A/N: And so it begins. :D Getting along with Shortman Secrets, 'cause this year's gonna be extra busy for me so I wanna try to get this done relatively quickly. XD Don't get the wrong idea when I say that. This isn't going to be a short chapter... It'll actually probably be the longest one I write. o_0 Or at the very least as long as Zack's... but this time split up more appropriately. No more ridiculously long chapters for you guys. XD I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT, BTW, LOL. I JUST GOT IMPATIENT. But I won't be this time, I promise. ^_^
Got the outline complete, I know exactly where I'm going with it, what I want to get across... and this'll hopefully be well-written, 'cause I'm writing this with a "I could totes publish this and not die of shame" mindset. In other words, I'm gettin' SERIOUS. *Slides shades on and puts on tie* SO LET'S DO THIIIS *Tries to rip tie off and ends up strangling self*
ONE HOSPITAL TRIP LATER
*Wheezes* Now then, my lovely little kumquats... let's get this show on the road already before I kill myself! :B
In order:
~Flawless Individuals~
metalheadrailfan
NerdilyNi
acosta perez jose ramiro
ShiningEmerald0
Onee-chan-05
Emily
Myriamj
HAFanForever
jamesbondfan2016
TheMish
Clarkieexsmiley
Panfla
HufflePufflin
Alyssa Turley
Lyssie7
Conor Dachisen
Thank you guys so much for the support! With a fic like this, it is truly, deeply appreciated. You have no idea. XD If anyone's uncomfortable with being up there, let me know and I'll get you down. Keep in mind that if you don't want to be mentioned, you can always let me know.
And that's all she wrote!
Disclaimer: Zachary, Phillip, Joshua "Ham," and Amanda Faith Shortman all belong to me. Kori G. Johanssen belongs to xxP00h67chu.
Revised on 3/26/2013. Note: why do I attempt things when I'm clearly doomed to failure?
Breathing Slowly
Part 1
"I need some peace of mind
No fear of what's behind
You think you've won this fight
You've only lost your mind!"
—'Had Enough' by Breaking Benjamin
It was a wet, dreary afternoon in Hillwood city as Phil made short work of the sidewalk, his steps stiff and staggering as he splashed through puddles and pushed past any pedestrians lingering by the streets. He didn't care to look back to see their reactions, and he didn't waste his time apologizing. Halfway to downtown from Vine Street, the buildings morphed from old and seemingly falling apart to tall and well-kept. They ranged from deep burgundies to light pastels; vivid pinks and golds, soft lavenders and all ranges of colors of the sky. The colors of happy people. People he didn't belong around.
He kept his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, his head down and hidden beneath the shade of his cabbie. He moved unseeing, his thoughts jumbled and frantic as the wind robbed his cheeks of their color. He clenched his teeth.
It was too far away. He shouldn't have tried to walk it. Barely halfway there and already his lungs were betraying him. The rain was still thick in the air despite it having passed two hours ago, and the clouds drifting overhead gave a colorless, washed out look to even the cheeriest of buildings. It wasn't doing anything to help his mood, to say the least. But he couldn't control himself, couldn't breathe properly even when he was sitting still but fifteen minutes ago, and didn't once slow in his stilted jog. All he knew was that he needed to get away. He needed to put as much distance between himself and that thing as possible. His legs were short, but his determination strong, and he knew he could make it. He just had to keep going. He could make it. He could. If only he could just stop thinking.
What Zack had done was low. Uncalled for. Wrong. Cruel. Cold. Harsh.
Dazed, he pulled a small thesaurus from his pocket and flipped through a few pages, bumping into people as he passed. As, Ds, Hs, Is, Js, Ks, Ls…
Eyes darting over the page, he searched for 'low,' no bit of his mind paid to the fact 'Love' was scribbled out with magic marker. Growling slightly at what he found, he ripped the page out and threw it to the wind, leafing impatiently back through to the Cs to find what he needed. Ah, yes, 'cruel'…
Atrocious. Barbarous. Bestial. Brutal. Depraved. Degenerate. Inhuman. Virulent. Monstrous. But most of all, unbrotherly.
How could he not have seen this coming? He had been so sure. He knew what he'd find out, he knew he'd laugh, but how could he have overlooked something so obvious? It came up enough. He had to bite his tongue at least once every couple weeks just to keep from blurting it out. And yet, he'd learned how to live with it so uneventfully, and it paled in comparison to… to what?
Feeling lost, he stuffed the wrinkled book back into his pocket and sucked in a sharp breath, only just catching himself before he slammed straight into a streetlight. He swerved around it at the last second, picking up pace, as if the thing would fly out of the concrete and chase after him. He was normally so focused. He missed nothing. He saw everything. He didn't overlook the obvious and he certainly didn't crash into things—
He slammed into a mailbox.
