~Chapter Four~
Thanksgiving break had been less than relaxing for Hazel Graham. There were odd things happening throughout the house; even worse, Hazel had been the only one to witness them. The previous night as she was reading in bed, her glass figurines were thrown off the shelves, cascading into an avalanche of shards on her floor. She had read about the paranormal countless times before, but despite her research and knowledge of the subject, she was shaken. She decided to leave the bedside lamp on for some form of empty comfort. When she awoke the next day, she silently prayed that nothing would come of her experience the night before. Getting out of bed, she wrapped a robe around herself and could have sworn she saw a dark shadow dart across her room. She hurried out of her bedroom and down the staircase as fast as her feet would carry her.
To say that Tate had overstepped his welcome was the understatement of the year. Each morning she would make her way downstairs, looking forward to relaxing on the window seat and getting lost in a book or heading to the kitchen to surprise her dad with pancakes before he awakened. But every morning, like clockwork, Tate would be knocking at the front door. Hazel found it strange, not to mention infuriating, that she would find him pounding on the door just minutes after she came downstairs.
She heard the familiar knocking and stomped over to the door, swinging it open with a bit too much attitude.
"How could you possibly have plans with Harvey at…" she glanced down at her phone for the time, "9:45 in the morning? It's not like you guys ever leave the house so I doubt you're heading out for a morning hike." Her words were dripping with animosity.
"We've got a videogame marathon going on today, not that it's any of your business," Tate said, pushing past her into the house, bumping into her shoulder.
"Who do you think you are?" she shut the door and followed him down the hall.
He merely chuckled in response.
"Hey!" she barked, grabbed his shoulder, "you can't just walk in here and do whatever you want!"
"Well it's your house. YOU can do whatever you want. Why are you following me?" he asked with a smug look gracing his face as they entered the kitchen.
"I-I…" she stammered, "As a matter of fact, I was just in the middle of making breakfast before you so rudely interrupted me," she said with a false sense of purpose, opening the pantry to retrieve her favorite cereal. Tate lingered in the doorway and crossed his arms, leaning on the frame with amusement dancing in his dark chocolate eyes. "Wait, where's my cereal?" Ransacking through the boxes and cans, speaking to no one in particular she angrily asked again, "What the hell happened to my favorite cereal?!"
"Oh, you mean the Frosted Flakes? I kinda finished those yesterday morning…" said Tate with an innocent, apologetic look on his face.
"Harvey told you those were mine!" Hazel nearly shouted. She wasn't sure if she was being paranoid or if her feelings held any truth, but her gut was telling her that he simply did it to spite her. Just as she was about to tear into him even more, Harvey walked in on their mini fiasco.
"What were yours?" her brother asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator.
"He finished my Frosted Flakes. I thought you told him they were mine?" she felt immature saying it out loud, as it was such a trivial issue, but her anger was more directed at Tate and the fact that he never seemed to take other people's feelings into consideration.
"I did. Guess he forgot. Just eat something else," he said between sips of juice.
"Ugh, are you kidding me with this?!" she uttered angrily as she slammed the cabinet door shut.
"Chill out Hazel, it's really not that big of a deal," said Harvey, putting the orange juice back in the fridge and rummaging for his breakfast.
"Well it's a big deal to me! Why do you always take his side, Harvey?" she asked, trying and failing to conceal the child-like hurt in her voice.
"It's just cereal! You always make a big show out of nothing, and you're attacking my friend over something dumb," he quipped rudely. "Why can't you just lighten up? Maybe you should go back to therapy if you're going to freak out about stuff like this." He instantly wished he could snatch his words from the air and cram them back down his throat.
"Get out of here," said Hazel, expertly masking the fact that tears were threatening to spill down her face. He had exposed one of many pieces of her history that she kept hidden away; she had been conditioned by society to feel ashamed about not being able to repair herself. She could feel the blossom of blush stinging at her cheeks.
"Hazel, I didn't mean it-" her brother started.
"Get away from me, right now, or I'll tell mom about the weed I smelled last Saturday," she threatened. That was enough to send the two boys bounding up to Harvey's bedroom without breakfast.
She blinked the tears away and gathered all of the ingredients to make her father's favorite chocolate chip pancakes.
