My sincerest apologies for the month-long delay. But this is pretty longish sooo...
Thanks to Idcam for the review. Yeah, poor Heather. She got all excited only to be disappointed.
Heather listened to the soft pelting against her windowpane as she jotted down lines in her journal. The rain had been forecasted over the course of the weekend, which suited her just fine. The gloomy atmosphere seemed to complement her somber mood and she had been much obliged to remain holed up in her room for the duration of their being home. She had only felt contrite that she had refused a visit from Jeremiah the previous afternoon despite knowing that she would not return home for another three weeks after leaving out tomorrow.
Looking up, she paused a moment, her mind going blank as she watched one water droplet chasing after another. The latter, having gained more momentum, quickly devoured the former as they slid down the glass now as one. Focusing again on the page, she pulled her knees in tighter as she sat on the well-worn cushion at her bay window. She reread the last few lines and frowned before glancing at the keyboard on its stand beside her.
This melody will never work, she told herself. Perhaps if I change the key to D minor? She questioned as she set her journal aside and sat with the correct posture at the keyboard. Heather began to play and she decided that she had indeed preferred this key. What she was uncertain of, however, were the lyrics. She had never written anything quite like them. Yet, it stood to reason that she had never before felt the emotions that were behind them. Still undecided if she should even attempt to sing them, she continued the piano piece, making small corrections to the composition every so often.
"This is new."
Heather stopped playing and turned her head towards her doorway leading into the bathroom where Reves was standing. She wanted to ask if the other girl had an aversion to knocking, but simply confirmed, "It is." She returned to playing.
Heather was being short and she only felt marginally apologetic. Firstly, she didn't appreciate being interrupted so frequently – and without an invitation, no less. Secondly, her sister had scarcely spoken to her after their father doled out his punishments in accordance with their insolence. She had said next to nothing but wore an ever-present scowl for the last couple of days. One Heather could only assume was reserved for her.
Had this been a Jane Austin novel, her sister may have reprimanded her with the like of, "Seek your pleasures at your own expense and not at mine."
To which she would have refuted, "I might implore you to heed your own advice for you have had enough misadventures for both our expense."
This was of course, not a novel and though she found herself being petty (a trait she rather misliked), Heather's fingers continued to dance deftly over the keys while she remained silent.
Reves stood at the threshold for another few moments, listening, before she entered the room fully. She padded across the room and stood near her sister. "Are there lyrics to this? It sounds," Reves paused as if searching for the right word, "charged."
Heather made a small noise in her throat that was almost scathing in nature. That was quite a term to describe this piece and not one that she had ever heard define any of her work before. Still, she instinctively directed a furtive glance to the cushion beside her. Regret filled her instantaneously, but Reves had already plucked up the journal and began combing through it.
It took a few moments for Reves to leaf through, but her eyes settled on the page. Before she began reading, she paused and looked at her sister. "I wasn't mad at you, you know. I was pissed at the situation and Dad always having a stick up his ass," Reves said as though it should have been obvious.
"That may have been pleasant to hear sooner," Heather retorted, somewhat taken back by her own words. She surmised perhaps she was slowly becoming more adept in the art they called sarcasm. She had stopped playing again and looked up at her sister. "Don't read it," Heather told her. Reves ignored her. "Please. It's not any good," she beseeched the other girl in the plainest English with an edge of apprehension and mortification to her voice. She reached up and attempted to snatch the journal back, but Reves quickly parried her effort by turning away from her. Typically, Heather was never too reluctant to allow her sister to preview her work, but she had never before expressed emotions this raw and honest.
After several moments, Reves turned back to her with an unreadable smirk. "This is…interesting," Reves remarked. "I'm just wondering how you managed to write something like this after what happened."
Heather looked at her, bewildered. "What do you mean? It's how I've been feeling," she divulged, heat spreading through her cheeks. The next instant, her face fell. "Do you believe he finds me displeasing?" Heather questioned pathetically.
Reves sent her an agitated look as she closed the journal. "I believe he's an asshole. That's what I believe," Reves shot back. "And a pussy for bouncing on you like you're just another ring rat hoe,"
Heather listened to her sister's words dripping with venom. Her heartfelt as though it had been run through with an iron hot blade and her stomach coiled as if it housed a snake pit. She didn't want to ruminate on the manner in which Kevin had quit her like an apparition that disappeared before dawn. Nor did she want to entertain such consternation as to suggest that he had pilfered what he desired from her, rendering her useless to him.