For Pete's sake, was he malfunctioning? He wheezed, falling away before stumbling around it and straightening himself. He paused, let out the slowest breath he could manage when his lungs were still screaming, and began down the street once more at a more measured pace. His lungs breathed a shaky sigh of relief with him, and he mentally regrouped. He just had to remember why he was out here, what his purpose was, and where he was heading. Where he needed to go. There was only one place that could fix this. Only one place that could make him feel even the slightest bit better about…
Tears pricked his eyes.
No. No, he didn't care. It hardly mattered anymore. What was out was out. There wasn't anything to be done about it now, and he knew he shouldn't have been so surprised. And he wasn't. No. What truly troubled him was the fact he didn't think he'd ever be able to get him back for this. The bar for revenge had been set by a giant, and he was too short to ever hope to reach it. Always too short. Too small. Too young. No one ever took him seriously and now they never would. How was he supposed to win against this? It wasn't even really blackmail, it was just vicious, and he knew Zack probably thought he was making a big deal out of nothing, but it stung. He couldn't possibly understand.
How long had he been trying to win against him now? How many years had he and Ham had this silent game set out in their heads to best the unbestable? Ham had always been enamored with the idea of winning, but not him. There had been a time Phil had thought him painfully stupid for trying to beat Zack, or really to even consider playing such a menial game anyway. No one could win against him, that had always been obvious, and he hadn't been all that interested in trying. He'd been younger back then, and ignorant; naïve; stupid. He missed those days desperately. They were simpler times back then, much easier than now. Now he found himself with a deep, soul-searing desire to ground his eldest sibling into the dust. And for all his sneakiness and sleuthing nature had afforded him, in his entire life he had only managed to catch Zack with his guard down once. Had only managed to single out one kink in his armor. The fact he was not only a big overconfident jerk, but also a stinking hypocrite.
Poetry… Poetry! He, who had always said poetry was stupid and girly! He, who had mocked him, for so much as thinking about reading it, was a poet himself. It was ludicrous how dishonest he'd proved himself to be. He'd always known he was a liar, but this...
He was the true hypocrite of the two of them. Not him. He'd done nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
A wind blew through suddenly and he shivered, whether just from the cold or his thoughts, he didn't know. But he was exhausted, and he couldn't remember how far he'd walked. The buildings all started bleeding together after a certain point, and his thoughts were spinning around in an endless circle that was starting to make him dizzy.
Stopping a moment to collect himself and look down at his pocket watch, he realized with some surprise that he'd been walking for… quite some time. Where was he exactly? Glancing rapidly around, he caught a street sign and breathed a sigh of relief. Bloom Avenue. He wasn't far now. He picked up his pace again, racing down the sidewalk, past sunny orange buildings and one red brick one that reminded him of the Sunset Arms. It hit him for just a moment how much he wanted his mom, but knew this was for the best. Crying to her would illicit demands of an explanation, and as unsecretive as he fancied himself, this was one situation he would gladly keep under his hat. One he had to keep under his hat. He simply didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to scream about it.
But he hated secrets, they never ended well—hadn't this entire horrible mess reminded him of that?—and he didn't care if he was proving everything Zack or his classmates had ever said about him to be factual all over again. If he was going to make it out of this without dying he had to make it—there.
773. Hillwood Medical Center.
Phil threw the doors open and skittered nervously inside, more than a little aware he was early for his appointment. Dr. Bliss was always very particular about what time of day she wanted him to show up. Something about how the afternoon was usually when he was the most at ease, and thus the easiest time for him to "discuss" his problems. He couldn't very well argue against that, so he'd shrugged and obligingly made his way at the desired time each week.
Today was a special case, though, and he knew she wouldn't be too surprised, especially not with the weather how it was. This wasn't the first time he'd showed up a little early out of anxiousness, or called her in the middle of the night because there was a thunder storm. Was that stupid? Yes. Did he care? No, not particularly, and neither did his nerves. Not a single one of them.
He wasn't just anxious today, though. Today he was more out of sorts than he'd been in a long time. Of course he knew he had always been known for his outbursts, but they always passed, and usually without much damage or cause for concern. Today he couldn't snap himself out of it, and if something didn't give soon, someone was going to get hurt. Namely a chair, or one of those irritatingly ornamental vases that served no purpose but to look ugly. The walls most definitely weren't safe, he knew that much. Like Zack had so cleverly pointed out, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him. Inanimate or otherwise. He simply couldn't help himself. Lunatics never could.
He seethed a little at the thought, before shaking himself out of it.
He must really have made a spectacle of himself, because the couple other waiting kids looked at him with shock. He pointedly ignored them and hastily shuffled his way to the front desk.
