To Raise Cain
It hasn't been easy, that's for sure.
The dread, anxiety, tremor coursing through me in the most inappropriate situations are building an even higher terror for bumping into the one causing it all.
When I first saw her, her expression told me all about her feelings toward me moving in with them. It made me uneasy, afraid of being rejected, unwelcome.
When I got welcomed into the family, she refused to take any part of it, no handshake, no approving nod, no words spoken in my direction.
When I was forced to encounter her, she ignored me, repelled by my very presence, unwilling to accept me as a family member as much as a human being in itself.
When I had to share a backseat with her due to a funeral, she barely showed any proof of her noticing my existence.
To her, I was non-existent, a ghost haunting the hallways, an illusion joining their dinner table, a mere figment of their imagination, Spencer being the only sane one refusing to partake in the others fertile fantasy.
I can't say it didn't hurt. Hell, I've proved time and time again how much she beat my already fragile soul up, how her coldness threw me into the walls, how her glares kicked me to the ground.
Her personality and behavior frightened the living shit out of me, I never thought I would ever experience something worse.
Damn, was I wrong.
The dread of her next glare, her next hurtful line had nothing on the tremor I felt in the week following their granny's funeral.
---
The rock in my shoe is making it hard for me to walk properly, its sharp edges digging into the sensitive sole of my foot. God knows how it ended up in there, I can't remember ever walking on a rocky path.
"You're really getting into it now, you're getting better..! Ever thought about fighting someone else for real?"
"You mean like a match?"
"Yeah, like against someone of your own physique, 'cause we all know
I'm way out of your league," Glen answers, the cockiness easily traceable in his voice.
Smack
"Ow, hey, no need to ambush me, cheater!"
I giggle my way through the front door, while Glen rubs the spot on his forearm my fist suddenly decided to make contact with.. We didn't take the car to the gym this time, instead opting for a warm-up jog to the gym. On the way back, we raced each other, both desperately fighting for the honor of being the fast one. Needless to say, when a guy in his mid-thirties out-ran both of us without even participating in the sprint, we both admitted defeat, falling down on a patch of grass next to the road.
We'd spent twice as much time on our way home, play fighting and running away from each other, which left us both drenched in perspiration. This built up for a final battle between us, the battle of the shower.
Since we were already worn-out, it happened to be a game of rock-scissor-paper that held the fate of who would win the ultimate prize; shotgun for the shower.
When it happened to be Glen winning, I also knew I had lost at the battle for the warm water.
---
As Glen jumps up the stairs, I neatly lay my jogging shoes by the door, throwing the tiny rock occupying one of the shoes far down the driveway, out of sight, out of mind.
For some unknown reason, I feel a sadness rush through me at how easily it was for me to just throw it away, to not even look at it first, not taking a deeper look at what accompanied me for a brief period of time, however annoying I found it.
Before I get the chance to dwell further on the rejection I unfairly placed upon the little rock, I hear someone rustling in the kitchen, bare feet hitting the tiles, cupboards opening and slamming shut. My feet carry me towards the surprisingly scentless kitchen, knowing that Arthur would never let the kitchen ever smell like anything but tasteful aroma whenever he's in it.
I wrongly believe Paula is the one occupying the room I'm walking towards, shameful disappointment filling my mind, my stomach growling in agreement. The workout session having taken it's toll, my body craves something to satisfy the hunger in me and believing that Paula is the one in charge of dinner is making me queasy.
But I would never show it.
"Hey, Paula, is there anyth-..."
I stop mid-sentence in the moment my eyes travel from the floor, up the tan legs, over the luscious bum hidden in tiny-as-hell shorts, sliding across the barely covered back, slowly dragging my eyes over the defined shoulder blades, watching the golden locks gently nuzzling a slender neck.
She's reaching for something high up, cupboard wide open, one hand firmly grasping the handle, seeking for some balance where she's standing on the tip of her toes. I don't know if she heard my wrongful greeting or not, 'cause no form of acknowledge over my present is given. 'Or maybe she's just ignoring you'. Her devotion for the task at hand is giving me time to look at her, to take in her petite frame in a way I've never been able to before. I'm for once thankful for my apparently unnoticed presence, full well knowing the staring I'm currently engaging in will not be appreciated by the opposed person.
