DISCLAIMER!
Me: (walks over to Adam, who is painting his finger nails.) Hey! So did you read Chapter 2?
Adam: (looks up from the black nail polish.) Oh yeah! It was great! Except I don't think I'm that good of a speaker. (laughs)
Me: (giggles) Oh don't be modest! Believe me, you have one of the most powerful voices!
Adam: (smiles) Aww…thank you.
Me: (gins and blushes) don't mention it. (looks over and sees Tommy sitting by himself strumming a guitar.) What did he think of it?
Adam: (looks at Tommy and smirks) Go ask'em.
Me: (walks over to Tommy) So….uh…Tommy? What did you think?
Tommy: (looks up, letting his hair to fall into his face.) I thought it was well written and respect your choice of character parings…(sticks his tongue out at Adam)
Me: (rolls eyes, realizing it was a rehearsed answer) If I go and get you a coffee will you be nicer?
Tommy: (shrugs)
Me: (sighs) Adam would you care to do the honors while I go and get Grumpy Glitters a caffeine fix?
Adam: (laughs) Sure. (looks at your readers with those beautiful eyes) Jackie does not own Tommy or me. But I love the story! Please read and leave her a little input on what you thought. Enjoy, my beautiful Glamberts!
Tommy: (shouts at Adam) KISS ASS!
~CHAPTER THREE~
"When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all these years
But you still have all of me"
-My Immortal
Once everyone had filed out of the door like frightened mice, Adam and I walked down the hall taking our time while the number of students became fewer and fewer as they exited the building. My mind was still processing Adam's paper and I complemented him again, feeling that it was his project more than it was mine. His smile shone brightly and he blushed.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, don't mention it." I shrugged leaning up against the locker next to Adams.
He took out a stack of books, making a slight grunting noise at the weight of the over-sized text books, and put them in his bag. Quickly he flipped through his planner, making sure that he had everything he needed, then followed me to my locker. Monte was waiting for both of us, with his book bag and guitar case, and smiled when he seen the two of us.
"How was Government?" he asked with a sarcastic grin. I laughed humorlessly, pointing over my shoulder to Adam.
"He should be a public speaker."
Monte raised an eyebrow, and Adam laughed lightly, his cheeks turning rosy again. "I wouldn't say that."
I slung my heavy bag over my shoulder, after having fought with the broken strap multiple times, and shook my head in disagreement. "I would. Good God. Not even Franke had anything to add."
I realized to Adam, the fact that the teacher didn't have an adding comment after reading his paper really wasn't a big deal. But after sitting in three of his classes during my mundane high school career, I knew that he usually always had something to add.
Monte patted Adam on the back, impressed. "Wow…haha it ain't easy to do that."
Before Monte and Adam turned to continue down that empty hall, I tugged on my guitar case, struggling to get the cumbersome object out of the narrow chamber, and closed the metal door. How I even managed to squeeze it in there was beyond me.
"What were you guys even talking about?" Monte asked as we made our way towards the exit. I pitied all the new students who had to lean their way around all the halls. Each and every one of them snaked and twisted in dizzying spirals that still confused me.
The student parking lot was at the very back of the building. The faculty got all the good spaces in the front were all the lockers were. I wasn't sure why the location of the parking lot mattered to me anymore. I didn't have a car. Most of the time I just walked home, all thirty-six blocks. Every now and then Monte would give me a ride. But that was only when it was convenient for him. His family only had one car like mine, but at the moment my car was sitting in an auto repair shop, slowly wasting away into a heap of dented car parts and rust. His dad also worked a lot, so most of the time Monte just rode the bus.
"I think we are talking about the first amendment." I told Monte turning the last corner of the hall before the exit. Monte was quiet a moment, which I knew meant he was trying to remember what the first amendment covered.
"That's the freedom of speech right?" he finally asked, raising a brow.
"Yeah."
"So you gave a killer speech huh?" Monte asked holding open the glass door that lead to the parking lot. Adam walked out in front of me, and I held the door allowing Monte to easily lug his stuff out the door.
"I just think that no one should feel like they don't have the freedom to be who they wanna be." He justified. Monte nodded in agreement.
There was definitely something that fueled his discussion, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Most people that did papers for school work bull shited the entire thing just to get it done and out of the way. But Adam poured everything into his banter, which was unusual.