"Phillip Shortman," he said mechanically, breathlessly, barely looking at the woman's face as he stared instead down the hall where he knew Dr. Bliss' office to be. His chest heaved, his damp disheveled hair nearly blocking his eyes from sight.
The receptionist merely smiled at him kindly – kind, everyone was always kind here – clicked a few keys, scrolled down a page, and nodded her head at him, unfazed. "Of course. Have a seat, Phil." Phil's legs moved purely out of muscle-memory to a chair across from where the other two were seated, and sank down numbly. His heart refused to stop racing even as he scolded it, and despite that he'd managed to reign in his thoughts to a mere murmur of their previous shout, he couldn't keep his emotions from roiling inside of him like an acidic sea.
With little else to do but wait, he felt himself starting to feel sick to his stomach. In an attempt to distract himself, he looked up at the other two across from him, who were staring at him unabashedly. He glared at them for it, but even still they stared, quite blatantly. Mentally rolling his eyes, he focused his look somewhere on the ceiling, and stared there for the remainder of the hour, focusing solely on keeping his breathing steady and not exploding. He didn't want to cause a scene. Not today, not when he felt so sure an outburst would result in little else but making him even more upset than he already was. He would master himself. He wouldn't for anyone else or at any other time or place, but he would here.
Everyone here was always kind to him, no matter how foul his mood. He felt somehow ashamed of his initial behavior upon starting sessions here, but found he couldn't regret it, recalling the events preceding it. For the first couple months of his acquaintance with Dr. Bliss, he'd stubbornly refused to talk. Instead he'd napped, or took one of the many psychology books from her shelf to browse. Sometimes he quizzed her disdainfully, and other times he just stared out the window and enjoyed the sunlight. It was at his mother's insistence that he'd showed up each week, but it was for no other reason than to set her mind at ease that he went without complaint, and no matter how clever Bliss' attempts, he refused to speak. She still spoke however. As a result he'd learned quite a bit from the kind and eternally understanding woman in that time.
On one day she'd confessed, in an attempt to reassure him, that despite his silence, she'd assessed already from his behavior that he was embarrassed to be there, that he felt it only confirmed people's suspicions that he was a veritable psycho (though she worded it differently, he knew what she meant), which was only part of it, but he hadn't told her that until later. At the time he was much too distracted with being insulted by her announcement—how presumptuous and conceited of her! To act as if she knew him based off air! Even if it were true, he'd been more offended than comforted at the time, before he'd had time to really think about it.
But the truly interesting part of the session had been when she'd told him moments after that though his actions were definitely cause for concern, they were nothing compared to those of his mother throughout her childhood, which had intrigued him and later horrified his mother. Dr. Bliss had merely been warmly amused, however, and given no specifics on that front.
No, according to her, he had his share of problems, but his mother's had been much worse, and if she could overcome hers, then he certainly could as well. She thought him a very mild case. Nothing more than slightly troubled, and for complications mainly afflicted by his personality. He'd inherited his father's sense of calm, composure and conscience, and his mother's passion, ridiculous temper, and sensitivity, or lack thereof—a union that was never meant to come together in one being. No matter how calm he outwardly appeared, it was rare there wasn't a storm brewing inside of him, strong and raring to escape at the first sign of irritation. He'd tried to suppress his emotions for years, and though at times he could with satisfaction declare himself utterly indifferent, there were some things in the world he simply couldn't not care about. Those were the things that sent his emotions roiling and rearing back like a snake, transforming the once listless boy into a quivering mass of either deep fury or profound sorrow.
Dr. Bliss said his strong feelings made him special.
He thought they just made him a freak.
A door was heard clicking from down the hall then, and Phil bounded immediately from his seat to the hall. He'd made it just in time to witness the woman and boy exchanging a hug, but he could hardly process something so trivial in his state. Upon seeing him, Dr. Bliss smiled her usual kind smile – kind, always kind, good people – and gestured for him to come inside.
Phil eagerly obliged.
No sooner had the door shut behind them that he'd thrown his jacket and hat off and gulped in a large breath of air, before turning to her with a wild expression and terrified conduct, no longer attempting to mask himself. At her look of question, he stated two words, and two words only.
"He knows."
Two Years in the Past
If there was one thing Phil did not like, it was feeling like time was passing him by too quickly.
His life had passed him by in an unseemly, five-second blur of pranks, corndogs and yelling. He could recall certain moments in perfect clarity if he focused hard enough or the subject was broached, but as a whole in his baser moments it was nothing but a colorful haze. A colorful haze he had no idea what to do with.
