Welcome home, son - Chapter one.
The drive wasn't long, and I couldn't tell you if it was quiet or not, because in my ears it was as loud as loud could get. My mother always hated when I would play my music loud through my ear buds—she would always call me a hypocrite from when I was little and would yell at her to turn down the volume of her 80's and 90's rock music—which is what consists of half of my playlist, now. My head rested against the cold window as rain sprinkled down the glass—after an hour of driving from the airport from a ten hour flight crammed between my mother and sister and with a brother behind us snoring like Jabba the Hut—I was exhausted and never could really fall asleep in moving things, so I let my mind relax to the classic rock bursting my ear drum. My eyes blinked slowly a couple of times, staying mostly closed, and I smashed myself closer to the door to make room for the others in the taxi. It wasn't a surprise when my mother had told me we were moving—we always moved when someone died or someone gets transferred or stationed at some other military base. My life was on four wheels constantly.
One hour we had been in a car, I was counting, and we had reached the little nook my mother called a house. I thought she had bought on impulse, but after "the talk" I realized it was a family house—on my father's side. I shouldn't call it a shack, in fact it was bigger than our previous house we were in; it was improvement. Two stories high, no basement to work out in, three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, dining room, and kitchen; it was more than I could have asked for. White painted house—chipping away, of course—and red shudders, I would come to love this house it killed me. I had to, it was protocol in the Hart family, "love it, and if you don't, learn to until it kills you," I could hear my father's voice boom through my ears at the thought. Out of all the family protocols, I hated that one the most.
When the taxi cab stopped I opened the door and stood in mud, rain droplets made imprints on the ground and I could tell this was the best weather LaPush had gotten in months. "Mom, I've got it," I broke the music playing in my ears and shouted over at the strained, red haired woman who had started to walk over to the front door of the house without caring who was paying the driver. I watched her for a moment and let my siblings follow her lead. She bent over and picked up a wet key from under the foot mat and disappeared inside. I wondered how she was handling things, I knew how much she kept her emotions under lock and key, only to be seen by the night and its creatures—she was our pack leader and couldn't let us think she was falling to pieces.
I opened pulled out my wallet from my bag and looked at the monitor. "Are you serious?" I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows and looked at the man who had drove us an hour and ten minutes from the airport to our new home.
"What did you expect? Hand it over," he pulled a lever from under his wheel and popped the trunk open, "and get your shit out." I have always had a tolerance for cold hearted and temperamental people, especially cab drivers, and I knew that nothing I said or did could fix his 'tude.
It didn't stop me from handing him the money and calling him an asshole. I trudged my way through the mud and to the trunk of the car to grab the suitcases full of half our lives. I took out each bag—four in count—and slammed the trunk shut, patted it loudly to inform the diver it was clear, and watched him speed away. "Dick," I muttered and stood there and looked around my new home, or, rather, my grandparents' home. We were going to be surrounded by forest and an empty road, "what a sight," I mumbled under my breath. It wasn't that the house was ugly, or that the forest couldn't be something to look at, but it was the lack of movement and the seclusion from civilization that set me off. I was used to honking horns, gun shots, and people screaming in Spanish. Maybe it would be good for me, maybe the silence will make me less stressed and less agitated—it'd be healthy for me; I wouldn't have such bad anxiety. I knew it would be better for my mother.
I stood there for a while longer until my sister came out to help me bring the bags in. Her scarf and hair were bouncing with her steps ever so perfectly, and I felt the green monster rise in my chest. Juliette lived up to her reputation of royal beauty; she was the mixture of my mother and fathers' traits. Sandy blonde hair that curled in ringlets at the tips, soft, perfect lips, natural glowing skin, and blue eyes full of warmth. Even with her eyes, Julie was as tough as nails when it came to fighting and justice, just as our father, mother, grandfather, and as far as the beginning all of the Harts were tough. In our own ways, each of us would never fall. I scoffed thinking about that, and earned a strange look from my sister who opened the door for me—the rain was becoming harder. I could hear the pitter patter of the rain on the roof—which scared me a little—but inside the house my fears of it being total shit evaporated.
There were little things that needed some improvement, like the floral wallpaper which was beginning to peel and some of the floor boards creaked when you stepped on them. The furniture would need an update, but my mom wouldn't mind working on that. She liked doing those types of things, fixing things and redecorating, ever since she quit her job to be a stay at home mom when Alex was four. I dropped the bags by the front door and walked around the base of the house. It smelled of old books and dust, I don't know how my Gran and Pa lived in it. My little heels clicked against the wooden floor boards and my nails made a scratching noise along the walls. There was only a bathroom down the hall next to the living room, which I thought would come in handy for movie night, and behind the stairs was an open space that led into the dining room, which led into the kitchen. Cool, so the whole bottom level was based on a circle; that was comforting. Making my way through the dining room, I entered my safe haven—the kitchen. I smiled, it was perfect. The space, the storage, I could do major baking in this room.
"Isn't it perfect?" My mother shouted as she ran down the stairs, her red hair falling out of its bun and her cardigan slipping off her shoulder. She walked over to me and cupped my face with her cold hands on. I could feel her wedding ring still on her finger. I smiled up at her and looked into her eyes, green and wet; she had been crying while upstairs. "Our new home," her breath smelled of peppermint and her it was warm on my face, thawing it of wind burn and cold water. "I promise, good things will come from this move. Gran and Pa are only a few streets over, Alex and Graham are, what… two hours away? We're near a beach, it's a decent school—if your father graduated there, it must be good." She attempted a kind laugh and pressed her chapped lips against my check, "welcome home." Her voice trailed and she looked out the bay window and started walking towards it, "look at this view! It's beautiful! I've got to get out my paints."
