end of the line, the shortest, but the bustiest—if that made any difference. I'm sure it did, but that's just my opinion as a guy. I am entitled to these thoughts every now and then. Refusing to indulge in them is what usually separates me from the rest of my uncouth gender.
She saw me standing there with Faleron almost as soon as she got on stage. The surprise in her features was immediately masked with a pearly grin as she waved to everyone in the crowd. She wore a dark emerald green gown, strapless and accented with flower embroidery. Her hair was curled and her lips painted red. I didn't like how unnatural it appeared on her. It just wasn't the same Yvenne, who cursed me out the first time I even spoke to her.
When they announced her name as Sue Baker, I withheld all laughter and politely clapped along with everyone else. The judges proceeded to ask the first five ladies random personality questions. Then they went to intermission while leaving on elevator music to play over the loudspeakers.
At least it wasn't Boy George.
That was when we made our move. I waited behind a group of people in deep conversation while Faleron went up to a large man standing at the barricades. Behind him was the contestants' area. The boy put on a pitiable face, puckered his lips, and told the man in a shy voice that he had lost his mother. What an actor! If he pulls this off, I will spoil the little pipsqueak until he's… eleven. The guard took him by the hand and they left in search for the nonexistent mother.
I slipped past the barricade. A few costume and make-up artists were running around, and a few other people who looked out of place. Probably family members. So, I put on a 'cousinly' face (one that is not describable. Don't expect me to tell you what I looked like. Just picture this: loser…)
"Excuse me! Can I help you?" a woman with horn-rimmed glasses stopped me. She was middle-aged, but still a heavy wearer of make-up. Ah, the ex-pageant winner.
"Ah! Uh, you scared me. Sorry." I put a hand over my furiously beating heart. "I'm here… to see my wife?"
I panicked. So sue me.
"Young man, all of our contestants are single."
I blinked. Shit.
"Yeah! Well, Ma'am, you heard me. I woke up to an empty space next to me—" not a lie, " and I was wondering where the hell she was!" Still not a lie. I made wild gestures with my hands, emphasizing my state of distress (which was a lie).
Yvenne must have spotted me again. She had probably scoured the crowds at the beginning of intermission to find me. As she rushed over, gulping and glancing nervously at the woman I was speaking to, I had the urge to cover my face with my hands for protection. I knew the Carthaki wanted to slap me, just for being there, let alone interfering.
The bespectacled woman glared at Yvenne. "Is this your husband?"
"Susie, you've got some nerve!" I chastised loudly, getting into my role. Faking the anger was easy. Half of the anger wasn't even faked.
Now I knew she wanted to slap me. Meanwhile, Faleron and the guard, a wet-behind-the-ears local deputy if you must know, had returned unsuccessful in their search, a wild goose chase if I'd ever seen one (which amusedly brings to mind a whole new meaning to the phrase Mother Goose, but maybe that's just me). I jerked my head slightly toward Yvenne, hoping that only the boy understood what I meant for him to do.
He did. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"Mommy!" He ran toward Yvenne and hugged her around her legs. Her face instantly expressed shock, but her hands instinctively moved to rest on his soft hair like they always did. She couldn't find the words to express her surprise and perplexity. It was a good thing that she didn't. Our cover would have been blown and then where would we be?
I approached them. "I can't believe you, Susie. You know that you aren't eligible for this thing and you know that I have to work! Someone has to watch him. For crying out loud, I'm not calling in babysitting favors from your mother anymore!"
It was the worst performance of my life, but the presence of a pathetic child sniffling into his "mother's" gown helped to negate my horrible acting. I meant it when I said I would pay Faleron back for this. He deserved it.
The woman, an official I now gather, held her hands tightly in front of her. She disdainfully lifted her chin, an action that screamed 'snob', but I didn't mind. I knew what was about to happen.
"Mrs. Baker, you are hereby dismissed from this contest. Brock, will you go tell Clyde about the disqualification?"
The deputy nodded. He glanced back and forth from Yvenne to me. Muttering something about crazy out-of-towners, he strutted back through the barricades toward the set up of the local news channel. The daylong coverage of the beauty contest was still airing live countywide. I wondered how they were going to explain the sudden withdrawal of one of the contestants.
Yvenne became sullen as the woman walked away. She seemed to realize that there was no way to dig her self out of the hole she'd fallen into. The ex-bookie patted Faleron's head affectionately and detached his arms from her. She glared at me as she spoke to him. "Mommy's got to get her stuff. The car is parked on the other side of the square. Be good and wait for us there, okay?"
He nodded and turned to leave. He shrugged to me as he walked past. He knew the horrible earful I was bound to get for this whole entire fiasco. I smiled encouragingly at him. I'd lived through much worse. The venting of one temperamental Carthaki woman wouldn't get me down.
We went behind the temporary screen dividers to the makeshift vanities. I recognized Yvenne's bags, noting that there were two extra from last I saw the set. Picking them up, I turned to her. She had folded her arms across her chest and was staring at her feet. The other remaining contestants, previously obsessed with correcting their stray locks of hair, now noticed me—the only male in the backstage area save for stage helpers.
"Something wrong, Sugar?" a young woman with strawberry blond tendrils asked. I was reminded of Shirley Temple for some reason, but I knew that Shirley Temple's hair looked prettier than this strange thing.
Yvenne flashed a brief, apologetic smile. "Sorry, girls. I have to drop out." She forced out an out of place giggle. "One less girl to compete with, right?"
