Warning: two vulgar terms are used in this chapter. I don't mean anything by it. It's used for the purpose of the story, just be aware.
Sara Calaway was not in a pleasant disposition following the bomb her husband had dropped on her during dinner.
"Sara, I did tell the man. He doesn't take no for an answer," Mark tried to explain to his wife for probably the fifth time.
"I know he doesn't. That's because whenever he says jump, you say, how high, boss?" Sara mocked him.
"Hey! I ain't nobody's bitch," the giant barked at her.
She only stared at him, not intimidated by his rough attitude. He may be the big dog at work but Sara didn't put up with that. His bark was worse than his bite, really. "We agreed to keep them out of the spotlight. That's why we didn't include them in the angle last year."
"I know that. But you know how Vince is."
"I'm just wondering when -if ever- the Calaways will be just as important as the McMahons to you?" Sara asked pointedly, tossing the dish towel down after drying her hands.
"Oh, don't start that shit," Mark scoffed. "I suppose we should just go back to living in that shit studio apartment? Because it's not like I've been killing myself all these years to give you and the kids a good life."
"There you go with the stuff. The house, the cars. Meanwhile, our kids are trying to kill themselves!"
"You're gonna put that shit on me? You-" Mark stopped.
"Rev, we should go. It's not right to eavesdrop," Heather whispered, pulling at her sister's arm.
Reves shushed her, trying to listen as they stood just outside the dining room that was connected to the kitchen.
"What are you dorks doing?" Their brothers appeared beside them and Reves threw her hands up in exasperation.
The next instant, they heard their father scolding them, "Your mother and I are talking. Get lost."
The teenagers moved into the den and Reves gave a glaring look at her brothers. "Thanks, morons."
"I can't believe Vince is giving you two contracts. What a sack of shit that is," Steven growled.
" Aww, is someone jealous?" Rev asked sardonically. "It's not like you idiots could draw a damn dime."
"You're not gonna draw. You're gonna be a cumdumpster to Vinnie Mac," Marcus retorted.
Heather wasn't entirely certain of the meaning behind such a sordid sounding term, but she knew it was anything but kind. Her assumption was confirmed as she watched her sister's open hand connect to the side of her brother's face with a resounding crack. Heather gasped and her jaw fell open as if it had become unhinged. "Rev!" Heather exclaimed in shock.
Caught off guard, Marcus' head snapped to the side. He whipped his head back, staring daggers at Reves. Breathing like a rage-induced bull, Marcus stepped to the smaller blonde girl. Standing six foot four, the twins where far from small. They were not quite as tall as their father, but he still towered over her. Marcus balled his hand into a fist, raising it to his side slightly.
Reves glanced down at his fist, then blue eyes locked onto green. "I wish you would," she challenged.
Steven appeared beside her and shoved her slightly.
"Ohhh! You gotta gang up on me? Okay, pussies."
"Guys, come on. We really shouldn't be arguing," Heather suggested meekly.
"What the fuck's going on in here?" Mark bellowed as he stood in the doorway menacingly.
"She slapped me, damnit!" Marcus shouted in defense.
"He called me a-" Reves was cut off by her father.
"I don't give a fuck what happened," he yelled, his eyes raking over each of them. "I'm sick of this bullshit. Y'all want to be treated like adults, yet you act like a bunch of Goddamn toddlers. Why don't you get a damn job and pay your own bills, then we'll see how grown you are. Now get out of my sight. All of you."
Reves was the first to storm out of the room. Her face was contorted in a wrathful expression as she muttered obscenities under her breath.
The brothers followed and Heather fell in line last with her head hanging.
"Nice job," Sara imparted scathingly.
"What?" Mark asked, irritated. He was already out of sorts from contending with his wife. He wasn't going to put up with his kids bickering too. "So, now I handled that wrong too?"
She didn't say anything. She only walked away shaking her head.
A couple of hours had passed since the spat between her siblings. Heather laid on her bed, trying to read but her thoughts repeatedly wondered to the quandary as to whether her father would acquiesce to Mr. McMahon's proposal. Such a situation could lead to various outcomes and scenarios. One guarantee, it would certainly increase the frequency in which she spent time in the presence of the blonde goliath. Her breath hitched and her cheeks flamed when she envisioned those hazel eyes staring at her.
Suddenly, her sister burst into her room. "Get changed. We're going out," she informed her as she ripped Heather's drawers open, yanking out all manner of clothing.
Heather sat up as she watched her sister in bewilderment. Reves was wearing a red mini skirt with a black tank top, fishnet stockings, and her signature boots. "I'm certain Dad and Mom don't wish us to go anywhere tonight."
"Piss on them," Reves commented and tossed a pair of black tights and a purple tartan skirt at the younger girl.
