Hey guys! Again, thanks so much for your wonderful reviews. Look how many
there are! I'm in utter shock. Anyway, Torn is slowly winding down. I'm
thinking two more chapters after this and that will be it! I've had an
awesome time writing it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Oh, also,
sorry it took me so long to write this chapter. I wasn't quite sure where I
was going to go with it.
Angelina
++++++++
I've seen little of Alan since we came back from Thunderbird 5. He's closed himself to human contact, and won't even say a word to me. I've never witnessed him hurt like this, and to know I caused it creates a knot in my stomach. All I can do is hope he'll forget about Virgil and I and move on.
I don't understand it. I have what I want, but I can't seem to enjoy it. Seeing Alan so introverted around everyone, especially me, is something I never want to experience again.
A part of me knows there is a way to cheer him up. I could go back to him, and pretend nothing ever happened between his brother and me. Another part of me knows I can't do that, and I don't want to either. I love Virgil. Alan is a part of the past.
So why does it hurt so much?
All I can do is ask myself that over and over again until the words completely take over my mind. This shouldn't affect me so much, but even though I know that, it still does. I feel more responsible than ever, and no matter what Virgil does, I can't seem to pull myself out of it.
I have to do something. I have to get Alan out of my mind and concentrate on Virgil, or else I'll be jeopardizing that relationship too. To lose what I had with Alan is one thing, to lose that and what I now have with Virgil would be too much to bear.
I glance up from the magazine I am reading on the couch, though I never actually saw the words in the article. They moved and blended to a state of illegibleness at least an hour ago. I've been much too preoccupied to care about some new kind of science equipment that is the largest breakthrough in quite a few years.
I fold down the page, vowing to give it to Brains to study later, and lean back against the couch. I close my eyes, stretching my legs out and sighing, trying my best to relax. Just as I'm about to fall into a welcomed sleep, I feel something delicate brush against my lips and I sit bolt upright in surprise.
Wearing a cheeky grin, Virgil lowers himself onto the couch beside me and I smile at him.
"How are you doing, Tin-Tin?" He asks, noticing the look in my eyes despite my pleased expression.
"Better, I think," I answer honestly, hiding a yawn. Another symptom of feeling guilty seems to be lack of sleep. I'm so tired these days - mainly because I lie in my bed and can't help but think about the situation I am presently in.
He pats my leg comfortingly. "Dinner will be ready soon. Want to go help Grandma set the table with me?"
It is a simple task, but I know he's trying to distract me from my thoughts. "Sure." I stand up wearily and follow him into the kitchen.
Virgil greets his grandmother warmly and begins putting out the placemats, watching me out of the corner of his black and blue eye. The bruise has begun to fade to the shades of the thinned paints he uses in his watercolour washes, but it's still a painful reminder of the fight I broke up the other day.
"Hi, Mrs. Tracy," I say quietly, knowing she hasn't thought very highly of me these last few days.
"Good evening, Tin-Tin." The words are filled with forced cheeriness and mock me, playing over in my mind.
I bite back a sigh and begin setting out the cutlery. As I raise my head and glance forlornly out the window to the sheer waters of the pool below, a familiar shock of blond hair catches my attention. I place the fork I'm holding on the table quietly and watch Alan, wondering what he's doing.
He leans on the railing and looks down at the ocean, the waves lapping gently against the pearly sand. The placid breeze ruffles his hair and I can't help remembering how many times my fingers have done the same. I force myself to look away, accidentally meeting Virgil's gaze in the process.
I can read the concern in his eyes as if it were flashing the word in red letters on his forehead. Blatant regret wells up in my throat and I do my best to smile at him, wondering if he knows what I was looking at. From the expression on his face, I'm nearly positive he does.
I have to stop this. . .obsession with Alan and his pain. Even just seeing him makes me feel sick with shame. I can't live my life like this. I have to get over him, and make sure he gets over me. There's no other choice. Soon Virgil will become fed up with my fixation with his brother and there will be no way I could ever make him understand. No matter how bad he feels for betraying Alan, there is absolutely no chance it could compare to this.
I shake the feelings away and finish setting the table, filling my head with thoughts only of the man pouring various drinks into tall glasses. He looks up and grins at me before he places the cups at different locations, knowing where everyone sits by heart.
I remember how he looked on the boat, with the wind blowing his shirt open and caressing his hair, the dazzling sun setting it alight. I remember the look in his eyes that night in my room; the mix of shock, desire and alarm that radiated from his lips when I kissed them for the first time. I remember the feeling of his arms around me when he told me he loved me, and the way he has reassured me every time I get upset about Alan.
I have this wonderful man who possess a great deal of compassion, and is giving me the space I need, yet all I can do is think about someone else. There must be something wrong with me.
+++
That night at dinner, the table is relatively quiet. Scott and Brains are discussing a way to cut back on the amount of fuel Thunderbird One uses during takeoff. Alan stares blankly at his plate, hardly seeing the food on it. Virgil and I carry on a quiet conversation between ourselves while Gordon tries to get his fork to stand straight up in his mashed potatoes. He, like everyone else, is trying to amuse himself with something other than the predicament at hand.
When anything is wrong with someone living on Tracy Island, the entire population of people in the house feel it. There's a solid band of tension that hangs over our heads thick enough that even a knife would only partially sever it.
Suddenly, someone clears their throat and we lapse into silence. I look up and notice with slight surprise that it was Alan who has broken the muted din.
