Blinding white light filled the world, stinging her eyes and burning her face; she held her hands up to block it out and took a tentative step, her feet shuffling against splintery wood. She couldn't see, but she knew that beyond that light, the world watched with bated breath. Everyone. Every single person alive, and probably some who weren't, if Lucy's talk about spirits was to be taken seriously. Her tiny heart pounded in fright and her stomach twisted like a limp dishrag. She swallowed hard and forced her hands to lower; she put on her biggest, prettiest smile and narrowed her eyes against the blinding illumination. She could hear the rustle of fabric as people shifted in their seats, a muffled cough, the annoying ring of someone's cell phone. Closer, someone sighed, and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized it: Lindsey Sweetwater.
Suddenly her throat was dry and the base of her neck tingled. Her feet came to a shuffling halt, and she nearly fell forward, but invisible hands kept her up, their touch soft, warm, rising the hair on her arms. The light was roasting - her face stung as if with sunburn, and sweat beads formed on the crown of her forehead. She winced as she felt them slide down her face, dreadfully certain that everyone else could see too. What a pig! Ew, gross! Look at her sweating, she knows she's going to lose to Lindsey!
No I'm not! I'm not going to lose. I believe in me. L-Lincoln believes in me.
A man in a suit and glasses materialized next to her and spoke into a microphone. "Our next contestant, coming off the most embarrassing pratfall of the season, is Lola Loud. As you can see, her nose is still not fully healed. What a trooper!"
Not healed? Yes it was.
She touched it with her fingers, and gasped: It was big, numb, and puffy, and everyone could see it. She tried to cover it with her hands, but they were suddenly heavy, and twitched uselessly at her side. "Let's all give Lola a round of pity applause!"
The audience clapped subduedly, a few awwwwws rising here and there like acrid smoke. Lola's cheeks burned and she tried to bow her head, but her neck was frozen: All she could do was stand there and take it. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. Lincoln put so much time and effort into training her, she couldn't let him down. She had to win...for him.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, here comes the talent portion of the competition.. Lindsey will be doing her world famous ribbon dance."
The crowd went berserk, clapping, cheering, whistling, and stomping their feet. Lola couldn't see her rival, but she could sense the smug smile on her lips, and she wanted to wipe it off so badly she trembled.
"Mina Harker will be performing spoken word poetry, and Susie Carmichael will be baking cookies for everyone."
More clapping, not as strong as it was for Lindsey, but still deafening, pounding against Lola's skull like drumbeats of doom. When the man put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped: His grip was cold, steely, and his tallon like fingers dug into her flesh. "Lola Loud will be…" he looked at her, and she forced a wan smile. "Sitting this one out."
Her face fell. "No!" she cried, a keening edge in her voice. "I-I'm doing gymnastics." The man stared down at her as though she were a bug, his face pale and hard, his eyes dark pits of disgust. "I-I practiced really hard," she said and balled her hands like a woman praying. "I can do it, I swear."
The man drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ms., but you just don't have any talent whatsoever. You'll have to wait until the beauty competition - you actually have a fighting chance at winning that."
"No! I am talented! I-I'll prove it!" Panic clutched her chest and the walls were starting to close in on her. She cast a long look at the gallery of faces, all vague, shadowy outlines, their features blurred and threatening. She opened her mouth to speak, but they start to laugh at her, a low titer beginning in the rear and rushing through the crowd like a tidal wave until the sound was so loud Lola could hear nothing over it, not the ragged pounding of her own heart, not her heavy breathing, not even the throb of blood against her temples. She jerked her head from side to side. Lincoln I need you but he was nowhere - only those hateful, black, monstrous faces, demons gathered to bear witness to her ultimate failure. "Please," she said, her voice a broken whisper and tears beginning to stream down her face. "Please, let me show you."
The world shook with mocking laughter, the cosmos echoed with it, every ear heard and every mouth joined in - even God Himself laughed down at her from His perch in Heaven, pointing and jumping from foot to foot like a madman. Something inside of Lola snapped, and she started to sob, her tiny frame shaking and her hands whipping to her face. She turned to stumble away, but someone shoved her back and she went down hard on her butt; the air left her lungs in a rush and her hands fel away from her eyes. Lindsey Sweetwater, much taller than she should have been, her face half hidden by shadows, loomed over her, hands on her hips and a wide cannibal smile on her face. Lola's heart stopped in her chest and cold fear settled over her like a funeral shroud.