"Pray tell, just where are we going?" Heather asked as she hesitantly slid off her baggy jeans and began laboring with the tights as she tried to conceal her figure as much as possible. She didn't suppose her parents would be too thrilled about an evening rendezvous, but she was foolishly elated that Reves desired to spend time with her.
Reves chortled and sighed. "The Bedsons are having themselves a little party."
The color drained from Heather's face. "Why the hell would we go there?" she demanded without a second thought.
Reves knew that would ruffle her sister's feathers, but she explained, "Okay, so Sydney just called me and told me Erik is supposed to be accompanying his little sister, Andrea to said party. So, I figured what's the harm in making a tiny appearance?" she shrugged and grinned mischievously. Then she proceeded to attack her sister's face with the eyeshadow brush and mascara wand.
"Why do you desire to see Erik again?" Heather was confounded. Erik had terminated their relationship. They hadn't spoken in months. Did she still harbor feelings for him? What of her association with Scott Hall?"
When she ventured to inquire, Reves smirked at her. "Girl, you've got a lot to learn," she replied cryptically and tossed a tube of lip gloss on the dresser.
"Rev, I have no interest in going to some absurd house party. Let alone one hosted by the Bedsons." Heather was struggling to block the traumatic memories from her head.
"Look, I promise nothing will happen to you. Their house gets so packed with drunk and high idiots, you know that. I doubt you'll even run into either of them. And if you do, I'll punch them in their whore face."
Heather assumed her sister was still fuming from her earlier tiff with their brothers, though it didn't lessen her reservations. "I don't think so," Heather murmured with downcast eyes.
"C'mon! Weren't you just saying we never do anything together anymore?"
"Well, we could if you would not drop me as if I were some sort of leper," Heather groused.
Reves laughed at her in a cynical tone. "I promise, I won't leave your side tonight. Please!" Reves managed to beg with convincing puppy eyes.
With a heavy sigh, Heather relented. "Fine, but you had better be sincere in your words."
"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Now open the window."
"The window?" the younger girl repeated in disbelief.
The blonde smirked and opened the door leading into the hallway. "The look on your face," she mused.
The two girls crept downstairs. They could hear their parents in the family room, still exchanging harsh words. Their quarreling rendered Heather with a heavy heart as they scurried quietly towards the front door.
Reves opened the door slowly. Heather stepped over the threshold and froze when she heard her father's thundering voice call from the family room., "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Panic-stricken, Heather glanced at Reves.
"Just going to see Sydney," the blonde replied casually.
"Your asses should be in your rooms."
"Oh. Now you want to do something responsible, Mark?" Sara interjected.
Rolling her eyes, Reves flipped the bird and closed the door behind her. She started down the steps of the front porch. Heather wavered a moment, looking back at the door before following suit.
They could already see the Bedson ranch, lit up like a Christmas tree. Leaving the cement driveway, they started out on the dirt road that would eventually fork off towards the Bedson's home. Reves had elected that they should walk. Bedson parties were known to be real blowouts and she didn't want to risk damage to her car by the fucked up morons that would be there.
As they walked, Reves quickly grew irritated with Heather dragging her feet and turning back to look at the house. "Heather, hurry up. Fuck," she griped.
With a little jolt, Heather increased her pace slightly. "I'm concerned about Mom and Dad. I don't want them quarreling on our account," Heather voiced.
Reves rolled her eyes. "Who cares. They've been doing it since before we were born. They're a walking advertisement for Dr. Phil. Actually, this whole family is, but that's beside the point," Reves admitted as she kicked a rock with the toe of her boot.
After that, they fell into relative silence as they made it the rest of the way to the Bedsons'. They could already hear the blaring music and shouting from hundreds of feet away.
Heather had to battle the urge to turn and sprint back towards home. She pondered how she always allowed herself to be drawn into these precarious situations. That was the last place she figured she'd have ended up that night. Yet, there she stood, outside the Bedsons' sprawling mansion.
The home boasted a posh interior with vaulted ceilings and marble floors. At the present time, it was in the process of being decimated by the wild shenanigans taking place both inside and out.
The Calaway sisters pushed their way inside and entered into the expansive foyer. Heather's senses were already overwhelmed as they surveyed the vicinity. A commotion to Heather's left drew her attention to one of the many sitting rooms. Her eyes widened at Brandon Bedson being hoisted into the air by his ankles in what was apparently dubbed a keg stand. Most of the football team were gathered around cheering him on. Amongst them, she noticed Marcus and Steven. Goodness, what was she doing here? This was pure insanity. One thing was certain. She definitely didn't want to be caught in Brandon's line of sight. Or her brothers', for that matter.
"Rev," she squeaked. She shifted her head to the right only mildly surprised to see that her sister had evanesced and was nowhere in sight. "Oh, damnit!" she groused. She craned her neck and rose up on her tiptoes attempting to locate her sister within the crowd. A sense of irritation began to grow with her when she was unsuccessful.