He remembered skinning his knee when he'd learned to ride at six and his mother quelling his cries with a smothering amount of kisses and band-aids, but most of it was only his to recall due to all the times his mom had told the story over dinner as an amusing anecdote. In reality the starkest of his remembrance was how blue the sky was when he'd found himself on his back, and the rough red and white of the brick when he'd turned his head. He didn't remember the upset, or the pain, or even his fall past the whoosh of air in his lungs before the actual event. None of what his mom seemed to find the most enjoyment out of describing. Just blue, blue, blue, and brick. Deep red rough brick.
Past that he could remember fishing with Grandpa Phil. He could remember a lot of terror involved in the episode, due to the fact he couldn't swim, and even more terror afterwards when his great-grandpa had accidentally tipped the boat in his enthusiasm of pointing out a fish and ended up dunking them both. Apparently, his grandpa had just laughed at his flailing and dragged him and his water wings back into the boat. Again, he remembered most of the event purely due to his grandfather's spirited retellings. And he did like to tell that story a lot.
He'd never expressed this concern with anyone. Not to his great-grandpa, not to Grandpa Bob, and not even to Zack. He didn't know how he would go about voicing his complaint even if he wanted to anyway. It was little more than a niggling discomfort welled deep in his stomach, and really the only reason it had surfaced was because his ninth birthday was coming up, as his mother had tearfully reminded him this morning.
Upon realizing it was only a month away, he'd felt the need to regroup and reassess his situation a bit, if only to calm himself down and stop hyperventilating. He'd spent ten minutes prior to now skidding around in the bathroom grasping at the toilet lid trying not to throw up, and that wouldn't do. It was dumb, over something so minor. He knew it was, so he'd stopped himself. After all, he prided himself on being the intelligent and sensible one of his siblings. Of course it was always him to reprimand them on their silly behavior—that time with the acclaimed "haunted house" next door; all those absurd food fights that had gone on in the household; the impromptu sessions of hide and seek that never seemed to end well; that time Josh had formed a crush on two different girls at one time. Phil didn't know anything about love, but he knew very well morally that it was unheard of to nurture feelings for more than one person. What kind of a buffoon would ever do such a thing? It simply wasn't right.
And Phil so prided himself on his strong sense of wrong and right. He found himself often at a loss whenever anyone else demonstrated any action breaching the obvious line between the two—clearly something was wrong with their head, and Phil was more than happy to correct them on their blunder.
This was perhaps partly why he didn't say anything about his doubts. They were unreasonable feelings to have, and not ones he was going to encourage. Time simply had to pass, and that was that. His main worry, though – he had to admit – was if one day this day now, and the day after that, and after that as well, would be nothing but a fog; thick and choking and all but impossible to sift through. If one day all he would remember was pointless, inane things, like the color of the couch or the odd movement of a hand as it passed through the air, rather than the actual events, the things that would truly mean something one day. But it didn't matter. None of that did. Time had to pass, and that was that.
Nine years old.
He was going to be nine. Even though he still wasn't used to being eight. Time was rather rude, wasn't it? It was like that annoying kid who latched himself onto you on a field trip, sneaking up on you unannounced and dragging you around even though you weren't done looking at the 200-year-old turtle. It didn't care how you felt about it, or if you were ready—because it wanted to see the clownfish, even though they were stupid.
Sniffing in distaste, he threw the remote he'd been holding for comfort over on the other side of the couch and pouted, grabbing his knees to his chest. He didn't even know why he humored the thought for a millisecond. It wasn't like it did anything. He glared at the green fabric of the couch by his socked feet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The point was making himself feel better, not to stir up the confusing emotions even more than they already were. He huffed, childishly frustrated and even more frustrated at himself for being so over something so trivial.
He didn't have much longer to think on the matter, as an eleven-year-old Josh decided now would be a good time to come jogging into the room. With wilting flaxen-colored cowlicks and a lean body spread evenly with tan from years of outdoor activities, he certainly looked the part of the ignoramus jock older brother, which was exactly how Phil saw him. He regarded him warily over the back of the couch. The boy was normally very calm and kept to himself until opportunity presented itself to over exude, but that was just it—an opportunity had arisen. Phil could practically smell it in the air around him, like that ever-present scent of sweat and earth that seemed forever hopelessly clinging to him. As it were, whenever sports came up of any kind, he would suddenly get very enthusiastic, which Phil didn't like one bit. It often meant bad, very stupid things were about to happen.
Thus was why when he came bounding over to stand behind the couch, Phil nearly threw himself back off of his perch to get away from him. Josh played the back of the couch like a drum before throwing himself down to rest his head in his arms with twinkly, contented eyes, like he had some secret he took great pleasure in not revealing. Maybe it was that Victoria's secret thing he kept seeing everywhere, or he finally managed to get the high score on Prison Break. He really didn't know, nor did he want to, so he resolved himself not to think anymore about it. He sucked in a jittery breath.
