Authors Note: This is the first chapter. Not the strongest point of the story in my opinion but, I want to know what people think before I post anything else. R&R! -Roni
"Sapphire," Mom yelled from downstairs, "come down here, now!"
I hadn't heard her screaming, until now. It was because her voice was, easily in my opinion, blocked off by Ville Valo's morbidly spellbinding voice.
As his voice faded away at the end of the song I heard my name screamed by a voice I new all too well, my mothers. I turned off the music and dragged myself downstairs to yet another dinner filled with never ending questions like, "How was your day?" and "What did you do in school today?" Of course, the fact that I was an easily annoyed teenager led to me answering those same questions the same way I always did, answering a mixed combination of "Greats" and "Nothings". But those sarcastic answers never seemed to get to my mother and just seemed to make my dad chuckle slightly as he chewed his food. My brother, Allen, just rolled his eyes at my lack of an interesting vocabulary. That didn't bother me, not at all; it actually was the twilight of the whole dinner, for me at least.
As I arrived in the dinning room I saw they were all seated at the dinner table resembling a picture strait out of a country club magazine. It was too bad that I had to arrive with my ripped skinny jeans and Tristania t-shirt shattering the picture of the perfect family.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you calling me," I told my mother as I sat down.
"You can never hear me because you're always blasting that Aeromyth on your stereo," She said as she passed me the mashed potatoes.
"Aerosmith, mom, not Aeromyth and anyway I wasn't playing Aerosmith in the first place."
"Whatever, It's all the same noise to me." I dropped my fork.
"Mom, music is not just noise. It's the way some people choose to express them selves. Music is all around you; it can even be the sound you call 'noise' coming out of my speakers. And anyway, didn't you grow up around some of the music I listen to? Dad's the one who brought me on to most of it." This was true, my dad did bring me on to some of the classic rock I listened to, but then he got uptight about work and responsibilities. But unlike him I continued to listen to it just like I continue to breath.
"Yes, Sapphire, I did grow up around that music, but it's time to let go of the past, live in the present and move on to the future."
That was my mom, always worrying about what was 'in style' and what other people thought. She was 41 and worrying about fitting in and I was 17 and that thought has never even crossed my mind.
"Who cares what's 'in style', I mean besides you"? I asked cutting up my chicken breast.
"Everyone cares Sapphire, you seam to be the only one who doesn't, and I still don't understand why." That's the same thing she always said.
"Neither do I mom, neither do I."
With a scowl on his face, my bother changed the subject.
"Mom, dad," he looked at them both, "guess what we got today: our report cards." The bringing up of this subject was mainly for my embarrassment. Not that I had anything to be embarrassed about. I got good grades; you could even say they were great. And all my teachers liked me. I had no reason to hate the confrontation that took place while I showed my parents my grades, but I still did. It could have been the facts that Allen loved to show off how he was better than me in almost everything. He was the good son; he made up for everything I lacked. But one thing I thought he would never have that I owned was originality.
"Oh really," my dad spoke for the first time. "What did you all get?"
"I got strait A's, again," Allen paraded.
"What did you get on your report card Sapphire?"
"I got a B in math and biology and an A in everything else." I said under my breath as I got up from the table and took my plate to the kitchen.
"You both did great." My dad congratulated.
"Yes, good job. But Sapphire, why did you get two B's?" My mother had to ask. "What happened to getting strait A's, like your brother?"
My mom always had to ask questions. Nothing I did was ever good enough; she always had find something wrong. I knew that it was extremely stereotypical of me to think that my mom just didn't understand, but I couldn't help but think that.
My dad, on the other hand, was more understanding. As long as I was good and happy, he was good and happy.
"I'll just try harder next time." I answered as always.
"Good thinking." She responded, my dad looked at me with concerned eyes.
After clearing the table I walked up to my room; it was the only place I was ever happy, it was my sanctuary. Entering my room you'd see that to the left of my door there was a bookshelf filled with all my books. Everything from romance to fantasy/adventure, but if you asked me, about 85 of the books were romance. To the right of my door was a wall with a few shelves where I kept all my CD's. They ranged from Classic rock to stuff like Kill Hannah and Scary Kids Scaring Kids. If you asked anyone who knew me well enough, what my most prized possessions were it was more than likely that they would tell you that they were my album's and books. Under my shelves was my desk, were my laptop lied. On the opposite side of my desk was my bed and a window were the sun awoke me every morning, unwillingly on my part.
I closed the door behind me and went strait to my stereo on top of my dresser and changed the CD from H.I.M. to Aerosmith. That CD always warded off my mom for some reason. That was one of the reasons why I used it so much.