She continued to talk, but I tuned her out and walked into the living room and leaned against the fabric couch that itched my skin. I tried to block out the thoughts of my father, but it was as if a movie played through my mind. We were at the park and dad was pushing me on the swing, "don't go higher, don't go higher!" I shouted at him, and he screamed back "why?" I would laugh and say it was because I was scared. He stopped pushing and let me come to a stop before he swung me around and looked me directly in the eye. "You have nothing to fear, ever, Mati. Nothing can ever hurt you as long as I'm here, and once I'm gone, you'll be strong enough to take on the world. I promise." He hugged me and I forced him to pinky promise me. I blinked away tears forming and questioned who would take away my fears now? Who would check under my bed for monsters and hold me during scary movies? Who would I worry for and what reason do I have to fear a fellow officer coming to the doorstep and telling me they're no longer around—died in action? I wasn't strong enough now. I shook my head.
"Well, you should be happy now," my brothers' baritone voice said coming closer to me. He hip butted me and I lost my footing, sliding to the left just a bit. "You have a whole new field of boys to mess around with, now," he was teasing me.
"Shut up!" I scoffed and brought my hand up and punched him on the shoulder.
"Damn," Dominic placed his hand over his wound, "have you been practicing?" He smiled, flaunting his perfect teeth, his black eyes squinting from his cheekbones rising. For a moment, I thought I was looking at Nico. I smiled back.
"Of course," I nodded and got in fighting stance, to which Domo responded by holding out his hands. I punched, left, right, left, right, right. I jumped around a little and threw my fists up in the air like Rocky. We laughed in harmony, he called me a dork. "Whatever," I responded. "I've been practicing with dad's old bag… well, was. I don't know where I'm going to hang it now." I looked around, mom and Julie were sitting on the nook, chatting. I faced Domo and looked into his eyes; my lips were pushed over to one side and I could tell he knew what I was thinking. The Harts could always tell what we were thinking, no matter how much we thought we couldn't—it was a gift.
Dominic threw his over-muscled arm up, "I miss him too," he wrapped his arms around me and pushed me into his chest. I breathed in the smell of his cologne—it was like bark and flowers—I scrunched up my nose, did he really like that crap? A flash of light blinded me for a moment and Domo and I broke apart, looking in the direction of the flash.
Mom was holding her phone up, "aw, now look how cute that is. I'm framing it, I'm framing it…" she smiled to herself and showed the picture to Juliette. I felt a chill roll down my spine.
"Jesus Christ, mom," I rolled my eyes, "you're ridiculous."
xx
I've been in my bed for three hours, I think, and I haven't gotten a wink of sleep. The rain had gotten harder and slammed against the roof like waves in the ocean and there was a constant howling coming from the woods. Mother never said anything about wolves living in the woods. It was a bit peculiar, the forest seemed too small to have wolves living in them, and my sense of security flew out the window—I made a mental note not to enter the woods, not like I was planning to, anyway. The bed I was laying in was old and stiff, and every time I moved it creaked like I was obese, the blankets that were on top of me were no help against the cold wind that blew in through a crack in the window, and I was helpless. The snoring of my brother down the stairs found its way up into my room and the purring from my sisters room wasn't something I was keen on listening to, since I couldn't tell if it was her having sex with herself or her way of snoring.
I sighed and gave up on my mom's theory of laying in silence will put myself to sleep. Throwing the blanket off my body I slipped on some slippers and scooted my way down the stairs into the kitchen. Going past my brother sleeping on the couch, I contemplated pushing him off and throwing him onto the floor to end the snoring that was killing me. I decided against it.
Shuffling into the kitchen, I craved chocolate milk to release the anxiety that formed into my stomach. Dad used to give me chocolate milk when I was scared or nervous, and mom would take it away when I did something bad—one could say I had a problem with it. I opened the fridge and shuffled around to find something to satisfy my craving—cottage cheese, milk, apple juice, meats. "Wow," I whispered to myself, I sighed and slammed the door shut. I sat down in the little pillowed edge under the bay window and leaned my head against the cool glass. I took a deep breath and watched water trail down the glass and drop off the edge. It occupied my mind for quite some time before my emotions got in the way. I was an unpredictable mess and this time I caught myself off guard. Water rushed out of my eyes and my nose began to run leaky boogers out of it, my cheeks got steamy and my throat was swollen. I cursed under my breath and pulled my knees under my chin. I missed him, I missed them both. The void in my family was getting bigger and bigger each day, I couldn't imagine what each of our hearts were like. I was indecisive, were they empty, or full of fear. Mine was full of fear. There was no bigger pain and no stronger feel than the loss of a loved one—no matter how small or how large the love was.
I had to get my mind off the subject of Nickolas and dad, and the only way I knew how to do that was to think about something to get my anxiety up. School. I'd have to attend school in a week, and I was dreading it. It was my senior year and I was two credits down to graduate and I was praying they had some sort of online school to take, and maybe a volleyball team. I was in no need to even think of making friends—I never made friends, I had a friend repellant on my side at all times. Friends were pointless, and with the way I lived, they didn't stay around for long. And it wasn't like I was a talkative person to begin with, no matter how much I talked and how different I behaved around my family—it was my family—I was a completely different person around other people. Some would say defensive and harsh. I would say strong and grounded.
I don't know how long I was sitting next to the window, but eventually I got tired and shuffled myself back up the stairs. I didn't dream last night, instead I was in a listening type of dream, where all that clouded my brain was the howling of wolves, the pitter patter of rain, and a beast snoring.
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