Heather began moving through the congested house. She recognized many of her classmates as she weaved in and out of the throngs. Some of them stared at her in shock and whispered amongst themselves, while a couple of people actually said hello to her. Muttering, she returned the greetings half-heartedly and moved on.
As Heather moved passed a room located towards the back of the home, she heard a laughter ring out that turned her blood to ice and nearly immobilized her. "Oh no," she whispered as she felt the ball in the pit of her stomach tighten. She turned to head back in the opposite direction, but the way was now blocked.
The laughter ceased and the southern drawl floated over the din. "Oh my God! Is that who I think it is?" The haughty voice asked. The laughter began again, taking on a dark tone. "Will y'all look what the cat dragged in? It's Heather Calaway!" the voice called out, drawing attention to itself.
In the blink of an eye, Heather was standing face to face with the queen bee herself, Brittany Bedson. Her drones surrounded Heather like a wake of vultures and she truly wished she were a dead rat at this moment.
"What the hell are you doing here, freak? Finally, get tired of listening to Marilyn Manson and slitting your wrists?" the blonde sneered, callously. "Figured you'd come here and try to be cool?"
"Not in that outfit," one of the girls snickered. Jessica, the omega of the pack.
"Now, Jessica. You can't expect her to know how to dress," Brittany said pointedly. "She so retarded, she can't even kill herself." She glowered at Heather with an evil smirk twisting her face and each one of the girls broke into a titter.
Heather lowered her head in humiliation. She regretted that her attempt had not been successful as she would not be there to suffer this moment. Her body began to tremble as she bit back the tears. Do not let them see you cry, she warned herself. Her tears only gave them power and fueled their hatred. "C-could y-you just let me go and I'll l-leave?" Heather stuttered meekly.
"W-w-what was that?" Brittany taunted her. When Heather didn't respond, Brittany shouted at her, "Answer me, freak!" She aggressively grabbed Heather's chin forcing her to raise her head. A slight yelp escaped Heather's lips as a pair of tears fell from her dark lashes. "Aww, Are you cwying wittle baby?" Brittany jeer at her with a blubbering gesture of rubbing tears from her eyes.
"Alright, Brit. That's enough. Just leave her alone," someone intervened. Heather briefly locked eyes with Brandon as he grasped his sister's arm.
Brittany turned her head sharply towards her twin brother. "Why do you care?"
"Because you're being an uber bitch." Brandon stopped and glanced at all the people staring back at him. "And you're destroying my buzz."
Brittany turned back to Heather. "You need to leave. No one wants to see your fucking ugly face. Got it, loser?" the blonde spat and shoved the ebony-haired girl by her face.
After stumbling, Heather didn't spare a moment fleeing the situation. The crowd seemed to part for her like the Red Sea, swirling with murmurs and sniggering.
Brandon watched her go. He was a little guilt-ridden that he didn't do more to stand up for her. He had a reputation to uphold, though. As much as he liked her, it wouldn't do him much good to be overly defensive of the class weirdo.
Hightailing through the hordes, Heather exited out the back door as it was the closest outlet from the house. With blurred vision, she sprinted across the pool deck, until she tripped on the leg of a free-standing metal swing. Her knees broke the ground as she cried out. With jarred limbs, she pulled herself onto the seat to catch her breath and ease her trepidation. She had told Reves she had no desire to come here. Yet her sister insisted. And for what motive? Only balderdash relating to her ex-boyfriend, which Heather couldn't comprehend.
Sitting there, furious sobbing leaked from Heather's eyes. Rage wasn't an emotion Heather played host to quite often, but there were many contributing factors to these circumstances. She was angry at Brittany and her lemmings for being so detestable. She was angry at Reves for coercing her into this situation with no regard to her history with the Bedsons. Ultimately though, she was indignant towards herself for permitting herself to be so easily beguiled into believing no detriment would be posed to her.
"I wouldn't really expect someone like you to frequent a scene like this," a voice said, causing her to jump.
She noticed a figure standing beside her and turned away. "C-could you just go away, please?" She hadn't intended to be so discourteous, but she was out of patience for such mockery.
"My bad. I just thought…" a male voice trailed off when he heard her sniffle and he looked down at her trembling shoulders. "Hey, are you, ok?" he asked, sitting beside her.
"I-I'm fine," she murmured, wishing he would leave her in peace to wallow in her misery.
"Asshole popular kids, eh? Royalty in their own little minds," he said with a light chuckle.
"Yes, I suppose," Heather mumbled. Who was this stranger and why couldn't he take a hint? With her head bent, her eyes shifted to a pair of Dr. Martens. She followed a pair of black jeans to a similarly colored shirt, sporting the cover art of Drowning Pool's "Sinner" album. She looked into the face of a boy who was about her age. He had rich chocolate skin and dreadlocks falling on his shoulders.
