Shane's P.O.V.
"Hey," I said as I reached out to stop one of the waiters walking by, "is that girl who usually serves this area here today?" Name, name. I seriously need to carry a flashcard or something.
"Natasha?" the waiter clarified. "I'm sorry, I have no idea."
As soon as I released him, he darted off to tend to some less important tables. "Hey, I was not finished talking to you!"
"Shane!"
I cringed and slid back into my seat in the booth. Putting on my best innocent face, I turned to face Mitchie from across the table. She did not look pleased at all.
"Find anything you like yet?" I casually asked, dropping my interest into the menu and avoiding her look of condemnation. As much as I loved staring into those doe eyes, I could do without her constant disapproval and the look that went along with it. I had brothers for that. Come to think of it, I could do without them, too.
"Your time's running out, you know," Mitchie reminded me. "I leave some time next week, and I thought that…" she trailed off, shrinking into a shrug.
"Hey, hey," I said, sliding squeakily along the leather bench--not exactly the most flattering of actions--to sit beside her, "I'm trying, Mitch. For you, I'm trying to change."
As I wound my arm around her waist and pulled her in, she responded with tucking her head under my chin and pressed her ear to my chest. "Then why are you so interested in that Natasha girl?" she mused.
Hook, line, and sinker. "I told you she's a friend." Gently, I pressed my palm to her dimpled, rosy cheek and angled her so that our eyes would meet. "She doesn't mean anything to me," I whispered. "Just like your friend Brad. He doesn't mean…anything to you either, does he?" I refrained from using the word Crap. Though the name fit him perfectly, I could only assume Mitchie wouldn't like it.
I was getting better at this whole Shane 2.0 already.
"Mitchie!"
She gasped as opposed to my sigh. She had pulled away just when I was within centimeters from sampling her luscious cherry chapstick. "It's no one," I breathed, my hand still holding her in place for a kiss. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth silently repeated my words, trying to let it sink in. "No one special."
"No one special," she echoed sheepishly, inching towards me.
I leaned in, and the supposed kiss couldn't be considered to be one by any means. My lips barely brushed against hers before someone rudely butted in. My money's on Rickshaw.
"Oh," he said. And if I wasn't one already, I'd be a rich man. "Am I interrupting?"
"What the hell do you think?" I snapped.
"Excuse him," Mitchie said. She pushed me away and edged out the booth. "You'll get used to it, unfortunately."
"I just wanted to tell you something, but if you guys are in the middle of something-"
"Why that would be just peachy, Bart," I growled. I couldn't help myself. It was like I have a mild case of Tourette's and my outbursts can never be controlled.
"Brad."
"Whatever."
"I can talk to you over there, Brad." Mitchie took his hand. "Shane can stay here." She pointedly glared at me with a frustrated pout. A shake of her head and she was marching down the aisle, Brad towing close behind. I noticed the smile on his face and, at the very same time, I wanted to wipe that crooked-teeth grin off his jaw.
Trying to do at least one thing Mitchie suggested I do, I planted myself in my seat. I just so happened to knock off a fork from the table with my elbow, and since practice makes perfect, I edged over the booth to pick it up. Being a talented musician and all, my ears were trained to have selective hearing. And hey, I was doing this dump a favor by trying to help clean up.
"So you know how I live a city or two away from you?" Brad asked from where I was eavesdro--sitting.
Mitchie nodded. "Yeah…" From where I was…not spying, I noticed that she had a small, curious grin despite the confusion. "What about it?"
"Now it's more like…a few blocks away," he said. "I just found out I'm moving out there last night from my parents!"
I almost fell out of my seat. Wait--Rickshaw's…
"You're going to my school?!" Mitchie squeaked in surprise. "Oh my gosh, that's great!"
"I know! Now we won't be so far from each other!"
Mitchie gasped, realizing. "Yay! My campmate's going to be my new classmate!"
"And you can give me a tour of the school when we get back," he pointed out, "so I won't feel like such a new kid."
"Don't worry." She playfully pushed at his arm, teasing. I'd love to give him a little push myself. "I may look small, but I can pack a big enough punch to be a bodyguard," she joked. "I am so excited, Brad!"