Heather didn't know if she could believe such an awful proposition – at least, she didn't want to. The way he looked at her, touched her and kissed her. His gentle and soft tone was doubtlessly reserved for her alone. The care he took to ensure that she was contented and at ease when they joined together for the first time.
She couldn't deny the way she felt within his presence, as though everything was perfect.
"You're Perfect."
"No one is perfect."
"That may very well be. But you are perfect for me."
Heather's heart wrenched and she couldn't suppress her discontented sigh. That moment had felt unmistakably real, as though she could reach out and grasp onto it. It felt...she felt...cared for and cherished. Loved.
That's how she had written that song at any rate. Now it seemed more like an improbability, a dream. Perhaps it was and she now had the misfortune of waking to a nightmare.
Heather was brought from her contemplation as Reves began to speak again, "Erik's band is playing at The Lotus tonight. You should come. Get out of this room you've holed yourself up in for the past two days."
Heather had the urge to question her sister's sudden interest in her company, but she had to confess, that she missed their camaraderie. She was comforted by her sister's invitation, although she had no intention of acquiescing to her request. "I do not believe that is a wise decision, considering everything that has taken place over the past couple of days. Daddy will likely be highly irritated, " Heather told her.
"Look," Reves started with a giggle as she sat down on her sister's bed, "you've already done the most disrespectful and rebellious thing you could possibly do. You might as well roll with it and own it," Reves advised her with a smirk, relishing in her sister's bad behavior. "Come to the dark side," Reves tempted in an ominous tone, clearly mocking their father from his Ministry days.
Heather dropped her head and sighed. "I would really rather just be in solitude for now," she confessed in a quiet tone. "I have several things to contemplate," she added.
"No damn way. You need to get out of this room is what you need and quit moping around," Reves groused. "What are you contemplating anyway? Lurch the giant douchbag and all his fuckery?"
Heather bristled at her sister's comment. "I assume you refer to Kevin with such uncouth and derogatory terminology, yes?" she deadpanned. Heather was wounded and even angered by Kevin's abrupt departure, yet she didn't approve of Reves's insults. After a moment, Heather's face crumpled again. "I...I'm just not certain what is going to happen if I see him tomorrow. Or Monday, when I am forced to be confronted with his behavior," Heather demurred.
Reves sighed and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner, which led Heather to regret divulging her concerns. "The only thing you need to know about tomorrow or Monday is that when I see him, I'm going to kick him in his lady-balls for bailing on you like that," Reves told her as if that answer should suffice.
Heather once again met with conflict. She could not particularly fault Kevin for his departure. It was not as if she wished to face her father either. Regardless it was inevitable and she would have found it much easier had he been there to give a reassuring glance every now and then.
Or perhaps not? Perchance his absence was for the best. Would she have gazed at him too long? Would she have smiled too wide if he uttered something particularly witty? Or laughed just a bit too loud to be above reproach? Her heart sank when she reminded herself that she didn't get the opportunity to learn.
Perhaps she was becoming more similar to her sister yet, reveling in such disobedient comportment. Moreover, it could not seem to be helped that they had haplessly been lumped together with a band of misfits besotted with bucking the system.
"So are you coming with or not?" Reves pressed in an impatient tone, not shying away from changing the subject. Her sister only gawked at her for a second. "We could invite Jeremiah, she added. "Seeing as how you snubbed him yesterday and all."
"I did no such thing. I was..." Heather trailed off, feeling contrite once more. She was silent for another minute, then looked at her sister hesitantly, "Alright then."
On Monday, Kevin had gotten to the arena early. Way early for him, but he was on a mission of sorts. He had to speak with Vince and he had to do it before he saw the little one and he lost his nerve. He found Vince's makeshift office and didn't even bother with the courtesy of knocking or considering whether his boss was currently engaged. Kevin was stunned to find him alone - not that Kevin would have held back if any of his lackeys were present. "Vince-" he started, but the chairman stopped him with a hand as soon as he raised his head from the heap of papers. So far, his expression was more enquiring than angry.
"If it's about the match, don't worry, big guy. Everything's going to be fine," Vince assured him in a casual voice.
