A/N: First of all, you guys better feel special. It is 5 o'clock in the morning and I've been writing this since 1. That's dedication right there(: I wanted to get this update up as soon as possible and believe or not, this story has sucked me in as well. All I want to do is write it. I swear, I would type it out until I'd have a whole novel by the end of the week if I was allowed to write this nonstop. Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that school starts for me on Monday, meaning I will have less time to update regularly. This upsets me more than you, I promise, but I will try my absolute hardest to get updates out quickly. Maybe once a week? We'll see. Thank you again to everyone to reviewed, favorited, and followed. It means the world and I say it every time cuz its true. Enough of me! Don't forget to review! Now get down there, and get lost.
The temperature of the room chills me, not as cold as the air outside, but sharp nonetheless. I reach for the thermostat, adjusting it so that my blood is not hindered from rushing within my body by the icy solidification that would undergo my soul if I continued to freeze in my inverted shelter. I walk to my closet, opening the wooden doors to reach for my favorite pair of pajamas, a Christmas present from Cat. They are as red as the hair that frames her shining face and are fluffy, perfect for a bitter atmosphere such as this. Dragging a bristled brush through my hair and splashing cold water upon my countenance, I walk back out to my living room with quiet steps.
The answering machine flashes red with three new messages, pity and worry from those who still claim to value my existence. I had almost disconnected the phone line in disgust after the first onslaught of messages but I knew that my mother was on the lookout for any signs that proved to her I needed psychological help, and cutting off all contact from those who supposedly cared about me fit in that category. I chuckle darkly, remembering her words when she had come to visit me in the hospital before their flight home.
"Tori honey? Our flight is in an hour and I wanted to visit you one last time. Are you sure you don't want to come home with us sweetheart?"
I look at Cat pleadingly, begging her to voice the response in my eyes. Cat nods with sweet understanding and turns to face my mother.
"Mrs. Vega, she doesn't want her schedule here to be interrupted with her hours at the Counseling Center and her routines at the moment. She feels like a new environment would only give her more time to reflect on what happened, while staying here would keep her mind off things." My best friend speaks with a calm but firm tone, laying a hand on my mother's shoulder for comfort.
Cat then leans in closer and whispers softly in my mother's ear.
"Don't worry Mrs. Vega. I'll take care of her."
My mother stifles a sob and only takes me in her arms, choking me in her pity and sorrows.
"I will be there for you whenever you need me baby. I'm just a phone call away. I won't give up on you. If you need help, we'll get you help. We'll do anything you need. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I love you darling."
I nod, refusing to meet her eyes in fear of the webs of deceit I would find buried inside her soul. I would see fake condolences, declarations of support, all of which I knew would fall away quickly. My mother always gave up easily. Especially on me.
I reel back from the unexpected memory, taking in the flavor of disappointment that resides in the past. After two months of trying, my mother had slowly drifted away from me, unsure about how to comfort her own flesh and blood. She regards me as a fragile piece of glass, colored red with pain, broken apart, and easy to shatter. I am an animal in a zoo, fascinating to poke and prod at while fictitious laments bubble within the watcher as they try to analyze the existence of my being. In all honesty, it is annoying. It is fake. It is heart breaking. But the pain of pretended care will only tear me apart if my heart hangs freely upon my sleeve, vulnerable to the elements of raging emotions. After what happened, that heart is now caged away under layers of stone, shackled to a rock, and is sentenced to never see the light of day again. The time in the sun is over. Now, only darkness resides as the looming cover.
Pressing the play button on the flashing machine, I make my way into the kitchen with hunger gnawing at my bones. I decide to make pasta with marinara, memories of my smiling father trickling to the surface. As I pull out the ingredients, my ears listen to the first voice that resounds playfully throughout the room.
"Hi Tori! It's Cat! Andre, Robbie, and I wanted to go out to get some sushi at Nozu, just like old times this Friday for lunch. I know you're probably busy but Andre told me to tell you that he misses you. So does Robbie. Oh, and Robbie promises he won't bring Rex this time since he knows how much you don't like him! So call me back okay? And I'll come over Thursday night for a movie night since I bought some new ones at the dollar store. Then we can make red velvet cupcakes too! Well, gotta go! Bye Tori! I love you!"
I fight a smile as I listen to the overenthusiastic excitement of my best friend. I'd have to refuse her offer for meeting them for lunch on Friday of course, but I can't stop her from having the movie night. Cat is too persistent to be shut out. Besides, I wouldn't admit it to anyone anymore but I enjoy her company. Her presence makes me feel a bit lighter, freeing me from my worries even if only for a short amount of time. She is still the only one I can actually hold a real conversation with even when it isn't necessary. Around others, I only respond to what is needed. With Cat, my conversations are short, but plentiful. That is something only she can manage to pull out of me.
Chopping the tomatoes and throwing them in the pan with the now sautéing onions, I breathe deeply as the smell permeates my senses, listening for the next voice that plans to worm its way into my evening. From the first word, I pause, recognizing the voice but allowing confusion to wash over me. He hadn't talked to me ever since he had announced to my face that he'd officially given up.
"Hey muchahcha, it's me. Tor… I'm really sorry for how things happened. I'd take it all back. I do take it all back. I just… I miss my best friend Tori. It's not the same without you. Call me back okay? Or since you don't call anyone anymore, meet us at Nozu on Friday. I know Cat's probably already asked but I'm begging here. We miss you. Come back. Love you. Bye."