"Poor, Baby! Is it his fault? I know it! Who are you, anyway, Handsome?" she glared at me accusingly. The way her lips curled, though, told me that she wasn't disgusted with me. On the contrary…
"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry. We have to go." She grabbed my arm and led me out of the contestants' area. She didn't stopped until we were far away from the other contestants. When we were now on the outskirts of the Town Square, we stopped at a bench. The car was still on the other side of the square, but Yvenne obviously wanted to talk. I knew exactly what was about to happen. I was slightly pleased. It was the first time this whole week that I knew what she was going to say.
I wouldn't be happy to hear it, but I didn't have a choice, did I?
"You're impossible, Vince. Just impossible," she muttered furiously. Her hands were now on her hips, the green shifts of cloth of her gown making a rustling noise against the pavement.
I sat down on the bench, setting the bags in front of me. I looked up at her, trying to keep my face straight. I couldn't. "Me? Impossible? You're the one who decides to abandon us in the middle of the night!"
"I had reason!"
"I'm sure you did, but you could have at least left an explanation—a note or something!" I stood up, using my height to tower over her menacingly. "And what's the big idea entering some stupid beauty contest? That totally came out of nowhere."
She moved closer to me, jabbing her sharp finger into my chest and causing me to stagger backward. "Maybe I felt like it."
This was getting us nowhere. I had no desire to argue with my traveling companion in a public place when we had better things to do with our time. I had an agenda to keep pace with. Of course, I was the only one aware of this agenda, but I should have been able to hold them responsible to the darned schedule anyway.
With a heavy sigh, I cocked my head toward the right, gazing at her with tired eyes. "You know, Yvenne, the contest doesn't prove who is the prettiest. It's a subjective, popularity contest. You wouldn't have won. The whole thing is pointless!" I pointed to the stage. "Physical appearances are not the sole definition of beauty. You've got a wonderful personality that determines how beautiful you are."
"Then why aren't I beautiful to you?!" she cried, face scrunched up as if she were about to sob.
The sky was becoming darker despite the fact that it was practically high noon. As I felt the gray closing in over my head, I decided to tell her the truth.
"Because nothing is beautiful to me."
There. I had said it. It wasn't because I had a non-involvement policy. It wasn't because I didn't think she'd believe my story about Styx and the search for my parents. And it definitely wasn't because I found her revolting.
The fact of the matter was that I, at this exact moment in time, could not perceive beauty as I used to see it. I could not conceive of it in a world that I found increasingly more at fault with each passing day. I didn't used to live like this. Up until this year in my life, I had not cared. The matter of my ideology was ignored because it was second to my goals. I had put aside my beliefs because I couldn't validate them anyway… not without knowing where I came from and where my damn beliefs came from.
But now, I knew. The words were so clear in my mind. I glanced about me at the people. I scrutinized the trees planted lovingly at street corners, right next to the lampposts and the traffic lights. I watched the balloons moving in the breeze. I saw a child looking out of a hover car as it left the square. I saw all of this with my own flawed eyes.
Once upon a time, this had been beautiful to me. The first bite of food that I had consumed after my escape from Styx had indeed been ambrosia. My first sunset had been the basis upon which I judged all future sunsets, no matter where I was. The feel of raindrops in the fresh spring fields had been the cleanest thing I had ever felt. When I had felt that, I didn't think I'd be able to shower in a confining space like a tiny bathroom. But I did.
Those things didn't last. Not for me. I wasn't strong like that. The body is strong, the mind is not its own, and the heart… the heart has no place in life anymore.
I stopped Yvenne before she even lifted her hand. I didn't want her to console, as I could sense that she wanted to. She wanted to tell me everything she could possibly babble out. But she would regret that. And I didn't want her to regret more than she had to. That should have been left up to me.
"Come on, Susie. Let's get out of here." While we still can.
She let me pick up all the bags and followed me across the square. I couldn't sense how she would go on after our confrontation. I hoped it wouldn't dampen relations. I would say that I needed her, but I don't like needing people. And she didn't need me. We were merely convenient to each other at the time being. That's all I wanted to be.
"Vince?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not going to yell at me for calling you 'Vince'?"
I shrugged. "There are more important things on my mind."
"I figured." She chuckled. "Aw, we're probably better off this way. You obviously have issues."
"Obviously? Well, gee, thanks."
"You do!" She punched me lightly in the arm. "And besides… we have a good thing going on, just the way it is. You're right. I'll hold off on the hormones. It wouldn't have been all that great anyway. You are younger."
"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked, annoyed.
Yvenne began inspecting her nails casually. "Oh, nothing. Inexperience isn't a crime."
"Inexperience?! A crime?!"
Women are evil. I consider myself lucky to have lived twelve years of my life with as limited female contact as possible. But that period of my life has been long over. Maybe this was just a subtle sign. Maybe it was a message that said the world meant to be tangled in this crazy web of infatuation and rejection. Or maybe it was just my subconscious, telling me to realize I wasn't in love with the world anymore…
…Or to realize the simple facts. I'm miserable and quite ready to stay miserable. I'll draw the line, however, at being miserable while listening to tasteless music. Yes. I'll definitely draw the line there. Boy George, my ass.
~~
Author's notes: Hope you liked! I'm starting to develop Vinny into a less structuralized speaker. As he's traveled, he's picked up on being less formal, more at home with his vulgarity. It was easy when he was alone. He had very few people to practice his rudeness on, so now having an audience 24/7 has had quite a negative effect on his vocalizations and thought patterns. Ah well. Too bad for him.
As for my constant references to Boy George… I don't mind any of the music so much anymore, but my friend heard a few songs and nearly bawled with tears. She's anti-80's music, and I couldn't help but express her in here. Heheh…
I didn't get a chance to edit this chapter. It's raw and unedited, so if you see mistakes, do forgive. I've been driven mad by homework…
Tell me what you think! Email, review… do whatever! Your opinion is wanted!