And there's a reason for the sudden extra attention I'm giving the girl standing only feet away from me. I've always noticed that she's above average looking, hell, the first thing I noticed about her was the utter beauty she radiated. One would think my meeting with the foul personality she possessed would make her features less prominent, her golden locks some rusty shade of gray, her firm body more slack and unappealing, but this was never the case.
It had crossed my mind before. This wasn't the first time I questioned my appreciation of her features, but it had never hit me so hard, never struck such a chord inside me, never made my stomach actually tingle, never pinched the spot between my legs with such force as it did in this exact moment.
I'm so transfixed in the view I'm currently ogling that I don't know if I'll survive if she ever decides to turn around. I know I should leave, run, silently shuffle out of the kitchen before she finally reaches what she's stretching for, but the view of Spencer clad in boy shorts and a bra is making it impossible. I'm stuck, frozen to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from her.
She's in her bra and boy shorts.
She's half-naked, stretching in the kitchen, grunting ever so slightly in her attempt to find whatever she's looking for.
In a bra. And boy shorts. Short boy shorts.
It hasn't been long, no more than 30 seconds since I entered this room, but for a reason well known to everyone following me, time is no longer acting in universal laws. A lifetime of emotions and naughty, surprising feelings in my world is nothing but a mere second in the common people's time and age, the world Spencer is currently located in.
"There!"
Aaaand I'm ripped back into the land of the living, no longer camping in a world where dreams of sexy, forbidden smut fill every waking time and hour.
Aaaand I soon reappear in smut-land the moment Spencer turns around, eyes cast towards me, no emotion evident. Holding her stare is hard, uncomfortable, but totally necessary. Normally I would look anywhere but straight into those blue eyes, but I know for a fact that right now "anywhere but" would be somewhere way less appropriate and TONS more uncomfortable. Like, say, her toned stomach muscles or maybe her slender legs or maybe her caged chest threatening to break free, or-...
God, I so wanna look down, I so wanna look down, I so can't look down, where to look, where to look-...
"Did you want anything?"
The silver necklace hanging low on her chest is glistening, luring me, enchanting my weak resolution, seducing me to look down. I am defeated, my eyes are cast downward ever so briefly, warmth threatening to rose my cheeks, paleness winning over warmth, fright of looking into those blue eyes overpowering the feeble frame of my body, hands fumbling, bones shaking.
"Ash, a really, really cold shower is waiting for you upstairs! Hurry up, it won't stay that way for too long!"
If Glen just knew how necessary that cold shower is.
---
It wasn't the look in her eyes as she saw me clumsily checking her out, nor her question to my sudden appearance in the kitchen, that sent the strongest chill up my spine. I've seen those eyes emit hatred and disgust, ignorance and annoyance, but none of these emotions were present in her eyes. For once, her eyes had been open, seemingly curious and kind but still with an undertone of a smirk. Her question had been asked as one, not a sentence voiced to hang alone but one voiced with the anticipation of a reply.
It was the emotions surging inside my own mind, the reaction of wantonness caused by her half-naked frame that fueled my horror, that left me more scared than I've ever been.
While the fear previously was caused by someone else's mind and body, it now happened to be my own reactions and thoughts that stirred a riot inside me, that sent me hiding in fear.
------------
Melancholy has always been present in my life. The state of no emotion, no mood has been a common companion in days of nothing. In days of yore I willingly traveled the path to stillness, experiencing such a natural state to be some kind of privilege, something uneasy to obtain. Times have changed, and while I once searched in hope of finding that place of calmness, it's now a road traveled many a time, easy to stumble upon.
It changed gradually when I entered this house. It didn't reverse, those melancholy days were still easy to reach if provoked. I haven't gone back to old inadequacy, frustration over lost time to myself has not reappeared, things have just been altered; things have leveled, a balance has been built between always being in a state of nothing and always being in a state where nothing is unobtainable.
Most days I never wish those moments on myself. Moments I used to
treasure – strive for – have
now been exposed, laid bare to show they only served as disguised condemnation, worshiping the art of self-degradation, successfully holding my head under water not letting my soul and body breathe freely.
I blame Paula for unplugging the ever-falling gush of depression, I blame Arthur for sealing the open wound of helplessness, I blame Glen for replacing it with self-worth and appreciation.
