Settle - Chapter 2
Unfamiliar voices and objects being moved greeted me when I woke up the next morning. I laid still in the old, stinky bed for longer than needed until I decided everyone would need my help with something—and I was hungry, I hoped mom went shopping for food. Opening my eyes, sunlight leaked through my windows and the rays blinded my eyes, I quickly threw my arm over my eyes and scrunched up my face. Turning over to my side, I groaned and blinked a few times to get my eyes adjusted to the light. I laid there some more against better judgment, and ended up feeling more tired than when I first woke up. I mumbled a few curse words under my breath and rolled myself out of the old bed. Sliding on the slippers that laid in perfect position I stood up and stretched my back, hearing a few pops from my spine, I was satisfied. I knew walking down stairs only in my pajamas would upset my mother, so I shuffled my feet to my suitcase and pulled out a dark red sweater that was a size too big and managed to squeeze into a pair of black jeans. I was never the skinniest of girls, in fact, I was proud to say I was chubby and normal sized—it was one of my good qualities. I pulled my arms over my head once more and stretched my back to be able to actually pick up my feet.
I pulled my hair up into a low, messy bun as I slowly walked down the stairs, earning a few creaks from the wood. The voices got louder and there was laughter mixed with boxes being shuffled into the house; the moving truck must have arrived. Going past the living room where my mom was talking to a group of people, they all seemed to ignore my presents so I went to see if there was any breakfast made. I shouldn't have been surprised when there was none on the stove or in the fridge, mom never made breakfast. Dominic strolled past me from the dining room with an overgrown man behind him, "coffee for breakfast," he shrugged and continued to walk past me—the man behind him.
"Breakfast fit for kings," I shook my head and poured lukewarm coffee into a mug left on the counter. There was no creamer, so I'd have to have it black, just the way I hated it. I stood in the kitchen alone for a little, leaning my bum against the counter, I sipped my cup of Joe. The chatter in the living room had gone to a dark conversation, I could tell by the sudden silences and the laughter decreasing ever so slowly. I thought maybe that would be my introduction. I pushed myself off the counter and quietly walked over the archway that separated the kitchen to the living room, next to the stairs. They were whispering and I couldn't hear a word they said, I was hoping clearing my throat would make me known but none of the four heads turned to me. "Ahem," I cleared my throat with my mouth open, and finally my mother 'oh'd.'
"Oh, Mati, dear," mom smiled and waved her hand to beckon me—I declined. "This is Sam, he was a friend of Ben," I could tell from here that she was frazzled and upset, she gestured to an older man—for sure twenty years older than the other two sitting down next to him—and he stood up. He towered over my 5'6 frame and I had to crane my neck up to look at his face, he smiled and held his hand out. He was overbuilt, his muscles protruding far more than any normal person who worked out and his eyes were different—they were a dark brown with gold twinkling around the iris. It made me take a double look. "Sam Uley," he waited for me to shake his hand—I left it handing.
"Matilde…" I looked him up and down one more time and put my tongue in front of my teeth, "you were friends of my dad?" It was odd seeing someone like him and imagining him high school friends with my dad—I didn't see similarities. But, in some way it was comforting, like I was closer to my dad.
"Yeah, high school buddies, he was my best friend for a long time," Sam nodded at me and then to my mother.
I raised my eyebrow and took a slurp from my coffee mug, earning a well deserved eye wtich from my mother. "What happened?"
He paused, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. "We grew up, he left." He lied. I was great at telling if someone was lying, a hidden gift, I wasn't going to tell him that, though.
"Why are you here?"
"Matilde, stop interrogating out guests," mother yelled at me. "Sam and his… friends… came here to help us settle in some boxes and invite us to a funeral going on next weekend."
"A funeral? How ironic. Haven't we been to enough, mom? We don't even know anyone here, it's not like our presence will do anything." I tilted my chin up and my head to the side, my mouth slightly open and I "oooh'd."