Match? He wasn't aware of any match, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Not pulling any punches, "I want them out. That pair of ankle-biters, I want them gone," Kevin demanded, as he hunched over the desk, leaning on it with his hands. No one ever demanded anything from Vincent Kennedy McMahon, but it was probably a fool-proof way to get fired. Fuck it. Fire me then, Kevin thought. It would be a kinder fate than the torment he had been forced to endure thanks to the clusterfuck he's made of things.
It was then that Vince raised an eyebrow at him, not amused by his brashness in the slightest, but not fully enraged yet either. "Ankle-biters," Vince repeated with a mirthless chuckle. "I assume you mean the Calaway girls," he stated dryly. "Who the hell are you to come in here and tell me who to get rid of?" Vince's eyes narrowed at him. "You've seen Reves. She's making great improvements. She's got a presence and the crowd seems taken with her. I think with a little more training, I'd like to possibly give her a run with the women's championship. What do you think of that?" the older man imparted as if it was supposed to sound impressive to him.
I think it's a fucking crock! Kevin had to refrain from shouting. Truthfully, he didn't give a shit about some female title that had barely been taken seriously in years. And when he saw the unsettling gleam in Vince's eyes, Kevin wondered just what she'd have to do to actually get that push. All the more reason to make his case, albeit he could hardly claim it was for Reves's sake. Still, it was a reminder that as reprehensible as he was, there were monsters far worse than him lurking in the shadows.
Suddenly Kevin felt a surge of anger inside him. Fuck it. "I think it's shit. She's a bratty little twit," he admitted. "What about the other one? She doesn't do shit. Just stands there with a deer in the headlights look," he growled in feigned acrimony. Jesus Christ, he felt like an asshole as he struggled to not allow the shame from his words to creep across his face. Better that Vince believed that he reviled them both.
"Ah, yes. The other one." A cumbersome sigh escaped the chairman. "It's true, she hasn't exactly made the strides we'd been hoping for. Far from it, in fact." Vince shook his head. "Perhaps I should let her go," he paused as if trying to recall something crucial. "You know, Holly. Er…Helga?"
"Her name is HEATHER!" Kevin roared savagely as he slammed a fist on the desk.
Well, fuck. He had certainly done it now. He had signed his own death warrant. Composing himself after a moment or two, he assumed a stone-faced expression. Kevin pulled himself up to his full stature as he waited for Vince to tear him a new asshole and boot him right out of the building.
To Kevin's astonishment, Vince didn't blow his stack like a pressurized boiler. "I see," Vince uttered in a knowing tone as he sat back in his chair. "Well, you Kliq boys certainly know how to pick 'em, don't you? Get 'em one way or another," There was an odd sense of amusement in the owner's voice.
Kevin felt his blood run cold. "What? What do you mean?" He prayed he maintained his cool flippancy. As time went on, it seemed more and more difficult to do, especially where it concerned the little one.
Narrowing his eyes, Vince's expression called his bluff, suggesting that Kevin was little more than a foolish schoolboy standing in front of him. "Kevin, how long have we known one another?" Vince inquired, then continued before the blonde could even open his mouth, "Nearly a decade. That's how long. I know you'd been gone for quite some time, but I assure you, I'm the same man now that I was back then. Do you honestly believe I don't know everything that goes on within my own company?"
Of course, Vince knew. Vince was keen and observant in that manner. Not to mention, watching back the footage from that Raw, Kevin realized what a piss poor job he had done at masking his desire. Kevin cleared his throat nervously. Still, he wasn't about to confess his sins as though he was standing at the pearly gates. "You said something about a match tonight," he reminded, abruptly changing the subject.
"Yeah. I know you're coming off your bicep injury, but I decided on a ten-man tag. You, Pac and Show, with Benoit and Guerrero versus Book, Goldust, the Dudleys, and RVD."
Nash only stared at him for a moment. "That's not what we talked about in previous discussions," he replied, trying not to let the agitation seep from his voice. But then again, it never is. Is it? He wanted to add. "I don't have all my gear," he argued weakly, knowing it was futile, more or less.
"Eh, don't worry. Everything's going to be fine," Vince said waving his hand dismissively as though he had a fucking magic wand that really was going to make everything alright.