"Hey, Phil," the elder boy spoke simply, smiling, "Wrestlemania in fifteen. You excited?" He grinned.
Phil issued him one of his standard agitated looks and scoffed. Hugging his knees closer, he informed him, "Wrestling's just a bunch of staged hogwash, Josh. It's not real violence. I'll pass, thanks." He held his chin high. It was true after all; it wasn't real—mostly just grown, glistening men in tight-fitted diapers circling each other and jumping around for show. No, now if he wanted true entertainment all he had to do was toss a tube of lip-gloss amongst the girls at school and watch them battle to the death in the middle of the classroom. Now that was fun to watch.
Josh raised an eyebrow, before his shoulders bounced in a careless shrug as he straightened himself. Walking around the couch to claim the chair beside it, he felt obligated to warn, "Better not let Grandpa Bob or Phil hear you say that. Their heads'll probably explode."
Phil frowned, watching disquietly as Josh sank back into the chair and twisted his Yahoo open. The signature ssspst that assaulted his ears made him suddenly thirsty, and after his first swallow Josh seemed to notice and offered him some. Phil shook his head, retreating in on himself. Josh just arched an eyebrow again, as he seemed to like doing around him, before wrapping both hands around the bottle and resting it on his lap. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but before anything more could be voiced, they were interrupted.
The room cracked very suddenly in two with the arrival of their eldest and loudest brother, aged fourteen, who swaggered in and announced himself with joking enthusiasm, "Fret no more, your king has arrived! Hold your applause, please."
Josh gave a quick eye roll and snorted his response, "As if."
Zack sent a rakish look at him for the reaction, his sandy hair draping down over his unibrow in loose strands. With hopelessly unruly hair and an even more hopelessly unruly personality, Zack made quite the presence in the room, demanding attention with little more than his existence. He radiated confidence and charm, and Phil doubted anyone could successfully ignore Zack for very long, if at all. He was no exception. "Jealous, dear brother?" the entity asked with barely concealed amusement.
"Not at all." Josh smiled, his features smooth. "You come in here for Wrestlemania?" he asked just as casually, already well aware of the answer.
As anticipated, Zack snorted, and traipsed over to smooth his hair down in the reflection of the TV. "It's all just staged, Josh, you know that. Who wants to watch idiots trying to bash each other's brains in anyway? It's barbaric… Of course I know you're into that sort of thing, though, so I'll stop talking." Phil threw a smug look at Josh, to which he gave a faint smirk and sipped his drink. Mockingly, Zack dismissed the topic with a hmph, and turned his head around to bestow them with a smirk. "'Sides, I have a date tonight."
Josh and Phil both shared a look, before they looked back to him with tightened lips. Josh sighed, tapping his fingers against his bottle. "Who is it this time?"
Zack turned around to face the two and put a hand to his chest with eyes wide and mouth agape. They both gave him a dry look, and he dropped the act with a barely suppressed laugh. "Fine, fine. New girl at school. I got assigned to show her around the school, show her the ropes and all, you know… and boy did I hit the jackpot." Leaning over with his hands resting on the coffee table, he divided his look between his two brothers with white teeth and gleaming blue eyes. "This one's a babe. Fourteen and already the most attractive specimen I've ever laid my eyes on. She ate up all the usual material, too. Fell into me like the floors were made of butter." Straightening himself, he turned back around to look at himself and pressed his shirt free of wrinkles with a hand. "Typical girl. Tonight'll be a cinch."
"We're still getting corn dogs, though, right?" Phil asked, leaning over slightly to try to meet his eyes in the reflection.
Zack spun around and smiled past him with an easy grace, his mind already miles away. He walked by the couch and gave a quick pat to Phil's shoulder, trying to reassure him with the touch even as it just made Phil uncomfortable, as Zack should've known it would. Not that it ever stopped him, but Phil simply didn't like being touched. He didn't know why, really. Maybe after years of having affection showered on him by his overzealous mother he'd finally reached his limit, or he simply didn't like that it was so easy for people to breach his territorial bubble without his consent, but whatever the cause it was a well known fact amongst the family that he didn't like touching. That is, unless he was the one to initiate it, but he rarely ever did that. He had no reason to.
As he tensed and felt discomfort curl in his stomach, Zack continued to pat his shoulder and spoke brightly, "Every Sunday evening without fail. How could you ever doubt me, baby brother?" A grin took hold of his face then as his watch beeped, and he eagerly strutted out of the room, flittering his hand back at them in farewell. "Don't wait up, peasants!"
"Wouldn't dream of it," Josh murmured as he stared in the direction he had departed, and heard the front door swing shut. He turned his eyes back to Phil's with a growing smile, appearing almost mischievous even as Phil was sure he didn't know the meaning of the word. "You have to feel bad for the girl. She doesn't know who she's dealing with."