"Matilde Hart, you will stop your attitude, immediately! We were invited and are going for support, the young boy who died was very well respected and you know better than to be like this. You are going to go outside and help your siblings!" She pointed at the front door and I raised my eyebrows and put my mug on the counter. Walking out the door I heard her apologize for my behavior. She always insisted on doing that—apologizing for my actions, my personality, my everything; like I was a black sheep that needed to be sorry for. I stopped on the door step and closed my eyes, I shouldn't think like that. Mom did everything she could for me, and more—she tried her best all the time and I was always defiant. Now that dad was gone, I couldn't be this way anymore. I stood there longer than needed, and once I realized what I was doing, I opened my eyes and bit my bottom lip. Walking over to the smallest moving truck in the world, I heard Dominic crack a sexist joke and my sister yell at him—two other voices were inside, unfamiliar and baritone, one laughed out loud and the other let out a humorous sigh. Grunts and some more talking, I peeped my head around the corner of the truck.
"Need any help?" My voice was rough from downing the disgusting coffee, "mom doesn't seem to want me in the house right now." Without an answer, I walked up the ramp into the almost empty truck and examined the contents left inside of the bed. Dad's old TV, his sand bag, and some boxes with either 'DAD' 'MOM' or 'OTHER' were written on them.
"What did you do?" Julie stopped rummaging through a 'DAD' box and turned to look at me.
I pursed my lips, "everything's my fault, right?" It was an unfair comment, and I knew the moment it came out of my mouth that I hurt her feelings. I would have apologized, but there was company. I watched them move around boxes and help my brother pick up things. They were exactly the same as the guys in my room, tall, tan, overwhelmingly fit—something was off. I scrunched up my nose and stared, they had the same tattoos as well. "Are you guys, like, in some fandom no one on the outside knows about? Some teen star you want to all look like?" It was meant to be a joke, but it didn't come out like it.
"I wish," the older one mumbled, while the younger, more boyish one covered his answer, "we're not exposed to much cultural differences here in such a small town," his voice sounded like a teen who hit puberty too quickly.
I furrowed my eyebrows and poked my lips out, I wasn't stupid. I could taste the lie in my mouth, a sickly salty flavor, and the fib created a whole tension of humidity that made me start to sweat. I opened my mouth to say something, but decided against it—I had done enough talking for the day. Grabbing an 'OTHER' box, I knew it was mine, and it was heavy. I mumbled a small curse under my breath and lifted with my legs; I obviously was not going to get help from anyone else. Making sure I stepped in the right places, I walked off the truck with an audience behind me. I stopped mid-way to the house and looked up to the sky—it was going to rain again, I could smell it.
Moving back into the house, mom and Sam's murmured talks continued in the living room and I rolled my eyes. What could they even be talking about? They didn't even know each other. I started to walk up the stairs when the older brute stopped me, with his hand on my shoulder tingles ran down my spine. I stopped, one foot on the stairs, and turned around. Black, buzz cut hair. Nothing special there, once more. I waited.
He seemed reluctant to speak to me, and after an extra beat of silence he asked where the 'OTHER' boxes went. I was caught off guard by his voice, it wasn't an overpowering masculine voice like Sam's, and it wasn't a pubescent teen boy like the other one. It was a smoky voice that would make any girl quiver between the legs. I found myself smiling, "it's my stuff." I nodded in the direction up the stairs and stomped my way to my room. He was quiet and I was quiet and I liked that. We entered what was the guest room for my grandparents, but now would be my room, "you can just set it there," I pointed to the corner of the wall. I waited by the door for him to set the box down and leave the room, but he stayed. He looked around the room and pointed to the poster on my bed, "the Smiths? How do you even know who they are, you're like, what, twelve?"
I scoffed and scrunched my face up, "I don't look twelve. We both know that." I wanted to gesture to my chest, but that would have been inappropriate and I wouldn't want my siblings or mom to see. "They were my dad's favorite band," I tilted my chin up and stared at him, my eyes sending lasers into his head. "Not that that's any of your business."
He looked over at me, "you're right, it's not. But, you're still willing to share," he tilted the left side of his mouth up and grinned. I narrowed my eyes and took a step forward.
"You sound like a pretentious dick."