Oh yes. Fucking fine. Kevin thought. Fine. Wasn't that what he had said when Little One sprained her ankle? She's fine. Maybe if "fine" was like tossing a mouse into a lion's den. He wanted to mention that, but it would only serve to prove Vince's evaluation of his attachment to her.
"I guess I better go get prepared then," Kevin groused unable to mask the scowl on his face. Prepared for what, he was uncertain. For his unanticipated match? To face the little one? Or to avoid her? Kevin turned and headed towards the door. Before he reached it, he was stopped by Vince's voice.
"Hey Big D," Vince called and Kevin turned back to him. Big D. It was a reference to his Diesel gimmick from the 90s and Vince still liked to call him that every once in a while. In spite of his unmitigated aggravation, Nash felt one corner of his mouth curl into a crooked smirk. "Don't go getting yourself fucked up," Vince warned ominously as he fixed him with a stern gaze before hunching over his paperwork again.
The smirk had faded from Kevin's lips upon hearing his boss's cautioning. Was he speaking of the match tonight, or of the situation with Heather? An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of Kevin's stomach as he left the office thinking he had just dug himself even deeper into the shit hole he was attempting to get himself out of.
Reeling from Vince's revelation, Kevin replayed their conversation in his head. He had mentioned the rest of the Kliq, and presumably hinted at their penchant for desiring women so off-limits to them, Kevin could only guess. Kevin assumed perhaps he was also referring to Shawn and Tammy. But that wasn't some great secret. Everyone knew it. Everyone except her dopey husband with his head buried in the sand. Then there was the more recent love affair between his own daughter, Stephanie, and Paul. It wasn't very pretty for Joanie when the cat was let out of the bag. Did he also know of Scott and Reves? Something told Kevin he did, in his own mysterious way. Jesus, what a bunch of conceited and entitled pricks they were. Had he not been rattled so Kevin would have found that prospect quite hilarious.
Heather hastily followed Reves as they weaved through the throngs of people at the mall that Monday afternoon. They had touched down in Philadelphia quite early that morning and were killing time until they needed to arrive at the arena. Heather glanced back briefly. Their father was in tow some yards behind. Turning to face forward again, Heather nearly collided with an elderly gentleman. "Pardon me, sir," she murmured, uncertain whether he could even hear her over the din, but she shuffled on.
It appeared as though Reves was attempting to evade their father as she darted through a small break in the oncoming crowd and stole into a random store. Heather swiftly followed her inside, grateful to be out of the rush for even a few minutes. She didn't much care for swarming locales. The airport always unnerved her and even the bar and restaurant combination that they had attended last night made her apprehensive.
Heather looked back into the corridor to see her father towering over the mobs as he stood off to the side. He never followed them into any of the boutiques, yet constantly kept them within sight, as though he was an ominous black storm cloud always hovering off in the distance.
He wasn't too pleased when he learned that they had gone out the previous night. He hadn't appreciated them staying out until the hour they had and now he had been eyeing them like a hawk. Heather could only assume there were other factors compelling his behavior but he hadn't announced any grievances. He simply stalked after them with a dour expression on his face.
Reves glanced up furtively from a rack she was sifting through. "Fuck, I wish he wouldn't do that," the blonde groused, briefly acknowledging dear old dad. One would never know that she was turning twenty in just a few short months. But maybe he was more so keeping his eye on Heather. After all, he still had a little while to keep her on his short leash. A leash that was wrapped about eighteen times around his iron fist. "Good thing he's our dad. Otherwise, holy shit, major creep alert! He just stands there like he really is the living embodiment of the Grim Reaper."
Heather eyed their father again. He did have the presence of some malevolent entity, but she didn't want to dwell on it. It gave her apprehension enough., At any rate, there was an inquest that had been overwhelming her thoughts and she reasoned that now may be as appropriate a time to inquiry about it as any. She looked at her sister, who was the only person she knew with an experience even remotely resembling her own. "Rev? May I ask you something?" she questioned meekly as she tailed her sister around the store.
Reves stopped suddenly in front of a mirror after pulling a beret off of a nearby rack. "That depends on what it is," she smirked as she began fitting the hat on her head. After seeing her sister give her a bewildered look, she narrowed her eyes. "What?"
Heather now felt too hesitant to ask, but she did it anyway, "I...I was wondering about Scott Hall - well, not about him specifically, of course. More so about the, uh, nature of your..." Not entirely certain what terminology to use, Heather's words fell off and she inadvertently flinched.