"Psht," Phil flicked his eyes to the ceiling, leaning back into the comfort of the couch with arms crossed snugly across his chest. "Who cares? It's just a girl."
"Better watch your tongue, Phil," a third, female voice intervened, before Kori G. Johanssen walked into the room and made her way over to stand beside Josh's seat. Phil and Kori had a very special kind of relationship—not quite hate, but certainly not like, and it was all in her face as she regarded him, eyes shifting over him coolly. "Girls might get mad."
Phil couldn't quite control the smirk that spread slyly across his face. "I'd say sorry if I could be sincere."
Kori pursed her lips and averted her eyes, clearly displeased with this answer. He didn't know what she'd expected. It had only been a week before that they'd been caught in an argument over boys' clear superiority over girls in paper football, and obviously he was on the boys' side. What made her think he'd have changed his opinion since then? Of course he knew girls had worth of some sort, but he couldn't see much past the pretty hair and strange obsession with dolls.
Kori fancied herself superior to most, he thought, though she'd deny it, but he knew the truth about her. Past the skirts and burettes and girly goggles, she was just a boy herself, timid and bookish though she may be at times. It showed in her enthusiasm for roller coasters, her fascination with bugs and wildlife, and her clear enjoyment of spooky stories and legends, not to mention her longstanding friendship with the most boyishly sport-obsessed person around. As far as Phil was concerned, she didn't count as a girl. She was a rare form of girl-boy, and until the time came that he found a truly frilly, pink, inarguably XX-chromosomed female that showed signs of having actual brain activity, he wasn't going to hold his breath.
Josh cast a knowing smile at Kori as she glared at the floor, before turning his gaze back onto him. "You know, Phil," he helped Kori's point, his eyes flicking somewhere behind him a split-second before a smirk melted over his face, "if it weren't for a girl, you wouldn't even be here. You should try to show a little more respect."
Phil stared at him wide-eyed a long moment, before bursting into laughter. He exclaimed, his eyes tearing up, "Mom's not a girl!"
And just like that, he was being smacked upside the head, and his laughter immediately morphed into a yelp. Helga came up to stand beside him, giving him a severe look that was more of a tease. Phil glared at her all the same, though mildly, as he annoyingly had difficulty staying mad with her. The moment was short-lived, in any case, as nearly every other resident of the boarding house came crowding into the room in anticipation of the impending wrestling match. Or at least every male boarding house member, save Helga, which was only further confirmation to Phil that she was, indeed, not a girl. A boy posing as a girl, maybe, which made Phil wonder not for the first time why his father had married her as he watched the two of them fall into the couch beside him and cuddle in together. Secretly, he thought his dad might be a little homosexual, though he would never voice this thought. He didn't need another slap upside the head from his mom, thank you.
But really, the man sewed, tailored, sang, acted, adored poetry, classical music and jazz, plays, opera, symphony, horses, was a hopeless romantic, and had been doing his own laundry since he was seven-years-old. By all accounts, he shouldn't even be a man. He supposed it made sense that he would marry an acclaimed author and poet, as his mom had often said that he was cultured and that was one of the many reasons they were perfect for one another, but Phil still didn't see it. Past the poetry and occasional Shakespearean play, his mom was one of the most uncultured, boorish women he'd ever known.
When he was younger, he'd thought it was normal for the father to suggest they go to the opera and the mother to laugh and say they couldn't 'cause football was coming on. He'd thought nothing of it when he caught his mom having a drunken burping competition with three other men and his father rubbing his forehead in exasperation. He hadn't batted an eye any of the times he walked in on his mom flipping through the action movie channels laughing at someone getting their head blown off as his father sipped tea and reread Charles Dickens. But then of course, his mother had her overly romantic, fanciful moments, and his dad loved all the normal "boy" things—so, really, both of them were odd girl-boy, boy-girl hybrid things. Maybe that was why they were perfect for each other?
Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to question the entire reason he existed. Or at least, not too much. He couldn't deny it baffled him, even as it had always been normal for him to see the two of them exchanging loving glances and kisses. Since after his first day at school he'd gotten a big wake-up call to what was actually the proverbial norm for boys and girls, and had been paralyzed with horror. He'd struggled for months to get out of his habits of listening to jazz, Chopin and reading poetry. For Pete's sake, he'd been trying to read Jane Austen when he was five, utterly ignorant of the fact it was a romance novel and most certainly not for boys. He blamed his dad for that, for not being a better example. His Grandpa Bob was a better example. Heck, even Grandpa Phil was a better example, and he spent most of his days sitting in the bathroom reading girly magazines. He'd worked hard to fit back in and be a real boy, and still nobody liked him. How could they be so blatantly, disgustingly different and not care?