"Thanks," he brought his thumb up to his lip and wiped whatever was on it away, his eyes scanned my soon-to-be room. He might have said something under his breath, but I didn't catch it. His face structure was sharp and angular; the wrinkles on his forehead when he found something curious indicated that he was under stress. I would never deny that he wasn't hot, but he looked like all the Quilette men that I've seen so far—or at least I thought so. He eyed me, his eyes roaming my body starting at my feet all the way to my own eyes. At first, it was unappealing and made me want to punch him in the face—what I would normally do in normal situations—but this wasn't a normal situation. Our eyes had connected and I noticed now how different he was. His eyes weren't like Sam's, or the others, or like my dad's, brothers. They were special. A caramel brown and golden specks floating all around, with hints of dark brown around the iris; they were widened, as if caught off guard or surprised. I felt something inside of me break, like a dam, I felt like the whole ground underneath me shifted and for a moment, my sight went blurry.
It went away quickly after I blinked a couple of times. I wanted to ask if he needed help out the door, but somehow my voice had gone a bit dry and didn't want to risk cracking it. An awkward silence hung in the air after a while, and all he did was stare at me with a small tilt of the corner or his lip—one I could tell he didn't do often—and all I did was stare back, how could I not? I darted my eyes around, looking for something to focus on, but found nothing. "Do you need help with something?" I finally addressed.
He looked taken aback when I spoke, as if being pulled out of a trance he loved to be in. "N-no. No. I should go, I have work," He looked at the floor and shook his head, maneuvering his way around me he stopped at the doorway and looked at me one more time before rushing down the stairs. I pursed my lips and furrowed my brows—a habit I had seemed to pick up since moving here—and followed down the stairs. Upon entering the room, all eyes watched me leave the house, and once I entered back in they followed me again. It happened for the longest time, until we were all finished unloading the truck. Dominic and Julie decided to drive it to some city to return it, I offered to tag a long but mother said no.
I was in the kitchen drinking another cup of black coffee; my face stuck all bundled up from the strong taste, when Sam and his people had decided it was time for them to leave. "It was a pleasure to talk to you, Ana. I can see why Ben fell in love with you." He paused, and then started again, "I hope to see you in a couple of days at the ceremony." I heard him walk towards me and I pulled my sight away from the window and looked at him. He stuck out his hand again, "pleasure meeting you, Matilde, I am sure I will be seeing you in the future. I'm truly sorry about your loss," his head tilted downwards ever so slightly and waited for me to shake his hand.
I could tell he wasn't going to leave unless I shook his hand after a lingering silence and him just standing there, I obliged, nodding my head once I threw my hand into his. "Ditto," his hand was warm. Very warm, like a furnace that never went out or an electrical warming blanket, I could have crawled into him and let him thaw all the bad and all the cold out of me. He left and it was only my mom and I in the house. She paced around in the kitchen a little while and then came over and sat in the dining room with me.
She watched me watch the world move outside and eventually wrapped her small hands around mine. "Mati," her voice was distressed, stained and tired of crying, of feeling pain; I pitied her. "You have to promise me… promise me you will not go into the woods, a boy got killed in there. Mauled by bears, Mati, he was only fifteen. Promise me," she held out her pinky.
That was sad, and an awful way of dying, I thought. Fifteen was a young age, too. He had a lot to live up to… but fifty was a young age to die as well, and so was twenty-two. There was so much they could see, so much to live for. I could feel the prickle of tears in the corner of my eyes and I blinked them away. Holding up my pinky I wrapped it around hers and kept it there, "it's not like I was planning on going in there, anyway," my voice was breathy and I had to clear my throat.
Mom made a small smile, but it faltered quickly. "Will you be okay to go to the funeral for the boy?"
I looked at my half-way emptied mug and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?" I lied and forced a smile. I took my pinky away from hers and watched nod and leave. I heard her shout something, but I had tuned out, again, and watched the wind push the trees of the forest to the left. It was calming.
Note: Reviews are helpful-they encourage me-and critics please, review, I need some tips and people to tell me it's bad-I live on it.