To Heather's surprise and relief Reves didn't bark back some ill retort or even send her a dark glare. She merely continued fiddling with the hat on her head. "It was entertaining and fun. In the beginning at least," Reves shrugged nonchalantly. "And since I got the chance to spite the Dead Man even in secret that was a bonus for me." She smirked a little at that.
Entertaining and fun? She made it sound as though she were speaking of going to an amusement park and riding a rollercoaster for a two-minute thrill. Or even attending a concert.
"I mean it's not like I wanted to marry him, or whatever," Reves continued and Heather felt an involuntary blush spread across her cheeks at the word marry. "When we're talking long term, I want someone I can grow old with." Heather noticed a rare, almost dreamy glint in her sister's eyes. "Not someone who's already old, ya know?"
At that, Heather's mantle deepened and her gaze drifted down to her worn-out Converse. Oddly Heather did not think of Kevin as old. She thought of how her heart raced whenever he was near. How he had listened to her as though the things she said actually held reverence. How her skin would light ablaze from his simple touch. How he was someone she was missing quite dearly over the last few days, in spite of how he had abandoned her. Someone who was witty and charming, and admittedly, a tad egocentric (although she believed that was more for clout than anything) yet he possessed a huge heart when it concerned those whom he cared for.
Heather wondered if he still cared for her. Or if he ever even had. Her heart wrenched at the thought.
Heather knew she was a freak and a weirdo. She knew she shouldn't have the affection for him that she did. Nor should the events that transpired between them ever have taken place. At times she wished she hadn't possessed such a hideous attraction towards him at all. However, that didn't quell her yearning for him. It didn't then, and it hasn't now.
Heather's attention was drawn to shrieks of laughter as a collective of five or six teens whizzed past. She sighed inwardly, wishing not for the first time that she had some semblance of normalcy to her life.
She looked to the large store window at the ominous figure of her father looming outside. Where once she did not mind it, his very presence was stifling, even from a distance. It was not a wonder that Reves would become increasingly frustrated by being so fiercely watched over.
Heather observed the other teens briefly and somehow felt both younger and older than them all at once. She pondered what it may be like to be amongst such a crew, getting to spend weekends and late summer nights in such a manner. Venturing into the Sam Goody to pick up the latest release from a number of beloved artists. Drinking sugary Starbucks Frappuccinos that were nearer a dessert than actual coffee. Sharing the titter of mortified giggles over the adult novelties and "gag" gifts in the back of Spencer's Gift. She blushed involuntarily again. No. She in no fashion envied that mortifying scenario.
"How about this beret?" Reves asked Heather, tearing her from her musings.
Heather gave her sister a furtive glance. "It's fine," she replied with an indifferent shrug of her shoulders.
Reves turned to the mirror again and cocked her head. Then with a huff she yanked the hat from her head and tossed it haphazardly on the rack before she walked away, leaving Heather to question whether it was she or the hat that had her agitated.
"Why are you still wearing your old clothes anyway?" Reves inquired when Heather appeared beside her and she truly took in the other girl's drab appearance for the first time that day.
"I am not fond of many of those garments mother picked out," Heather confessed with a pout.
"I can imagine," Reves validated her statement with a roll of her eyes. "But lemme guess. You're still wearing those granny panties you buy from Wal-Mart?" Reves pressed as she grabbed the other girl's wrist and began dragging her towards the Fredrick's of Hollywood.
Gazing up at the sign overhead, Heather flushed profusely. "What do my undergarments have to do with anything?" she questioned.
"Everything," Reves stated.
Bemused by her sister's cryptic response, Heather turned back to see a visual of their irate father barreling through the mass of people. However, his course was impeded by a small group of fans who had finally seemed to recognize him.
Heather swallowed the lump in her throat as they enter the shop. They were doubtlessly in for it now. Despite that, Heather felt a strange sort of rush as they dashed away from him. She knew that it was unlikely that he would come charging after them as to avoid drawing further attention to himself. Yet, he would be sure to reprimand them at the first opportunity.
Facing forward, Heather blanched, then a moment later a deep crimson suffused her cheeks as she took in the menagerie of intimates on display inside. "Wh-what are we doing in here?" Heather questioned as she balked at a rack of sheer, translucent bustiers which left nothing to the imagination. She was overwhelmed with mortification at the idea that her sister might try to garb her in such a brazen garment. But for what purpose would it be?