The three of us stood on the wide walkway with the overhang for a moment, putting off going home as long as possible. The lot was almost empty; as I glanced around I realized there were only two cars still parked on the black asphalt. A white pickup- which could only belong to Monte, and a shiny new black mustang. I pursed my lips; the glitzy vehicle had to belong to Adam. The thought made me somewhat weary. He was adapting to the glamorous life already. I wasn't sure why it bothered me as much as it did, but I couldn't' stand the thought of his small town attitude morphing into one that was corrupt and indecent. This school had enough stuck up snobs with nice cars.
Monte pulled his cell from his pocket and read the digital numbers on the front screen.
"I got lessons in a half hour." He said indicating the guitar in his hand. "You commin?" he asked.
Monte had guitar lessons every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday after school for a little over an hour and a half. I went most of the time, when I wasn't occupied with other responsibilities- like taking care of my drunken mother. The lessons were just an excuse to escape my crazy life; I knew how to play well enough. I taught myself, but I enjoyed the small amount of time away.
I sighed glancing down at my guitar. I wasn't sure why I even bothered to bring it this morning. As much as I wanted to go, I knew that I more than likely had a mess to clean up when I got home.
"No, I uh…" I looked at Adam a second, "got a shit load of homework to do tonight."
Monte gave me a knowing look. I didn't feel comfortable discussing my home life around people I had just met. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow man." He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for his tuck.
"See ya." I called, Monte turned and waved over his shoulder.
"Bye!" Adam shouted to him, returning his wave.
There was a slight pause between Adam and me when Monte drove away. I didn't want to go home, I knew what I had to look forward to at home, and it wasn't very welcoming. Depression, alcohol and nightmares that was my home life.
"I guess I will see you tomorrow." I told Adam. His face brightened, as if he wasn't expecting me to say anything.
"Yeah." He grinned.
I gave him a smirk, the last one I could force myself to use energy on, and started my long trek home. He walked out towards his car, stopping before he got in.
"You want a ride home?" I heard him ask behind me. I turned around. He was standing by the driver's side of the car, with his freckled hands curled around the slick black handle of the door. For a moment, I almost considered taking use of his offer- I really hated the long walk by myself. But then I looked at him, his fancy clothes, his fancy car, and then I thought about me. People kept their fancy cars away from my neighborhood for a reason. The best fitting definition of where I lived was 'ghetto.' Where I lived was undesirable to those who lived there as well as those who didn't. Crack houses, whore houses, was what my street was notorious for. The sound of gunshots wasn't even that uncommon. The entire area was perfectly horrid.
I shook my head, deciding that was no place for someone like him. "Nah, I can walk."
Shame was another reason I didn't want him to take me. He drove a fuckin mustang, a new one even. And I lived next to a bunch of crack houses, with a drunk no less. Slowly, I could see a barrier beginning to take form that would separate our worlds. He obviously had money, the new car spoke for itself.
"You sure?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Adam proceeded to get in his fancy car, adjusting his mirror sand pulling the seat belt across his chest then gave me a slight smile before starting the engine and driving away. Just before he left the parking lot, he stuck his hand out of the open window and waved, which I half-heartedly returned. When my eyes could no longer see his sleek, black vehicle, I looked up at the vast blue sky above me- prolonging the walk home. Not one single puffy white cloud blocked the bright rays of the California sun. A slight breeze was blowing the towering palm trees, and birds sang.
This was the kind of thing that people expected when they came to Los Angeles; beauty, glamour and fame. But the irony was, it was hard to come by in L.A. Hell, most of the time you couldn't go to a fast food joint without a homeless guy asking for money. It was pathetic. Sure, there were the nice parts of town where all the movie stars lived, but the bad parts of town were possibly as bad as it could get.
I sure hadn't seen anything in my life that was even remotely glamorous, and there was no way in hell I would ever be famous. My mind drifted in and out of those thoughts as I started home
~oOo~
My house was the last one on the block, and shockingly the nicest, though, over the past year it was starting to look like shit. Dad was always the one that kept the outside spotless and cleaned up. Now, I had to ask the neighbors if I could borrow their mower to cut the grass because my mother decided to sell it for boos.