Keeping his arms crossed over his chest, he scowled when he was rudely called out of his thoughts by his dad reaching over to affectionately ruffle his hair. "Why the perturbed look, Phil?" his dad asked, amused.
He ignored his question to straighten his hair back out and scold, as if he were the father, "You know I hate that."
Arnold just smirked, and Helga joined in shortly after. Phil's head dropped into a pout, and it wasn't long before he heard Grandpa laugh.
"Come on, come on," Ernie said anxiously, scooting tightly into the couch between Phil and Arnold. "It's gonna be starting any second now!"
"Hold your horses," Grandpa shushed him, sinking slowly back into the recliner across from Josh and cringing as he heard a few bones crackle and snap, like a bowl of cereal. He gave a long sigh of relief when he made it mostly unbroken into the chair, and relaxed into the cushions. "We've still got a few minutes. Where's the clicker?"
"Uh," Helga started, awkwardly, "I think I'm sitting on it." Pushing Arnold's arm away so she could sit up, she grimacingly pulled the remote out from under the cushions and, in effect, her butt, holding it up as if she'd performed some kind of magic trick. "Got it!" She grinned at her success and tossed it over.
Grandpa caught the remote and in the same motion pressed Power. The TV flickered to life just as a commercial for tampons came on with dancing, skipping women in white, and Grandpa instantly muted it and turned his attention back to Arnold and Helga.
"So," Grandpa said a little too brightly, a grin splitting his ancient face, "how long are you staying?"
Arnold and Helga looked to each other instinctively, but before they could answer Gertie burst in from the kitchen with cymbals bashing and gaily declared, "Forever!"
Arnold and Helga's eyes shot fully open. "No," they both shouted on impulse, practically flying out of their seats, before realizing what they'd just done and forcing themselves to relax.
"I mean," Helga swiftly began, sharing an anxious look with her husband, "we really appreciate you guys putting up with us but we really can't stay too long…"
"You're the best," Arnold warmly added, sincerely. "We couldn't do this terrible toddler thing without you. Amanda's been driving us crazy and it's really good of you to help out."
"Ohh," Grandpa waved them off, "not another word out of you, Short Man. You know we miss ya! Any time staying with us is more of a gift to us than it is to you." Both Arnold and Helga looked down guiltily, and Grandpa gave them a sly eye. "Of course, we wouldn't want to keep ya too long. We know how you value your privacy."
"It's not that," Arnold was quick to correct, before he stopped himself and clamped his mouth closed. No, that wasn't entirely true. They did love their privacy. But… "Helga just needs as much quiet as she can get for her career and it's already so cramped here. I mean, there are plenty of bedrooms, of course, but so few bathrooms, one kitchen…" He exchanged a troubled look with Helga.
Helga just sighed. "We've had this conversation before, Phil. You know why we had to move out. But that doesn't mean we don't love you guys or anything—"
Grandpa quieted them both with a cackle. "Oh, hush! I was just teasing you! For Pete's sake, I make one comment and you two go off listing every consolation in the book." He threw his arms up in the air in a burst of skeptical amusement. "You started a family! You were getting jobs! Of course you had to move out! We don't begrudge you the obvious—we may be old, but we're not dim." He grinned then, wide and sprightly. "So long as I get to see my favorite great-grandson at least once a week, I'm good."
Both Phil and Josh exchanged a look at this, silently trying to figure out who the favorite was. Phil stopped short the next second, and his eyes narrowed at Josh's even considering for a second he was the favorite.
Grandpa cackled again at the sight and slapped his knees, snapping them out of their staring competition. "Oh, you're all too easy to mess with! Enough, enough." With a chuckle and a tear wiped from his eye, he leaned forward to cup his hands together between his knees, smiling more sensibly at his grandson and granddaughter-in-law. "You have to stay for a month, at least. Considering Philly's birthday coming up, it's the only amount of time that makes sense. How does that sound?"
Phil's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to respond, when Ernie interrupted them, "Yeah, yeah, it sounds swell, Gramps, now unmute already, it's on!"
"Oh!" Grandpa leaned speedily back and clicked the volume back on high, just in time for the bell to ring and Helga, Josh and Ernie to start hollering. Arnold just sat back and chuckled, twisting his Yahoo open and taking a swig. Phil bit the side of his mouth, before leaning behind where Ernie sat perched to poke his dad in the arm. Arnold blinked and looked over at him, his smile widening. "Yeah, Phil?"
"We have to stay, Dad," he whispered imploringly, thinking about how little time there'd be for thinking with so many people around. And his birthday, well, that went without saying.