Reves busied herself with rifling through a display of panties. "You know, if you're going to be bad, you might as well be good at it," she said wryly. "It's much easier to get a guy's attention than it is to keep it."
"I don't understand," Heather admitted, flummoxed.
Reves scoffed and rolled her eyes. "There is someone's attention you want to keep, isn't there?" Reves peered at her expectantly. "After I kick his ass, of course."
Heather's mantle deepened. "Y-yes," she whispered with a pang of desperation.
"Then you should know that your granny panties aren't going to be a turn-on for anyone. Ever," Reves reprimanded her as she held up a few different styles.
"I don't see why I should succumb to any requirements to change myself," Heather lamented bitterly, "He seemed to esteem me well enough as it were."
"Then he hauled ass like a pussy," the blonde retorted, feeling a tad remorseful when she saw the injured look on the younger girl's face. "Look, most times, dudes are fickle as fuck and they'll be on the next bitch before you can blink. So don't think of it as changing yourself. Just think of it as making yourself better. More desirable."
Heather gaped at her sister's crude words and was poised to respond when Reves held up a waist cincher against her abdomen. Swiftly, the raven-haired girl shoved her sister's hands away in protest. "Are you mad? What are you doing?" she demanded as she scanned the store, leery as to whether anyone had been observing them.
"What? You could totally pull it off."
Evidently, that was Reves's idea of a compliment, albeit Heather wasn't even sure what she was referring to exactly.
Sometime later they left the intimate boutique, new undergarments tucked away into the bag. At her sister's behest, Heather had grudgingly chosen a style dubbed "boy shorts" as they seem to be the most modest of the cuts.
When they exited, another small group that was slowly growing had surrounded Mark, begging for autographs and photos.
Heather thanked the stars that she was not recognizable in such a manner. Albeit, she was not a seven-foot giant with tattoos. Her most recognizable feature was her hair, which was met with a scoff more often than not. At this moment it was tied back and she was grateful to be a nobody - not that she ever wanted to be assailed with such attention.
"I know what you're thinking. Stupid to get caught up in all that. Where do you want to go?" Reves asked her.
Heather flushed once again, surprised her inner thoughts appeared to be coming so easily to her sister as of late. "I, I want to go to the Barnes and Nobles. I need to pick up a copy of Of Mice and Men."
"Don't you already have that?" Reves asked shooting her a look as they began walking in the direction where they saw the bookstore.
Heather glanced behind herself but tried not to look directly at their father, lest she lost her nerve. Turning back, "I did. But I had left it near my open window sill when the storm came and it was rendered unsalvageable," she stated mournfully.
"Pity," Reves commented with a mock frown. After another moment she said, "Pfft. Of Mice and Men. Sounds like your boyfriend."
The last word caused Heather to halt. Boyfriend? "You speak of Jeremiah?" She questioned although she knew full well her time of ignorance on such matters had long since passed.
"Hardly," Reves snorted and yanked the younger girl's wrist, pulling her along. "Jeremiah is not the one whose bones you jumped. Even though I'm sure you've had several opportunities." She grinned and it was unmistakably wicked.
"W-we are not..." Heather started, but let the words die as she wasn't positive whether she was defending her friendship with Jeremiah or stating that she was uncertain as to the nature of her...affiliation (or likely, lack thereof) with Kevin.
"Whatever," Reves shrugged, her interest in the conversation having apparently waned.
Considering that they were already there, Heather took the opportunity to browse for a few other titles she had been eyeing. She endeavored to take in the serene and comforting atmosphere and lock the dread of her impending reproach away in a dark corner of her mind, but she was finding it trying.
After some time Reves popped around the corner, startling her. "You call that a few?" Reves asked, rolling her eyes.
Heather blinked at her sheepishly. "I'm having trouble deciding," the raven-haired girl responded.
Reves chuckled sardonically, "Books still on the brain. Couldn't of been that great then." Heather looked at her, bewildered. Then glance to a book in her hands. "Here," Reves offered, holding the book out to her. "Maybe you'll find this useful," she smirked, shoving it into the younger girl's hands.