The white paint on the siding was beginning to chip off in large uneven sections, and one of the down stairs windows was boarded up when my mother had thrown a bottle at me on one of her bad days. I still had the scars on my hands from picking up the pieces of shattered glass.
My mother wasn't exactly a happy drunk. She was either consumed with excessive anger and aggression, or devoured by sadness and depression. Neither of which I preferred. I only hoped that today would be easy.
As soon as I found out that the door was unlocked, I breathed a little easier. My mom only locked the door when she left or felt uneasy. Fortunately this time she was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, an empty bottle of Jack in her hand.
I released my things by the bottom of the staircase, once I knew she was safe in the house. Luckily she hadn't heard me when I came in, which kept her peaceful for the moment. She was probably asleep, or passed out, but she was quite at least.
I unzipped my hoddie, shrugging out of it, and slung it over the wooden banister that lined the staircase. The small metal zipper clanked the railing at just the right spot, making a noise just loud enough for my mother to hear.
"Ronny? Is that you?" My mother's slurred voice asked.
She was drunk. Mom always called me by my father's name when she was. I knew why. Apart from my eyes and my odd haircut, I looked just like my dad. We shared the same small build, though he was always taller then I was. My height and my eyes I obtained from my mother.
"No mom," I called softly back to her. "It's Tommy."
She mumbled my name questioningly over and over, attempting to remind herself who I was. I walked over to where she as lying on the couch and took the bottle from her hand, placing it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She sat up, using her forearm as a crutch, and looked at me confused.
"Ronny?" She placed a shaking hand on my cheek, tears welling up in her eyes. I touched her cold hand gently.
"It's me mom. Tommy." I told her.
My mother's brown eyes looked at me deeply, trying to remember my face.
"Your son." I added, knowing that it was useless. Neither her bemused eyes nor her cool hand left my face.
"Tommy?" he finally managed to say, still sounding unsure.
I sighed. She didn't recognize me, my father was the only one she could see through her dunked eyes. I took her hand from my cheek, squeezing it slightly, realizing it was useless trying to get her to remember, and pulled her frail arm over my shoulder to help her to her feet. She whimpered softly as she struggled to keep her balance, placing most of her weight on my small frame. Very slowly I helped her up the wooden flight of stairs. The process was a challenge, but I always managed to get her to her bed. The routine had become habit, almost second nature. Every day I came home, helped my mother get through her daily efforts and into bed. While she slept I did my school work, took a shower, ate, and then hopefully slept through the night. So very unexciting.
Once I was certain that sleep had consumed my mother, I made my way down to the kitchen to fix me something that would fill the empty void longer then the bag of chips Monte had given me. I doubted my ability to survive much longer on one meal a day and two hours of sleep every night. But what choice did I have?
I checked the cabinets first, finding them bare, then tried the fridge, which held a package of expired lunchmeat and a carton of milk. We needed more food. But there wasn't any money, and there wouldn't be until I could schedule a gig. Meaning I was screwed. Monte and I would play at clubs and restaurants a couple times to bring in money, but we hadn't done that for a long time, plus I couldn't find the right time to do it with my mother being the way she was.
An overwhelming sense of defeat washed over me. My life was quite possibly the worst nightmare someone could ever have. All I wanted was my mother to go back to being herself, and not the empty shell of a person she had become. I wanted to hate her for being so irresponsible, but how could I hate someone that was in so much pain that it hurt to live? The mother I knew as a kid was still in there. She had to be.
Beaten, I slammed the door of the refrigerator shut, and leaned against the counter. My eyes landed on the phone hanging on the wall. At this point I was desperate. The only option in my head was a last resort, and I didn't like it.
My hand hovered over the receiver, putting off the conversation that was sure to follow. I picked up the plastic phone and dialed the number that could only insure hatred and rage. Shrill rings echoed endlessly in my ears, making me reconsider my plan.
"Hello?" my grandmother's raspy voice finally said on the other end of the phone. I didn't answer right away.
"Hello?" she asked again, this time sounding frustrated. My grandmother had no patients whatsoever. No wonder my father acted the way he did. Just before she hung up I forced myself to say something.
"Yeah…uh…It's me Tommy."
"Who?" she still sounded agitated.
I paused, taking a deep breath. "Tommy Joe. Your grandson."