And I blame Spencer for scratching holes in this new skin they've given me.
--
Today is one of those days. One of those odd few ones sneaking their way between the door and the doorsill at night, crawling their way along the skirting boards, hoisting themselves up onto the bed and threatening themselves into the unknowing, sleepridden pores of my body.
Today is one of those days where nothing is all that is present, where smiles are gone, where sunshine means nothing, where love doesn't exist.
They've all noticed, my presence nothing more than a sleepwalker's, eyes glazed over in simulated apathy, mouth estranged from words. I don't feel like talking to anyone, school was spent hiding from possible interactions, the way home was done by walking instead of catching a ride with Glen like I usually do.
He knows that I sometimes get in these moods. At first he insisted that I got out of the funk, tried to cheer me up, spent even more time around me than he would've otherwise. With time, he learned that it was better to just leave me alone, let me have a day of solitude.
I'm residing inside the closed confinements of my room, sunshine hitting me from outside the window where I'm located in the windowsill. I could've opened the window, let the sunshine touch me bare without the shelter of the window between it and me, but I haven't. Opening the window would mean I care, would mean that the sunshine has an effect on me, would mean that it's welcomed. It's not. Nothing is.
I'm so shut off from the world around me that I almost miss the person entering the garden outside. When I do see her, I let my gaze follow her as she walks aimlessly around, at last settling in the shadows of a tree. She's just sitting, there's no earplugs in her ear, no magazine adorning her lap, no second person holding up a conversation. If she looked up, she would see me clearly in the window, but it doesn't make me uncomfortable, it doesn't make me want to leave the spot I'm occupying. It rather gives me an odd relaxation, knowing that while we're sitting in solitude, we're not completely alone.
I'm not gonna lie and tell you my heart didn't beat just a tad bit harder when I saw her. I'm not gonna deny the fact that I'm intrigued by her presence in the garden, 'cause I am. I'm guilty of both things, and I am well aware of what it means. But right now I don't want to fret about labeling what I'm feeling, 'cause in this moment, it isn't of importance. I just want to watch her without my mind reeling of questions, without outer factors blurring the clear vision I have of her in this private moment between us.
She hasn't seen me, and I doubt she ever will. I would rather it be that way, letting me see a different side of her, a private one, without her shelter holding all her emotions inside.
Mimicking the same state of mind as I'm in, she looks so calm, so collected, so in touch with herself. There's no trace of her usual behavior where she's sprawled out in the grass, eyes closed with a worry line etched onto her forehead. I've never seen her look worried, she's never shown any sign of weakness before like she's doing in this moment.
I wonder what she's worrying about, myself getting infected by her concern. I wish I could make her share it with me, knowing full well that is unlikely to ever happen.
My eyes haven't once been averted from her, not even when I hear something rattle in the driveway, cuss words flowing in the distance not managing to break the solitude of this moment.
It is when a small, dark shadow draws nearer to the girl that my heart speeds up for real. The whiskers of the shadow brush lightly against her skin, effectively erasing the worry previously inhabiting her facial expressions. Her hand reaches up beside her head, touching the fur of the cat, lightly stroking it while the animal brushes itself against the girl's cheek. Her eyes are still closed, having never opened, the smile tugging on her lips one of genuineness, contentment. It makes me smile my first smile of the day, somehow breaking down the wall of indifference my melancholic mood had put up.
Suddenly I care more about her than I've ever done, and I can't help but envy the cat as Spencer leans her head into it, making the cat settle down and cuddle into her neck while she's still stroking it lightly.
They look so peaceful together, so perfect. Who would ever think that the person laying in the garden could ever behave like a spoiled brat just waiting to cut someone a new one. No one. Because they're not the same person, the one resting beneath the tree, small beads of sunlight hitting her in random places from escaping through the leaves of the oak, is the one shaped by innocence, by wonder, by childhood amazement, by goodness.
I never thought it really existed: This other side of her that she's finally showing although in the presence of only herself, is one I always hoped for but never imagined would be there, hiding under the personality of ignorance and animosity.
I shouldn't look at her like this. Not because I'm intruding on a private moment – although I am – but because it's only heightening the reactions I'm experiencing within myself when I think about her.
She's no longer just making my body tremble with lust.
She's also making my mind shiver of affection.
And it has to stop.