"Me too!" Brad's lanky arms widened, expectant.
Mitchie flung her own arms around his neck. She was spun around in the small two-by-two feet area in the aisle, but she looked like she enjoyed herself, enjoyed to be in his arms.
Who knew? Mitchie, I now dub thee 'Tease.'
Glaring, I gripped the fork and slammed it back down on the table. My teeth grinded together as I searched the restaurant for Natasha. And the only reason why I could pull her name out of thin air was because I was furious. I paid that woman, and where was she exactly to do her job? She had better not have taken the check and cashed it already, and made a run for it.
Ignoring the scenario going on off to the side, I left the booth in search of that waitress. A thorough scan of the dining area, and she was nowhere to be found among the other servers that wore an identical black apron. I figured she was ducking out where I saw her whenever she's not on her feet, at the bar, so I headed in that direction.
"Hey, Red," I called to the waitress of whom I remembered had ruined my pants with a spilled dish. Thanks to her, my pants are permanently stained with a palm-sized food patch. Not that I planned on wearing those more than once anyway. "Where's your friend? Is she in the back?" I traveled across the length of the bar and made my way toward the swinging doors.
"No," Red merely blurted out. Since she didn't even try to stop me, I figured she wasn't lying. "I mean, no, Mr. Grey, Natasha is not working today's shift. She has a family emergency that she needs to attend to, I'm afraid." Her fingers tapped against the counter unusually fast, the nerves just surging through her fingertips. "Did I mention that I'm really sorry about spilling food all over you?" she rambled.
Too livid to pay attention to her, I spun around and absently held my glare. Family emergency, huh? We'll see about that.
"Give me her address," I demanded with my hand held out.
"I don't think she'd want to see your face at her doorstep," this random guy chimed in. He wasn't important enough for me to waste my energy and turn around, but I suppose it was that bartender.
"Who wouldn't want to see this face?" I challenged confidently. I curled and uncurled my fingers, still waiting for that piece of paper with waitress girl's address written on it.
Once I got the information I needed, I strode across the restaurant, back to my booth, only to find Rickshaw in my seat and sitting across from Mitchie. She was laughing when I approached the table. "Shane, what's wrong?" she asked, only now genuinely concerned, and shied away from Rickshaw.
"My friend," I gritted out, "Natasha--she's not at work today." Doing her job that I paid her for. "I'm…worried about her," I lied. "Mitchie, I know I promised you a whole day planned for you and me, and only you and me," I said slowly, pointedly glaring at Rickshaw, "but would you mind if we stopped by first?"
"Oh." Confusion dawned on her, and, shortly after, realization dawned on me. This little detour we had could work to my advantage. "Sure, I guess," Mitchie replied. "You know where her place is?" She peeked up at me, anxious to know if I held that kind of information.
"Yeah," I answered boldly, and looked down at the piece of paper in my palm. The address was all too familiar once I quickly skimmed it. Unable to keep my brow from knotting thoughtfully, I did a double-take. "It's…right across the camp lake."
Natasha's P.O.V.
My eyes traced the engraving on the stone and all that it represented. A small collection of browning leaves rustled beside it when a light breeze swept by the area. The grass was just beginning to grow back a few meters over, a neighboring tombstone where the earth had been pulled up to house someone else.
Someone else lost their someone.
I rose my hand to grasp a handful of my--his old college sweater's hood and nestling it close to my neck. It carried the faint smell of tobacco and, if I focused hard enough, the pungent smell of hard work. I rested a kiss on the whites of my knuckles before releasing the jacket and resting my palm against the cold rock that was my father.
"I miss you." My voice was barely a whisper, but if I murmured any louder, my cry would escape from me. I needed to be strong. He would've wanted me to be strong; that's how he raised me. So I swallowed back that stubborn lump and walked back home with my hands fisted in my pockets.
I enjoyed that fresh air, but whether I was home or at the restaurant, I was constantly on my feet. It was embarrassing to even think what the soles of my shoes looked like. For months I've been wearing them out past tolerable condition, but as long as they kept my feet dry while it rained cats and dogs, there were here to stay. If anything still held some sort of value in my life, at least an ounce of value, I'd do my best to selfishly keep it.