Arnold cracked up at the pleading note in his eyes, his laugh light and nearly silent before his countenance melted back into an easy smile. "Sure, Phil. A month's not a problem." Thinking back on Amanda's screaming ways and newfound passion for hide n' seek, he leaned back into his seat and turned freshly blank eyes back to the television, muttering, "God knows we need all the help we can get."
Phil visibly relaxed at his father's acceptance and leaned back, just in the knick of time as Ernie threw himself back and yelled, "Ah, come on!"
Phil's lip curled as his mind began to register all the hooting and obnoxious energy in the room, and jumped down from the couch to slip away as quietly as possible, backing carefully away. As soon as he was in the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief, and fell back against the wall. He wasn't the greatest when it came to being around so many strong personalities in one house, but if they kept him distracted, then he was glad for it. Besides, his birthday party was going to be held here in a month anyway. It was always a family affair for him, just as he liked it; quiet and private. No one got in and no one got out. No trespassers or unwelcome strangers. So of course staying here was the only logical thing to do.
It would be a little like a vacation. The local girls would keep Zack busy most of the time, Josh had Kori within walking distance for a change, there were plenty of adults to take care of Amanda, his grandparents would be occupied with his parents, and though it would still be loud and alive and blissfully keeping his mind from drifting to places that were beneath him, all that still left him with lots of free time to roam the house and explore, which was long overdue. He didn't know this house anywhere near as well as Zack did, and he was supposed to inherit it one day, for gosh sakes. He should… check out the plumbing, or something.
Zack knew the entire house like the back of his hand, since he'd lived here for a short time as a kid. He'd enjoyed getting lost in the ridiculously large house, especially since he had a fascination with building and fixing—but mostly taking apart, much to their parents distress. He knew every pipe, every leak, every screw, nut and bolt. He knew how many stairs there were and the exact number of rooms; which ones had windows and which ones didn't, how many times you had to hit the washing machine to get it to go, which closets had secret passageways and which ones just housed old sweatshirts. Phil didn't even know if the floors were maple or oak.
He only ever got to come over on weekends, and most of that time was spent being dragged around town by his grandparents. He hardly ever had time to breathe, let alone check the place out like he knew he should. Maybe now with so much time here he'd get to look around finally, see what he was in for. With this thought in mind, he glanced around the kitchen for a few minutes, but then became bored and his thoughts drifted off.
After another minute or so, he realized his eyes were resting on the refrigerator and he became painfully aware again of just how thirsty he was. Smacking his lips, he wandered over to the refrigerator and opened it wide, wincing slightly as the cold air blasted him in the face, before his eyes widened. Well, crap.
The entire thing was completely infested with Yahoo soda. Diet, cherry, regular, extra fizz, no fizz, blueberry, raspberry… He snarled at the last one.
He didn't even like soda that much. It was too strong, too sugary, and it always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Nonetheless, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he grabbed a regular out and popped it open, taking a tentative sip. He sighed the moment it hit his tongue, wondering why he was surprised. Maybe if he added water—
There was a knocking at the door.
Phil jumped at this, startled, but it passed quickly enough. It was probably just the mailman or something. Someone ordered a package. People did that at boarding houses, right? He pursed his lips, barely knowing what to think and not much caring as he walked into the hall and swung the door open. The second his eyes met with those of the creature on his doorstep, he stiffened.
As far as he knew, mailmen didn't wear green. Or kilts.
Harsh footsteps sounded from behind him, and it was only once they were right behind him that he finally registered he was in trouble. The door was grabbed roughly away from his hand by his mother as she hissed down at him, "Phillip Shortman! You can't just go answering doors without supervision!" Phil looked up at her with a dry stare and turned to wander calmly back up the hall.
Helga huffed at his behavior, running a hand through her messy hair in agitation as she looked down at the young, blonde and clearly very disturbed Campfire Lass on their doorstep. She glowered down at her, casting a dark shadow over her trembling form. "We don't want any of your damn cookies." And with that, she slammed the door shut, the last and only sound coming from the girl being a high-pitched squeak.
Phil just continued to wander up the hall, no destination in mind other than away. He took another sip of his drink out of boredom. It was still inadequate, of course.
Everything was inadequate.
A/N: First part complete. Second pending. It's got Zaaaaaack. :3 REVIEW IF YOU WANT IT. They motivate me to keep going. And to not die. xD I would've just put the Zack part here but it was getting too long which would've meant this would've been WAAAAAY too long. XD And like I said, I'm gonna be keeping these chapter parts as short as I can. :I
OH, funny thing: The abbreviation of Phil's chapter name is "BS." XD ROFLMBO IT'S SO PERFECT I CAN'T GET OVER IT.
Love you guys! :3 And I'm super excited to tell this story! I hope you all enjoy what I've got in store. :D
REVIEW!