"You're not good enough," Lindsey said, her tone dark, evil. "You have no talent...just looks."
Lola tearfully shook her head. "I-I am good enough." There was no conviction in her voice.
"Oh?" Lindsey asked. "Because your brother told you?"
She started to shake her head, but her voice issued past her lips without her meaning it to. "Yes," she said. "I love him and he wouldn't lie to me."
Lindsey's laughter was like a hellish cannonade. "He doesn't love you. No one does. All you have are your looks."
Suddenly, Lindsey was fifty feet tall, a hundred, her foot lifting and the sole of her shoe falling over Lola like the shadow of death. "And, honey, looks fade."
The shoe came down…
And Lola sat bolt upright in bed, a scream locked in her throat; the world was completely black, and for a horrible moment Lindsey Sweetwater's shoe was falling, falling, then she gripped her sleep mask with trembling fingers and yanked it off, snapping the band but not caring. Panting, she threw a terrified glance around the room; soft purple gloom painted the walls a cold hue, and in the spill of a streetlamp, Lana was revealed, humped under the covers and gently snoring, her breathing steady, rhythmic..safe.
Lola swallowed thickly and fought to catch her breath. A dream...just a dream. Still, her heart slammed a frenetic tempo and the back of her neck prickled; she looked over her shoulder, but saw only the headboard, and above it a giant poster of herself, hands balled in front of her and head tilted cutely, her gap-tooth smile a frozen grimace of pain cast in shadows. She shuddered and whipped away from it, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.
Get a hold of yourself. It was just a dream and that's all; you've had nightmares before...some even worse.
True, the one where she was completely alone in the house and couldn't find her family anywhere, then something started coming up the stairs, was scarier, but that didn't still the shakes, or her hammering heart. Cold, like the chill of the grave, radiated from her bones, and tears threatened to well in her eyes. In that moment, she felt so small, so lost, and so alone, a girl with nothing but her looks, and, honey, looks fade. The tears came then, and she was powerless to hold them back; they sprang hot and stinging, sliding down her cheeks in quick, silent beads.
She needed Lincoln.
Slipping out of bed, she ignored her slippers and went to the door on bare feet, her knees shaking and the tears coming faster; she paused at the door, her hand on the knob, and bowed her head in an attempt to get a handle on her emotions, but couldn't - tonight, in twelve short hours, she was going to go out on stage and lose the Little Miss High and Mighty Pageant to Lindsey Sweetwater, she just knew it - part of her didn't care, but another part, the insecure part, the part that wanted desperately to be talented and not die out with her appearance, did; it cared so much that the thought of losing, of having the final nail driven into the coffin, made it wilt like a water starved flower. If she lost tonight, there would be no coming back - she would be forever without a talent, and she would fail at everything she tried, just like she failed at this.
She turned the handle and went out into the hall, which stood dark and empty at this hour, the only illumination coming from a night light plugged into the wall. For a moment she hesitated, irrationally certain that the moment she stepped away from the threshold, something -
Giant cannibal Lindsey Sweetwater
- would rush out of the darkness and grab her in cold, hooked fingers. Her heartbeat quickened and she looked fearfully toward Lincoln's door, then over her shoulder to the relative safety of her bed...her cold, empty bed.
Decided, she took a deep breath and darted into the hall, her heart blasting and her entire body tingling. She squeezed her eyes shut as she passed the head of the stairs - so open, so dangerous - and when she reached Lincoln's door, she threw it open and slammed it shut behind her; she jumped at the sound and threw herself at the bed, clambering on as Lincoln stirred. She hurriedly crawled up until her face was level with his. Perhaps sensing her, his eyes fluttered open, and he started. "L-Lola?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but tears overwhelmed her, and she broke down instead. "Lola?" Lincoln asked worriedly. "What's wrong?" He pulled his arm out from under the cover and laid his hand on her shoulder; his touch was soft, warm, and comforting, and for some reason, it made her cry harder.
Unthinkingly, he took her in his arms and pulled her body against his, his blossoming feelings for her forgotten; something was wrong and finding out what it was, and making it better, was all that occurred to him. "What's the matter?" he asked and ran his fingers through her silky hair; her small frame trembled and the high, miserable sound of her sobs clawed at his heart. Hot tears soaked through the fabric of his shirt, and she clutched a handful as though she were drowning and he was her only salvation. "Lola? What is it?"