His voice echoes away, followed by the automated voice message announcing the time the plea was deposited into my life. I know Andre is taking this the hardest. He was always the one I went to when I needed someone to talk to. I've never shut him out like this before and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He thinks my shell can be broken, that I can be his Tori again, his best friend. He doesn't understand that I can't. I can't be her, not without letting my walls down. A tear escapes my notice and cascades down my gaunt cheeks, pausing when it flows to my chin. Its weight hesitates before it pulls itself down, imprinting a temporary mark upon my nightwear. I'm sorry Andre. The fortress stays up.
I am shaken out of my stupor by the subconscious need to pull the pasta out of the boiling pot. I grab the strainer and allow the warm waters to drain away, as they unwillingly launch themselves down the maze of pipes where their instincts will guide them to the sea. For the third time, a new voice fills the air, tinged with emotions that reek of plastic and falsehood.
"Hey Tor, it's Trina. Mom couldn't call this week; something came up so she asked me to. I hope you're doing alright. Call me if you need to talk okay? And tell me all about the cute boys you see! Toodles!"
The flirtatious lilt in her voice makes me sick. My stomach churns in more disgust than anger but I push it away, unable to deal with her irritating conceptions at the moment. I scrape half of the pasta onto a plate, moving in on the unfinished marinara sauce. My sister is either a cruel spawn of the devil or she's just plain stupid. Judging by the way she had lived her life for the past twenty eight years, I'm willing to go with the latter. She moved away from Orlando two years before I got accepted into UCLA, claiming a cosmetology night school in New York had accepted her immediately. She had announced her departure the night before her embarkation at dinner, shocking us all to the point where a stern discussion took place and the peach cobbler remained untouched, and then took off the next morning leaving a short note of farwell. She has never cared for anyone but herself, vowing to live her life the way she so desires while ignoring everyone's opinion in the process. No one really knows what she did in New York but judging by the lack of evidence pertaining to the furthering of her education, it can be said that Trina did not go to New York to learn the application of stage make up. The unanswered query on how our DNA is similar floats through my thoughts constantly at the most unexpected of times, such as now, when I am attempting to produce a spicy enough marinara sauce to satiate my Italian cravings.
The machine spoke again, this time stating that all messages had been relayed, and settled back down into hibernation, awaiting the next day when it would be awoken by the bubbly ramblings of Cat. Mother usually called once every two months so her obligation was fulfilled by her talentless daughter and Andre never called except for today. Judging by the evident fear and concern in his voice, he would wait to call me again until Friday if and when I refused to make an appearance at Nozu. He would probably call later that night, furious and angry, ranting about how he had tried continuously for two months to get through to me but I was blocking him out. The same situation from last time would replay again, this time set three weeks after the previous, and I would stand across from him, silent and defiant as I would refuse to meet his eyes while he unleashed his fury on me in the form of uncontrollable anger. He might even show up at my door again, pounding and demanding that I let him in, only to be escorted away by security when the neighbors call the front gates and complain of the blaring intrusion. I am willing to bet another three weeks will pass by and the cycle will repeat itself until he understands that I am never going to let anyone back in, even him. It is a firm decision, bearing its consequences that I gladly accept in return of never shattering to dust. It is a lonely life, a lie I dare not tell, but it is a safe one.
I finish the marina sauce, the warmth of the stove filling the air as I pour a small helping of red heaven atop my pasta. Steam curls into wisps as I ladle the thick delectable onto my dinner and I take the heated heap of food to the small dinner table. I reach into the drawer besides me and grasp a silver fork, twirling it between my fingers. A thought pricks up inside my head and ponders whether it would be nice to sit on the balcony and watch the ocean from afar while I attempt to enjoy my meal but the memory of bitingly cold swirls of air makes me shiver and I decide against it. Sitting down and shoveling my silverware into the warm food, I'm about to bring it to my mouth when I hear a knocking on the door.
I pause, taken aback by the sudden sound. It can't be Cat; she would have called or made her presence known. Besides, Cat has a key. I doubt it's Andre; he won't know how to approach me just yet. Robbie? He's the one that gave up the fastest, unsure on how to act around me, and eventually choosing to ignore the situation. Besides them three, who would show up at my apartment at 10:30 in the middle of the night? I rise slowly, resting my fork on the white china. Quietly, I make my way to the door, making sure my footsteps don't patter loudly on the carpet. The incessant knocking resounds again, a desperate noise. I remember that it is cold outside, probably causing the unwelcome visitor to shiver violently, seeking an escape from the harsh gales that must have followed them inside. I rest a hand on the tarnished knob, reaching up on my tiptoes to gaze into the peephole, my curiosity burning and eating away at my soul.
The visitor, a woman, has her face turned downwards, her raven locked hair hiding her expression. Her hands are wrapped around her midsection which is clothed in a black thin leather jacket which provides little protection against the icy air. She is shivering slightly, her body trembling as she awaits a presence at the door. A pale hand reaches again to knock, fingers shaking as if they might turn numb. A suitcase rests at her side, battered and frayed from long weary travel. Who is this woman?
Unable to resist the search for answers from the uncontrollable barrage of questions attacking my thoughts, I slide the lock towards the right and pull open the door as it creaks loudly. The woman looks up, her eyes latching onto mine. I freeze, unable to move or think. In that moment, there is only me and those piercing eyes of jade green.