It was still early in the morning when I went to go the cemetery for a visit. The birds' singing gradually became louder, the sun just touching the stretch of asphalt ahead of me before sinking behind the clouds again, and the gentle swill of the lake water up against the land--what I'd give to experience this everyday. The life that existed in this area had was amazing. And we were lucky enough to have all the land to ourselves, including the silence and privacy.
CRASH
For the moment, I had to strike out the silence, and be far more grateful for the privacy.
I ran the rest of the way to the porch of the house and struggled to unlock the door with all the haste and anxiety clouding my thoughts. Once I swung the door open, I found a piece of pottery scattered into even more pieces in the hallway floor. I crept over the mess and listened for any more hostility, but there was nothing--which made me only worry more.
My pulse quickened at the silence--not even a pitter-patter of movement--but then it slowed when I found my mother flipping through the large, thick photo albums. I put myself on guard since those memories could be the death of me, as Melanie and myself have experienced before.
"Mom?" I carefully said, acknowledging my presence. "It's me."
"Oh, sweetie!" She smiled brightly at me from her seat. She was angled in a way towards the other sofa, as if she had been already engaged in another conversation. "Good morning!"
"Really?" I mumbled, thinking back to the smashed clay vase. "I mean, good morning. What are you doing up so early, Mom?"
Her mouth opened, incredibly prepared to say something happy, until she shook her head and dropped her concentration back to the photo album in her lap, deconstructing her glow at just the same time. "I don't know."
But I did. I stood behind her while she reminisced on memories documented in the scrapbooks. She paused on a particular picture. She outlined with her finger his smile. "I remember Dad's head got so big when he caught that huge fish in the lake," I laughed a bit.
"Yes."
I knelt down beside her. "And it outsmarted him into thinking it was dead."
"It jumped right out of his arms!" We laughed, and it felt all too good. "I can almost hear him laughing it off," she sighed.
"Yeah." My head fell against the armrest of the chair, heavy with memories. "'It's the catch that mattered. I don't need a fish to prove it. Just take the damn picture,'" I recited from the top of my head, from what I remembered that day on the lake. The roughness of his voice was the sound I'd always fall asleep to when I was a child.
A frail hand tipped my chin up and I was looking into a set of deep blue, worn out eyes. The intent she put into the stare was overwhelming because I knew what she saw. I saw it every time I encountered a mirror or an object that could give reflection. My very own mother began to cry at the sight of me, and it killed me.
"Mom," I breathed, swallowing back that sob again. I stood and took the album away from her. Extreme caution needed to be taken with her now fragile emotional state. I hadn't given her medication yet.
"Phil," she whispered in a sharp exhale.
"Come on, let's get you back to bed." I avoided direct eye contact and led her safely under the covers. I laid beside her for a while, hoping that she'd be able to calm down without the help of drugs. But she just laid there, staring up at the ceiling while I patiently waited and combed back her hair repeatedly. "Go back to sleep, Mom, please."
She squeezed her eyes shut, but sleep was a far, far cry from now, judging by her pleading whispers for him to come back to her--To love her again, to kiss her again.
I would need to give her the medication.
I inched out of bed with much care controlling my movements. The floor boards underneath me threatened to reveal my actions with the groans and moans, but I was able to leave without being noticed. In the kitchen, I arranged a small portion of left over food from the restaurant for my mother to eat before swallowing a pill, or, if things were going to be difficult, I'd hide it in the mashed potatoes. The capsule wasn't very big, so just half a spoonful of potatoes would easily get that down.
I brought back with me a small paper plate of food and the pill and glass of water in my other hand. I hoped she would already be fast asleep so there'd be no fuss when it came time to feed her the drug while she'd be only half-awake. But when I arrived at the door, the covers were folded down and empty.
"Mom?" I called through the house. "Mom, where are you?" With a turn of my head, I dropped everything at the sight of the front door gaping open. "Mom!" I shrieked.