She sniffled and jerked her gaze up to him; water stood in her eyes and her face twisted in misery. "I-I had a nightmare," she said, her voice small and fragile. She flicked her eyes down as if in shame at having a bad dream and running to him for protection. His heart broke and he hugged her tight, his lips brushing her forehead; her clean scent filled his nose, and for the first time he realized that he was holding not only his sister, but the girl he loved.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked patiently. He grazed his fingers across the nape of her neck, and she leaned back into his touch, her eyes meeting his.
"No," she said, and her pupils dilated ever so slightly with abject pleading. "Just hold me, please."
Lincoln nodded and wrapped his arms protectively around her tiny body, his fingers threading in her hair. She snuggled close and buried her face in his chest as if to shut out the cold, hateful world, and Lincoln rubbed lazy circles in her scalp, his nails ghosting across her flesh and making her shiver pleasantly. She always did like having her head scratched; once upon a time, he thought it a chore; now it was a passion. He pressed his lips to her forehead and moved his fingers in a wide arc. She hummed her contentment and put her hand on his hip, her heat soaking through his shirt and warming his skin. His heart began to race and before he knew what he was doing, he was trailing delicate kisses over her brow, his hand caressing the side of her face. She rubbed her hand slowly up and down his flank, her fingers quivering.
He was in danger of losing himself to desire, and pulling his lips away from her was the single hardest thing he'd ever done. "You're going to do great tonight," he said and held her.
"No, I'm not," she said, her voice muffled.
"Yes, you are," Lincoln replied firmly.
Lola didn't say anything for a minute. "I'm gonna mess it up."
Tilting her head back, he stared into her eyes. "No you're not. You're Lola Loud, and whether you think so or not, you can do anything you set your mind to. Look how quickly you took to gymnastics. When we started training, you were rusty, now you're, like, an Olympic gold medalist. That takes talent, Lola. I couldn't do that, Luna couldn't do that, heck, I don't even think Lynn could do that, and sports are her thing."
He was just trying to make her feel better, and while she wanted it to work, she was afraid of getting her hopes up only to have them dashed again. She nestled her face in Lincoln's chest and took a deep breath, his scent soothing her. "I guess," she allowed. Suddenly she felt drowsy, and her eyelids drooped. Being here, safe in the arms of the boy she loved, her fears and anxieties were melting away. "I don't want to let you down, Lincoln," she said and closed her eyes. "You did so much for me and I want to make you proud."
A sleepy smile spread across Lincoln's lips. "I am proud of you," he said, "and nothing you could ever do would let me down. I love you." Those last three words came as a surprise; he didn't know he was going to say them until he was speaking, but they felt so right on his tongue, so natural as they passed his lips, that he didn't care.
"I love you too," she whispered.
He rested his forehead against hers; sharing the same air, her breathing out and he breathing in, they fell into the most peaceful sleep either had ever known.
They left the house at seven, as the fiery orange sky cooled to purple ash: Lola sat in the very back, her hands folded in her lap and her back ramrod straight. Lincoln sat on one side and Lana on the other, Lincoln brushing calming fingers across the nape of her neck and Lana prattling about how her sister was 'gonna kick names and take butts." Lola forced a smile and thanked her.
As they made their way through the dusky streets of town, the gaping chasm of nerves in the pit of Lola's stomach roiled like water on a stove, and at one point she realized she was drumming her fingers on her knee. She contrived to focus on Lincoln's soft touch, and to the sensations it sent through her body. She closed her eyes, but she saw the stage from her dream - a gallery of shadowy faces with evil, toothy smiles watching, waiting for her trip up, to laugh at her misfortune, to send her home in tears one final time.
"You're going to be fine," Lincoln whispered into her ear.
She nodded. "I know," she lied, and put her hand on his leg. He stiffened slightly, then took it in his own, twinning their fingers and squeezing. They looked into each other's eyes, and if they weren't surrounded by their family, Lola would have kissed him in a way a sister ought not kiss her brother, would have given him her heart totally and without condition. Instead, she squeezed back. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him, genuinely this time, her face glowing and her eyes lighting up like lamps in the dark.
Falling in love with your brother is not something you should do if you can help it, but Lola could not, and as they pulled into the crammed parking lot of the community center, she realized that while it may be wrong, she didn't care one bit, and the first chance she got, she was going to tell him how she felt. She just hoped he felt the same way.
"Alright, kids, here we are," Dad said into the rearview mirror.