Aghast, Heather's visage exploded in mortification yet again once she had read the title and tagline. How typical? What else might her sister so ostentatiously present her with other than a manual detailing the practices of sexual intercourse? Heather returned an unappreciative expression to her sister. "I have use need for such drivel," she asserted.
"I'm gonna kick both your asses. Just what the hell do you think you were doing runnin' all over Hell's half-acre like that?" a menacing voice growled as their father's hulking figure rounded the corner.
Expelling a small yelp, Heather jumped and clutched the book to her chest. Heather's face burst with greater color as she tried to explain herself, "I...I, m-my copy of Of Mice and Men, w-well my window was o-open-"
"More books. I know that, girl!" Mark boomed while still trying to keep his voice in check. He didn't need any further attention drawn to himself or them either. "I ask what the hell you was doing running around by yourselves?"
Were. Heather corrected him silently.
Doing what every other normal teenager whose old man isn't a complete psychopath gets to do. Those were not the words Reves uttered. Instead, "Buying underwear," she deadpanned as she produced a pair of lace panties from one of the bags and held it aloft.
Grabbing her by the wrist, Mark shoved her arm down forcefully. "Put that shit away. What the fuck's wrong wit ya?" he barked through gritted teeth.
"What's wrong with you? Are you offended by ladies' undergarments? I mean you see them every day, don't you?" Reves returned boldly.
Heather bit her lip as she watched their father's expression explode with barely restrained fury. And something else. Dare she say, embarrassment? She herself should have been appalled by her sister's obscene antics - and she certainly was, no doubt - but the expressions co-mingling on her father's visage were surprisingly comical enough to force her to bite back a giggle.
"Let's go. If we're late I'll be sure it's yer asses Vince has. What's left of 'em, anyhow," he barked in a low and rumbling voice.
"I...I just...uh..." Heather mumbled, no longer feeling amused. She picked up the stack of books that she had piled on one of the shelves. Recalling the other book in her hands she wedged it to the bottom of the precarious stack.
"Hurry up," Mark groused hardly suppressing his fury. "And don't go complaining when your suitcase is too heavy."
Heather nodded in silence and Mark turned, heading towards the cash register with the girls in tow. Meandering some distance behind, Heather slipped the vulgar tome from her collection and dropped it unceremoniously into a bin of bargain VHS tapes. She stared at it contemplatively for a moment before her father barked at her to hurry it up. Not giving a seconded glance, she hastened to the checkout.
Sara huffed a sigh of relief as she exited Heather's room, closing the door behind her. She had just finished putting away her clothes. Sometimes it was unbelievable how much laundry her family could generate. She did have a housekeeper come in once or twice a week to help with the bigger chores. With the size of the house and everyone gone most of the time, the extra pair of hands was quite useful, but Sara actually preferred doing the more personal tasks, like cooking and laundry herself.
Looking across the hall to the adjacent door, Sara remembered that Kevin had stayed in that room over the holiday. Another sigh escaped her lips. She wondered perhaps if she ought to change out the sheets for fresh ones. Sometimes Mark's friends could be messy, to say the least.
Glancing at her watch, Sara saw it was approximately 8:40 PM. Raw would be starting here shortly, but she figured she had enough time to throw the linens into the wash at least.
Entering the room, Sara noticed the comforter was sliding half off the bed. As she tossed back the covers and began stripping the pillowcases her mouth curved into a slight grin. It seemed perhaps he at least attempted to make the bed. Either that or he was too lazy to be bothered. She supposed she couldn't fault him. It wasn't as though Mark even knew the difference between a fitted and a top sheet.
Collecting everything into a gigantic ball, Sara gathered the bedding into her arms. As she shifted her body to turn away, she noticed a swatch of fabric that she was stepping on underneath her barefoot. Checking around her she saw that nothing was hanging or dragging from the bedding. Placing the bundle down on the mattress she noticed that something seemed to be peeking out from half under the bed.
Sara knelt down to pick it up and the air immediately left her lungs. Her stomach lurched and she tried to fight down the lump forming in her throat as she held the object up, gaping at it in shock and disbelief. It was a pair of swimsuit bottoms. Ones she knew very well, black with a white star pattern and purple trim. The ones she had bought for her youngest daughter on a recent shopping trip. The ones she wore on the 4th of July holiday. But what the hell were they doing in here?
Yeah...