I bolted out the house and found her nightgown floating in streams behind her as she walked toward the main road. I screamed for her to stop, to stay where she was, but she couldn't hear me over her crying out for him. I reached her in time before she could even step onto the asphalt and dragged her back inside, absolutely conflicted on whether to be gentle or otherwise so I could get her back into bed.
"No!" she protested hysterically, struggling against my grip. "Phil's coming home soon! I need to meet him at the driveway. Let me--please, let me…" she sobbed. She harshly whipped away from me once she landed in bed and curled her knees into her chest, hugging herself.
I rushed back to the mess I'd left just a moment ago before my freak out and found the pill already melting from the water surrounding it. Damn it, another wasted one.
Fumbling every step of the way, I grabbed another glass, filled it with water, and rattled the pill bottle to shake a capsule into my palm. All that was left remaining in the plastic container was two or three. I needed to cash that check and order a refill for her prescription.
As expected, there was a struggle in getting her to drink the medicine, but she eventually gave into exhaustion. I watched silently as she cried herself to sleep.
Ding, dong.
My heart leaped out of my chest; I wasn't expecting anyone. A few measured steps and I was at the front door. My eyes widened when I processed the outline of the man waiting outside on the porch. I peeled back the curtain and looked even more carefully.
Are you kidding me?!
I swung the door open, but I kept my hand on the knob so I could enjoy slamming the door in his face. "You," I hissed lowly. "What are you doing here?! At my house?!"
"Why aren't you at work?" he whispered under his breath. "I thought we had a deal." He seemed fidgety. His eyes kept darting over to the side, like he was watching out for someone.
"Well, I'm sorry but I have to--"
"Hug me," he randomly demanded.
"Excuse me?" I rose an eyebrow.
He opened his arms awkwardly to me while he looked off to the side. "Come on."
"What?! No!"
He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the porch. "Just a quick one."
I pursued his gaze and saw that Mitchie girl with some other guy. They were talking over by the dock. "She's not even paying attention," I pointed out, trying to wrench his hand off.
"Just hug me!" he exclaimed and yanked me. I collided into his chest and he strongly wound me into his arms. I tried pushing off.
Shane's P.O.V.
"What are you doing? Let me go!" she yelled. I tried to muffle out her whining by holding her tighter. Tentatively, I peered over my shoulder and caught Mitchie snapping her concentration from where I stood. I smirked. "How dare you?!" she continued complaining, pounding her fists on me. Yeah, like I'm hurting over here. "Get your hands off me! Let me go, let me go, let me…" she trailed off, and I witnessed the unthinkable.
Her protests weakened, her sucker punches stopped. All of it--she froze and held still. At first, I thought she'd just get it over with and get payment later, but it wasn't until I heard a muted cry that I realized she was actually clutching my shirt, wrinkling my good shirt. She began to unravel before me.
"Shane?" Mitchie startled me from behind.
"Oh." The crying immediately stopped. "I'm…I'm sorry," she said shakily. I released her from my arms.
"Maybe Brad and I should go," Mitchie said. "Maybe we can reschedule the outing?"
"But-" I wanted to say, but I was cut off.
"And maybe Natasha, you could come?" Mitchie invited her, but I knew it was only out of courtesy. By the way she looked at Natasha, she was so jealous.
"Yeah, you should go with us," I agreed eagerly.
Natasha blinked. "Wh-"
"I'll take that as a yes," I said before turning to Mitchie. "You can take the car home, if you want. Just tell the driver to come back for me. But I think I'm going to stay here with my…friend." Usually, I'd hate the idea of sending Mitchie home with Brad, but I had to seem absolutely fine with it. Things were working out today.
"Huh?"
"Oh, okay." Mitchie nodded, picking up things much better than Natasha here. "I'll see you guys tomorrow then?"
I gathered her into my arms for a quick, but meaningful hug. "Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up."
"Bye Shane. Bye Natasha." She waved before climbing into the car. Rickshaw waved too, but whatever. I watched the car pull out of the rocky driveway and roll down the road.
"Okay, then. Bye now." I turned around to discover the door being shut on me.