After I pressed play and sat at my desk to start my homework I herd a soft, low, almost hesitant knock on my door.
"Come in," I said almost at once; my father entered with the same eyes that he had at the end of dinner.
"Hey, dad, what's up?" I all ready knew what was coming.
"Nothing, I just wanted to apologies for your mom. I know you're trying your best and you're doing great."
"It's okay, I know mom just wants what's best and I won't hold that against her." I said perceptively.
"Great. I can always count on you to understand, Sapphire." I nodded.
My dad looked around my room, "This place has really changed." He attempted to change the conversation.
"Yeah, it has," he studied my walls filled with posters, stickers, and memorabilia from past concerts I'd gone to.
He touched an inch of the wall that exposed the color of it, "Remember the day we painted the room?"
"Of course," I stood up, "it was my 8th birthday. That day rocked, you let me skip school and I got to do whatever I wanted."
He grinned, "And all you wanted to do was paint your room pink."
His hand made its way to my shoulder, "Hot pink," I added.
"Things sure have changed…"
"Well, I still like pink, I little…"
Laughing, he looked around the room one last time. "Well, good night then and don't stay up too late, alright?"
"Alright dad, I love you."
"I love you too, sweets," he walked out of the room.
About an hour after my dad left I got up from my desk for the first time since the AerosmithCD ended. I had finished my homework and was printing it out as I got my back pack out to make sure I had everything I needed for school the next day, the same way I did every Sunday night before I got ready for bed.
As the printer shut down I picked up my paper from the discharge tray at the end of the printer and stuck it inside my class binder. I placed the binder back into my book bag and threw it to the corner of my room were I always put it.
I opened the second drawer of my dresser and grabbed an old Evanescence concert shirt and rainbow pajama pants and went to the bathroom to change.
Coming out of the bathroom I looked down the stairs to see if the lights were off, they were, my parents must have gone to sleep already. I turned my head to see that the light in Allen's room was still on. I looked at my Nightmare before Christmas wrist watch to see that it was eleven o'clock.
I went to his door and knocked softly, "What do you want?" I herd him say in a stern voice, like he new it was me behind the door.
I opened the door, "Nothing, I just wanted to know when you were going to bed?"
"Why?" He asked flatly.
I saw that I wasn't getting anywhere with kindness. I would be just as mean,
"Well, Ellen, it's just that the light from your room highly disturbs me."
His eyes narrowed as he looked up from his science book. "I'll go to bed in a minute."
"A minute," I smiled. "I'm counting the seconds, good night.
"'Night," He said as I closed the door behind me.
-- -- -- -- -- --
Formerly a part of the town Wallingford, settled in 1694, Cheshire was now a town with a population of twenty-nine thousand and ninety-seven located on thirty-three square miles in southern Connecticut. It separated itself from Wallingford in 1780 and for its first one hundred and seventy years it was a rural farming community, but for the past fifty years it had developed into an uptown suburban neighborhood. Despite its growth, Cheshire still retained bucolic characteristics and had an active agricultural industry.
Yeah, sure, because that was exactly what the country clubs screamed.
Thank you Wikipedia; I'd done my research because this was where my family and I were going to attempt to live the rest of our lives.
Our flight landed in Hartford yesterday at six o'clock in the morning; mom and dad picked us up at the airport, they had arrived two days before my sisters and me, with the cars and furniture, to begin fixing the house.
We were moving into my great-grandparents home. It had been built by my great-grandfather in 1889 as a gift to my great-grandmother; they were just a young Irish couple trying to make a new life together in the United States.
I hadn't visited the house since I was about five, right before great-gran died. It was just like I remembered it; big, white, and old. My favorite part of the house was still the gazebo. Surrounded by green grass the gazebo was one of my earliest memories. With it's off white panels and moss covered roof, it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.
There were five rooms, three and a half bathrooms, a living room, a family room, a kitchen, a parlor, an attic and a basement in my grandparents' mansion. My room came complete with a window that looked out to the western sky, four walls, a bed, and dresser.
I was currently working on unpacking all my belongings; there were four more large boxes left to unpack when I began to feel one of the seizures coming on again.
I breathlessly sat on the window seat and began to look at the setting sun. I wondered how I was going to deal with this. How long could I last just acting like a normal teenager? Would they ever find me? Should we have changed our names? How long before the changes became physical? How was I going to deal with everything?
I wasn't sure.
My life had changed drastically, my every action affected everyone I loved and suddenly I found myself questioning my all beliefs. I no longer knew what life had in store for me, or what moving to this town would mean. But I was going to grasp this chance, this one last chance at a new life.