Cooking Thanksgiving dinner with her father was one of Hazel's favorite holiday traditions. She held a special place in her father's heart and she felt that she could relate to him more than she could her mother. He, too, was kind and soft-spoken and preferred fictional universes to the one he lived in. Just as they began setting the dark, wooden table with their finest china, Hazel heard the all-too-familiar knock at the door and her heart instantly filled with dread.
"Who's that?" she asked with false curiosity her father as she carefully placed crystal wine glasses at each place they had set.
"That boy that Harvey's made a friend out of, Tate something?" her father answered. "Your mother invited him to eat with us; his family doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving."
I must be in the middle of a terrible nightmare...
"Happy Thanksgiving!" she heard Tate say cheerfully from behind her.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Tate," her fathered replied. "What have you got there?"
"I brought you guys a bottle of wine. Figured it's the least I could do," he said, smiling his most charming smile.
Her father forced a tight, appreciative smile and accepted the bottle. "Thank you, how thoughtful," he said politely, setting it on the table. Hazel mulled over the events that were sure to transpire at the fault of that bottle and silently cursed Tate for intruding on her family's holiday. She considered hiding his gift in hopes of avoiding any conflict between her parents. She felt the need to protect her father, almost more than she did herself.
"The turkey needs to be carved, Leo!" her mothered hollered as she walked into the dining room. "Tate, you made it!" she said warmly, leaning in for a hug.
"And I brought you a bottle of wine," he said, his voice dripping with syrupy sweetness, just as Hazel had grabbed it in hopes of concealing it.
"Oh, how wonderful! Put it down on the table, honey," she patted Hazel's shoulder as she made her way to the kitchen to retrieve the corkscrew. Hazel sighed as she set the bottle down once again and resumed arranging the silverware next to each plate. Her father followed Marilyn into the kitchen to carve the turkey, leaving Hazel and Tate in a suffocating silence that he enjoyed far too much. He could practically hear her heart pounding against her ribcage.
He watched as she carefully placed each piece of silverware with an almost sickening precision, exactly one inch from the edge of the table. Her perfectionism was maddening; the way that she made sure everything was in its place, down to the strands of auburn hair that framed her face. If she thought that this evening was going to play out according to plan, he had a rude awakening in store for her.
"It doesn't have to be perfect, you know," he broke the silence. She continued arranging the silverware in response. He let out a short, annoyed sigh and walked around the perimeter of the table, ever so slightly nudging a picture perfect place setting with his fingertips.
"Why do you insist on being infuriating?" she asked rhetorically. "Just get out of my way," she said quietly as she rushed to repair what he had ruined.
"You can't always control everything," said Tate slowly as he exited the dining room, in what almost seemed to be a threatening tone. She shook away the chill she felt crawl down her spine and finished setting the table.
"Let's open up that lovely bottle of wine that Tate so kindly brought over," her mother insisted. They hadn't been sitting at the table more than five minutes before the bottle beckoned her. Leo moved to stand up, but Tate raised his hand in protest.
"No, no, you sit. I'll do the honors," he offered, pushing his chair back and grabbing the wine.
"That's very kind, Tate, thank you," her father replied.
"Can we have wine too?" Harvey said, half joking.
"One glass won't hurt," Marilyn waved her hand nonchalantly.
Her father hesitated, considering the argument that in would surely be in store for him if he opposed her, and agreed, "Fine, one glass."
"Haha, sweet!" chuckled Harvey.
Tate opened the bottle and made his way over to Marilyn. "Ladies first, of course," he charmed her, leaning in a bit too close as he poured her a glass, being careful to fill it to the rim. He moved to Hazel next, smiling down at her. As he poured the dark red wine, he tilted the bottle ever so slightly and watched with delight as it spilled onto the tablecloth and splashed onto her cream-colored dress.
Hazel gasped in horror. "How dare you?!" she shouted, pushing her chair away from the table. "You did that on purpose!"
"I'm so sorry, Hazel. The bottle slipped," he denied, setting the wine on the table. "I guess I just have butterfingers," he said in a dejected tone.
"I watched you purposefully move your hand! I saw you!" she accused, grabbing her napkin and dabbing at the red stain.