Everyone piled out of the van, Lola and Lincoln last, their hands still clasped together. Outside, the evening was cool and fragrant. Massive search lights flanking the front door tracked beams across the darkening sky, and throngs of people poured inside, the way lined with a red carpet that once would have made Lola feel like a movie star, but now made her feel empty. Inside, the lobby was packed, the din of a thousand voices thick like smoke in the air. Lola looked around and something about the scene was so wrong, so grotesque that her step faltered.
"You okay?" Lincoln after softly.
She nodded. "I'm fine," she said, but that was a lie, she wasn't. She looked into his eyes once more, and the dark emotions gathering in her chest dispelled as if scattered by the sun. If she focused on him, she could get through this, she could get through anything.
A set of double doors lead into the main hall - corridors opened up on either side, a sign providing directions to the bathroom, the concession stand, and the backstage area. "Good luck, honey," her mother said, stooped down, and kissed her forehead.
"Knock 'em dead, sweetie," Dad said.
Each one of her sisters followed, hugging her and giving her words of encouragement, then they all filed through the doors. Lincoln squeezed her hand and led her down the hall toward the dressing rooms. Lola's anxiety rose, and she looked up at him to quell it. When they reached the backstage, Lola spotted Lindsey Sweetwater talking to a group of girls, and her heart clutched. Lindsey looked up, noticed her, and flashed an evil smile. Lola looked away and quickened her step.
A few minutes later, she and Lincoln were in her dressing room, Lola sitting before the vanity and Lincoln standing over her from behind, one hand on her shoulder and the other splayed on the counter. Lola studied herself in the mirror - her eyes were shadowed and her lips pink, her cheeks red with rouge and her tiara situated perfectly on the top of her blonde head. She looked like a clown. Long ago, she told Lincoln that she wasn't happy to parade herself around like a piece of meat, that she was more and she wanted people to see that, yet for the past two years she'd been doing just that, walking up and down a runway and striking cute poses like a fool who has nothing more to offer, nothing better.
She looked at Lincoln's reflection in the mirror, and he turned his head to her. "You're beautiful," he said.
Lola sighed. "I'm tired of being beautiful," she said. "I-I'm tired of pageants."
Lincoln's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
She thought long and hard before speaking again. "The whole point of these things is to showcase beauty. There are talent portions, but they' aren't called talent pageants, they're called beauty pageants. If I want to be more, I need to be more and not keep doing this." She drew a deep breath. "I don't want this anymore."
"What do you want?"
Lola turned to him, their faces so close that their breaths mingled. "You," she said.
Lincoln's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment she thought he was going to reject her, then he cupped her cheek in his hand and brushed his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. A shiver raced down her spine, and her heart slammed painfully against her breast. For a moment they gazed into each other's eyes, something heavy and profound passing between them, then they leaned into one another, their lips touching with an electric spark that both felt. Lincoln held her face in his hands and stared lovingly at her, and she pressed her palms flat against his chest, the crazy beat of his heart making hers increase too.
He flicked his tongue out and she grazed it with hers - their heads tilted and the kiss deepened; his fingers threaded through her hair and her arms circled around his neck, their tongues moving in sweet, slow unison.
When it broke, they pulled apart and smiled at each other, Lola sucking her bottom lip in to savor the taste of his mouth. He stroked her hair and kissed the tip of her nose. "If you don't want to do this anymore, don't. I want you to be happy and if this doesn't make you happy, you shouldn't do it."
Lola sighed. "I don't want to, but you put in -"
"Don't worry about that."
"I was thinking," she said, "of taking up gymnastics again. I-I think I'm pretty good."
Lincoln nodded. "You are. Very good."
She looked at her lap. "I just don't want to let anyone down."
He tilted her face up to his. "As long as you're happy, you won't. We love and support you no matter what. I love and support you no matter what." He squeezed her hand, and she smiled. In his eyes, she saw love, and knew in that moment that he was telling the truth - no matter what she chose to to, he would be by her side.
Getting to her feet, she said, "Let's go. I'm ready to start a new chapter."
Lincoln smiled proudly and kissed her forehead. "Me too."
Together, hand-in-hand, they went forth and did.
Kind of a short story, I know, but I wanted to harken by to my earlier stuff and write something light and fluffy. Next up is Nasty Girl, which will pair Lincoln and Lana...and Lana's so gross, lol. Not eve sexually, just in general. I hope you enjoyed this story and I hope to see you next time - Flagg.