When his black, onyx eyes met hers, he smiled," Hey, come on. You really think any of those jerkwads are worth your tears?"
Heather had never made the acquaintance of this boy before. Nor had she seen him around school. She gazed at him in bewilderment.
"Jeremiah De Sanchez," he grinned, offering his hand to her. Heather reached out hesitantly to shake his hand. Her doe eyes continued to gawk at him. "I know what you're thinking. How the hell does a brother get a last name like De Sanchez?"
"Umm. No," Heather demurred.
"Well, when my ma found out she was pregnant, homeboy, sperm donor split. After three years. Can you believe that? Anyway, my mama met this super awesome Latino guy around four months and they've been together ever since. When I was born, he signed the birth certificate and they gave me his last name. He's the greatest dad. So, I'm kinda glad the other dude walked away, ya know?"
Heather smiled timidly. "That's lovely." She then realized she hadn't even introduced herself. "I'm Heather Calaway," she said bashfully as she extended her hand then immediately withdrew it. "Oh, we already did that formality. My apologies," she squeaked as her countenance flushed.
"It's okay," He chuckled as he grasped her delicate hand and shook it again. "So, what brings you to the realm of spray tans and Abercrombie?" He gestured back towards the house.
"Conversely, whom. My sister. Something concerning her former boyfriend. I am quite confounded by her cause. She is already uh…involved with someone, if you will."
"Maybe she is trying to get him back? Or make him jealous. Who knows with chicks, really? No offense."
"None taken. I must confess, the female psyche is often enigmatic to me, even being of the same gender." She giggled and felt the heat rise in her cheeks when he looked at her.
"Well, it's good to know I'm not alone in that. My cousin dragged me here, by the way. Tayvion Brown. You know him?" He didn't give her the opportunity to answer before he went on, "I'm new here. My mom's a teacher and apparently, they had an emergency position that needed to be filled last minute. We were supposed to move over the summer, but my mom needed to fill in right away. Tay thought I should come to get to know some kids before I start on Monday. Sucks switching schools this late in the game. Anyway, do you go to Waltrip?"
Heather's smile faded. "I had previously," she spoke lowly.
"Did you move?"
"No, I had issues with a group of girls and…" She didn't want those feelings to come back. She was already cross for being at the ridiculous party when the orchestrator of her torment was one of the hosts. "My home is over there," she pointed at the Calaway's ranch off in the distance, all too pleased to steer the conversation in a different direction.
They both looked to the enormous house over yonder. Despite the blackness, it was plain to see the home was grandiose due to the floodlights scattered across the property. "You live there? Damn, you must be loaded," Jeremiah said incredulously. "I could only dream to live in something like that."
Heather felt humbled suddenly. She had never thought of her family in that manner. She could remember living in a cramped apartment with her parents and siblings as a young child. In late 1990 when Mark debuted as his Undertaker character, things gradually began to change. She was starting to realize that some kids were not as well off as her family. She never tried to flaunt her wealth or privilege (not that it truly belonged to her at any rate. It was her father's) It had been one of the factors that had drawn a wedge between Brittany and herself. The reality was the Calaways were more affluent than the Bedsons. The latter simply spent their riches more frivolously. "I hadn't intended to appear ostentatious…"
"It's okay. I didn't think you were trying to be." Jeremiah smiled at her. "So, you speak like a nineteenth-century poet and you look like Snow White in a pair of cheaters. I think I'm actually glad I let Tay talk me into coming."
Heather flushed and cast her eyes on her shoes. "I don't always speak like that." She grinned timidly. After a few moments she said, "My apologies, I should really be returning home. My father was rather indignant when we left.
"Mind if I walk you?" he asked audaciously.
Heather was taken aback by his request. "I-if you would like to. I don't you want to feel as if you are obligated to, if you would rather stay."
"I think I've probably already met the most interesting person here," he said as they stood.
The two teens walked the dirt road back to the Calaway ranch. As they did so, they talked of their families further, music, and other interests. Jeremiah discovered that Heather's dad was seemingly a popular professional wrestler known as The Undertaker, while Heather learned that Jeremiah played the drums, much to his father chagrin.
When they reached the front porch, Jeremiah asked, "So, did you want to hang out at some point?"
Heather frowned, "I'm terribly sorry. I travel a lot with my father. He just happens to be off at this time."
Jeremiah didn't seem fazed by this. "Do you have a cell phone. Just gimme your number and we'll get together next time."
"Oh. Alright." Heather remained baffled by his courtesy and fascination with her.
Once they had exchanged digits, Jeremiah said, "Great. See you around, Snow White," He grinned at her before he began to head back to the party down the road.
"See you," Heather murmured as her face reddened and flashed a bashful smile before entering the house to retire for the night.
No interaction for our ship and I'm sorry. We'll get back to it next chapter.