"Father?" He says, taking a sip of the water in front of him.
"Yes, Alan?"
"I'm going on vacation."
Angelina
++++++++
I've seen little of Alan since we came back from Thunderbird 5. He's closed himself to human contact, and won't even say a word to me. I've never witnessed him hurt like this, and to know I caused it creates a knot in my stomach. All I can do is hope he'll forget about Virgil and I and move on.
I don't understand it. I have what I want, but I can't seem to enjoy it. Seeing Alan so introverted around everyone, especially me, is something I never want to experience again.
A part of me knows there is a way to cheer him up. I could go back to him, and pretend nothing ever happened between his brother and me. Another part of me knows I can't do that, and I don't want to either. I love Virgil. Alan is a part of the past.
So why does it hurt so much?
All I can do is ask myself that over and over again until the words completely take over my mind. This shouldn't affect me so much, but even though I know that, it still does. I feel more responsible than ever, and no matter what Virgil does, I can't seem to pull myself out of it.
I have to do something. I have to get Alan out of my mind and concentrate on Virgil, or else I'll be jeopardizing that relationship too. To lose what I had with Alan is one thing, to lose that and what I now have with Virgil would be too much to bear.
I glance up from the magazine I am reading on the couch, though I never actually saw the words in the article. They moved and blended to a state of illegibleness at least an hour ago. I've been much too preoccupied to care about some new kind of science equipment that is the largest breakthrough in quite a few years.
I fold down the page, vowing to give it to Brains to study later, and lean back against the couch. I close my eyes, stretching my legs out and sighing, trying my best to relax. Just as I'm about to fall into a welcomed sleep, I feel something delicate brush against my lips and I sit bolt upright in surprise.
Wearing a cheeky grin, Virgil lowers himself onto the couch beside me and I smile at him.
"How are you doing, Tin-Tin?" He asks, noticing the look in my eyes despite my pleased expression.
"Better, I think," I answer honestly, hiding a yawn. Another symptom of feeling guilty seems to be lack of sleep. I'm so tired these days - mainly because I lie in my bed and can't help but think about the situation I am presently in.
He pats my leg comfortingly. "Dinner will be ready soon. Want to go help Grandma set the table with me?"
It is a simple task, but I know he's trying to distract me from my thoughts. "Sure." I stand up wearily and follow him into the kitchen.
Virgil greets his grandmother warmly and begins putting out the placemats, watching me out of the corner of his black and blue eye. The bruise has begun to fade to the shades of the thinned paints he uses in his watercolour washes, but it's still a painful reminder of the fight I broke up the other day.
"Hi, Mrs. Tracy," I say quietly, knowing she hasn't thought very highly of me these last few days.
"Good evening, Tin-Tin." The words are filled with forced cheeriness and mock me, playing over in my mind.
I bite back a sigh and begin setting out the cutlery. As I raise my head and glance forlornly out the window to the sheer waters of the pool below, a familiar shock of blond hair catches my attention. I place the fork I'm holding on the table quietly and watch Alan, wondering what he's doing.
He leans on the railing and looks down at the ocean, the waves lapping gently against the pearly sand. The placid breeze ruffles his hair and I can't help remembering how many times my fingers have done the same. I force myself to look away, accidentally meeting Virgil's gaze in the process.
I can read the concern in his eyes as if it were flashing the word in red letters on his forehead. Blatant regret wells up in my throat and I do my best to smile at him, wondering if he knows what I was looking at. From the expression on his face, I'm nearly positive he does.
I have to stop this. . .obsession with Alan and his pain. Even just seeing him makes me feel sick with shame. I can't live my life like this. I have to get over him, and make sure he gets over me. There's no other choice. Soon Virgil will become fed up with my fixation with his brother and there will be no way I could ever make him understand. No matter how bad he feels for betraying Alan, there is absolutely no chance it could compare to this.
I shake the feelings away and finish setting the table, filling my head with thoughts only of the man pouring various drinks into tall glasses. He looks up and grins at me before he places the cups at different locations, knowing where everyone sits by heart.
I remember how he looked on the boat, with the wind blowing his shirt open and caressing his hair, the dazzling sun setting it alight. I remember the look in his eyes that night in my room; the mix of shock, desire and alarm that radiated from his lips when I kissed them for the first time. I remember the feeling of his arms around me when he told me he loved me, and the way he has reassured me every time I get upset about Alan.
I have this wonderful man who possess a great deal of compassion, and is giving me the space I need, yet all I can do is think about someone else. There must be something wrong with me.
+++
That night at dinner, the table is relatively quiet. Scott and Brains are discussing a way to cut back on the amount of fuel Thunderbird One uses during takeoff. Alan stares blankly at his plate, hardly seeing the food on it. Virgil and I carry on a quiet conversation between ourselves while Gordon tries to get his fork to stand straight up in his mashed potatoes. He, like everyone else, is trying to amuse himself with something other than the predicament at hand.
When anything is wrong with someone living on Tracy Island, the entire population of people in the house feel it. There's a solid band of tension that hangs over our heads thick enough that even a knife would only partially sever it.
Suddenly, someone clears their throat and we lapse into silence. I look up and notice with slight surprise that it was Alan who has broken the muted din.
"Father?" He says, taking a sip of the water in front of him.
"Yes, Alan?"
"I'm going on vacation."