"Oh Hazel, that's enough. It was an accident. We don't need a repeat of your episode from last year," her mother interjected, taking a long swig of wine from her glass.
"Marilyn, don't," Leo said sternly. "Don't."
Hazel merely laughed bitterly, throwing her napkin onto the table and rushing out of the dining room. Embarrassed of herself for the second time in front of the person she most despised, she retreated to the back yard. She often sat out on the gazebo listening to the quiet of the night when things became too much to bear. The family heard the back door slam shut loudly as they sat uncomfortably, exchanging looks between each other and their plates.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Harvey said sarcastically, digging into his plate of food.
"Would you excuse me, just for a moment?" Tate asked politely. He left the dining room and made his way to the back door. There was no way he was letting his main source of entertainment sit outside while he was stuck with the family from hell. He concealed himself and slipped silently out the door.
He found her sitting at the gazebo, silhouetted in the dim light of the streetlamps that filtered in through the heard trees. He heard her sniffling occasionally, and watched as her dark shadow wiped away tears now and then. Aw, looks like a pity party for one. Who would cry over a situation as simple as that? What kind of person would have their emotions so exposed, so raw, that the smallest of comments would send them spiraling into a sea of tears? I guess I can't blame her…Harvey did say something about therapy after all. Still, she shouldn't care so much about what other people think. I know how miserable that can be...How weak. He decided to play nice with his toy so that she might agree to come back inside. He silently walked up directly behind her until there was less than a foot of space between their bodies.
"Hey," he said, instantly revealing himself.
She jumped, startled, and tried to regain her composure. "What the hell do you want? Did you come out here to ruin something else?" she asked him, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat.
"I just wanted to say that uh…I really didn't mean to ruin your dress," he attempted kindness.
She scoffed and shook her head, quickly wiping a tear away and hoping he didn't see her weakness.
"I said I'm sorry," he persisted.
She chuckled bitterly and remained silent. She refused to entertain the idea that he could be offering a genuine apology.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked impatiently. After a few moments he let out an annoyed sigh and said, "I don't know why I expected you to know how to return kindness." He began stomping away, feeling the rage swell inside of him like a volcano that was about to burst. More than anything else, he hated when things did not go his way.
"See, that's your problem!" She got up angrily. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, but she persevered. The darkness would conceal any indication of fear. "Your 'apology' wasn't about kindness, or remorse. It was about control." She said in an accusatory tone. "You just want me wrapped around your finger like everyone else in there."
He turned quickly and took two long strides so that he was face to face with her. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her chilled skin. "As if I'd want you wrapped around any part of me," he spat.
"You are impossible! Why don't you ever bring Harvey over to your house? Are you not wanted there? That wouldn't surprise me, because you sure as hell aren't wanted here." She instantly regretted being so cold-hearted. Sometimes she could not control the emotions that swirled inside of her, but that did not warrant her treating people however she pleased. The pit of guilt in her stomach was growing, and she opened her mouth to apologize.
"One could say the same for you. Difference is, when it comes to you, it's actually true. You think Harvey and I don't talk about you? You think I don't know about therapy and how even she couldn't stand you? " she could hear the smirk in his voice. Before she could conjure up the courage to say anything, he turned on his heel and made his way back into the house.
There she stood, a piercing sting of sadness ripping through her chest. Feeling foolish for even considering to offer an apology, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and stifled a small sob. Craning her neck towards the heavens, she gazed at the stars and sighed deeply. She was not going to let this boy break her. She had already torn herself down so many times and she was tired of rebuilding. Too often, she had ripped herself apart into nothing. She had been broken enough that the cracks showed, despite her desperately trying to cover them up. He wanted to see her shattered; she was not going to give him that power. She recollected her thoughts, wiped her remaining tears away and headed back inside, a steadfast determination growing with every step.
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a/n: It has been eons since I've updated this story, I know. I haven't abandoned it! My poor trooper of a laptop decided to die, but I've jimmy-rigged it into working for me again. I've been writing more than ever; I even started another story that I'm collaborating with a friend on. You guys can find the link to that on my profile if you are interested. I've rambled enough on this author's note; I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry once again for the terribly long wait. Thanks for sticking around if you're still here, and newcomers, welcome!
Lots of love,
China