"Hey!" I knocked on the door. It cracked open. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Natasha's gaze fell to the floor, actually contemplating over that. She had to actually chew over letting in the Shane Grey. "If you want to talk, we're doing this outside," she said. She made sure for the door to only open wide enough for her to slip through. She stood there, arms crossed, and waiting. "Yes?" she prompted.
"I don't know." I shrugged. "I just said that stuff to make myself look good. But I don't need to work that hard," I said pointedly, running a hand through my hair. "Now, about tomorrow."
"I don't think I can go. I have work."
"You do have a life outside of that restaurant, right?"
"I do," she bit back. "But that's none of your business."
"Well, it is for tomorrow," I replied. "Mitchie invited you, and it's only polite to come along."
"Only because that guy's coming, too, huh?" she accused. "That's why you want me to go."
"Yes," I bluntly stated. "I will pay you for it once the day's over." Note to self: The talk of money kept her mouth shut. "So, after work, you will meet with us outside the town's hotel. You know where that is, don't you?"
"There's only one hotel in town."
"Of course there is." I shuddered at the thought. "Well, meet there, and we'll have that double date."
Natasha's P.O.V.
Double date? A date? "Right," I snorted. Shane smirked to himself, something I was sure he did frequently, and then he turned to face the main road. Just when I thought he was going to step off my porch and not see him until the dreaded day tomorrow, he unpredictably veered toward the lake. "Hey! Where are you-" But it was already too late. He was headed for my dock.
He perched himself on the ledge of the pier, an uncharacteristic thing for him to do without scuffing his clothes, and leaned back on his palms to admire the view. It was…strange. "Did you know you live right across--"
"That obnoxiously loud music camp?" I said behind him, arms firmly folded across my chest. "Why, yes, I do know."
"Great music, right?" he asked, though I wasn't sure he wanted to hear my reply to his remark.
"Sure," I mumbled. I felt awkward just standing there, so I took a seat on the very far other end of the dock, away from him. From the corner of my eye, I saw that he was smiling to himself. He was obviously lost in his own little world. Why couldn't he do that on his own time? "Listen, why don't you go back to your hotel suite? Cab fare's on me," I offered freely.
He looked at me like I was insane. "Cab?" he repeated, intensely disgusted with the term. "No, I'll wait here until my driver comes back."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't you ever drive yourself?"
"Don't you drive yourself to work?" he deflected back.
"I don't have a car; I have a reason," I said.
"Well, my reason is because of the poor choice of cars in this town." He shrugged. "I can't be seen driving around in Toyotas or whatever cheap piece of junk. I am--"
"Yeah, yeah," I interjected, bored with the subject already. "Mr. Rockstar from big ol' Connect 3." I waved my hands in the air like I cared.
Shane looked at me, but without the look of disgust. It was more of…understanding? "Thank you," he said sincerely. "For calling me a rockstar. Most people would call me a popstar, which sounds wimpy and is not me at all. Idiots," he sneered. Apart from the gentle rippling of the lake water sloshing up against the wooden dowels of the dock, there was absolute silence. Until, of course, bleached-teeth blabber mouth over here just had to strike up conversation that I wanted no part of. "So what was that about earlier?"
"What was what?"
"Don't start that again," he complained. "The hug?" he curiously prompted.
"Oh." I fought the urge to look back at the house. It had been quiet for quite a while now. "Nothing," I said. "Just holding up my end of the deal."
"Ah." He nodded once. "And the crying?"
"I was not crying." Mind your own business.
"I think I can tell the difference between crying and not crying. You were crying."
My jaw jutted out. If it hadn't been for the sound of a car pulling up to the driveway, I would've thought the grinding sound was my teeth. "I was not. And your car is here, so good bye, Mr. Grey. I will see you tomorrow."
He sighed, relieved as I was to leave. "I'd better see you tomorrow." He magically pulled a pair of sunglasses from his coat pocket, winked at me, and slipped them on. "I know where you live, remember?"
Mental note: Murder Charlie.
(A/N: So it's been pretty much two months since I've updated this story. Sorry! I guess I waited too long to receive people's feedback on the last chapter. A decent ten reviews isn't so bad. I'm shooting for above that number from hereon forth. But it's all up to you guys whether or not you guys like the story.
Please review!)