No sound came from the receiving end, which didn't surprise me. I knew she hated us for what my father had done. She blamed my mother and me, claiming we drove him to it. But she didn't understand my father's problem like we did. My grandmother convinced herself that he was fine, because she couldn't stand the thought of having a son that would commit suicide. Instead, my mother and I were the crazy ones.
"What do you want?" she pried. There was no trace of friendliness in her wicked tone.
"I need to buy food. There isn't any at the house and-" she cut me off before I could finish.
"No! I refuse to give you any money to go out and buy you and your mother more drugs, or whatever the hell else."
"But I-"
"How dare you call me asking for a donation. Why don't you and your mother get off your lazy asses and get a job. Don't you ever call here again asking for a hand out. Do you hear me boy?"
I didn't say anything, trying to keep from screaming at her. I had always had a bit of a temper problem.
"Huh? Did you hear me boy?"
"Fuck you." I seethed almost silently into the mouth piece. My hands started to shake as rage filled my blood.
"What did you say to me?" she snapped.
I took a deep breath. "FUCK YOU!" I shouted and slammed the phone down. I ran my hands through my hair, falling back against the counter, and sliding to the floor. My grandmother had been handed everything on a silver platter, making her one of those people who believed everything about this city was supposed to be glamorous. The second reality kicked in, she got defensive and denied every wrong thing in the world.
Suddenly not hungry anymore, I grabbed my guitar and went upstairs to sit alone in my bedroom until I could fall asleep.
"Tommy?" my mother's voice weakly called from her bedroom. I cracked the door open and poked my head inside. She was lying in bed with her fore arm resting over her eyes. When she heard the door open, she peeked out from under her arm.
"Yeah?"
"What was all the yelling about?" she asked, squinting as I opened the door to step inside, letting in light as I did. I sat my guitar on the floor outside the room, making it easier to get inside. When I sat on the edge of the bed, she tried to prop herself up as well, but was too weak and gave up. I looked at her in the dark.
My mother was beautiful, but it was hidden. The drinking and the sleepless nights had aged her young looking face. Deep stress lines, and dark circles under her eyes replaced her soft lightly tanned skin. Her lushes brown hair, which once shown like a new penny was oily and matted. At one time, she had the classic movie star look. She was tall and skinny, with dark hair and eyes. It was a shame she had let herself fall into this depression. If only she tried to clean herself up, stop drinking and look for a job, then maybe I wouldn't wake up in such a shitty mood all the time.
She looked up at me with weak brown eyes. "You look like so much like your father. You know that?"
It was something I had heard her say multiple times. The thought never bothered me, but I could tell it did her. Every time she looked at me, she saw him. That was what bothered me. I hated knowing that I was part of the pain she felt.
Tears started to well up in her eyes again. I didn't say anything for a second.
"I know mom." I finally said, wishing I could take the pain away from her. "Now get some sleep."
I stood up, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I love you." I told her before I opened the door to leave.
"I love you Tommy." Her voice broke before she spoke my name, then I silently closed the door and went to my room. I dropped my guitar case in its usual spot by my bed and got dressed for bed. My alarm was set to go off at six, allowing me an hour for clean up duty in the morning as well as an hour to get to school.
I laid in bed for hours during the night, thinking of nothing, but somehow everything at the same time. My mind had been so scatterbrained today, I couldn't get to sleep. I needed to empty myself of all the useless thoughts so my mind could stop racing. I thought of the things in my life that I wished were better. Then Adam came into my mind, smiling his blissful smile. Thinking of him made me forget the hell in which I currently residing. His laugh made me feel as though all the nightmares would go away. Adam filled the empty whole that I didn't realize existed until today. There was something about him that wouldn't leave my mind.
Slowly though, my eyelids became heavy and impossible to keep open as the early hours of the morning approached. I rolled over on my side, pulled the blankets over my head, doing my best to keep my mind clear. Just as my eyes closed my mom started screaming in her sleep.
A/N: Okay lovelies! let me know what you thought (like adam said, i love your input!) Like let me know if i messed something up...lol Thanx you guys! xD
**Thank You to all who are reading! shout our to Whatsernamelambert and Surefireglambert! I love your reviews and your amazing adommy stories! Check'em out people! xD
***And to everyone else who left reviews! You make my day when i hear that you love my story! 33
~Jackie
