Hey there. I've been poking around the board for a while and I feel like its time to post some of my work.
This is an original piece (hence the being posted in the Inward Eye). So far the piece remains largely unwritten, but the basic structure has been constructed. I know what I am going to write, its just a matter of finding the right words. Also, I'm in search of a beta who I can bounce ideas off and who will read the pieces as they are written.
Thank you to tcurti3 who was my beta for the first draft of this 'chapter.'
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Author: cbrymm aka catie
Rating: Probably PG13, but I'll say R just to be safe. Mostly just the language that puts it over the edge.
Summary: Alex Jefferson never had a set destination in mind when it came to her life. After an accident in her last year of high school, Alex feels 'derailed' and leaves home to try and set her life back on track. Along the way she is helped by friends old and new, and is able to confront the demons of her past.
Distribution: ask first
Comments: please!
Disclaimer: The characters of this piece are completely my own creation and any similarities are coincidences.
Additional Information: The bold words found at the beginning of each 'chapter' are from the song Crimson by These Green Eyes.
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[center] It’s funny. One minute, my life felt so on track, so right, and the next I had no control as everything crashed and burned. It was like someone flipped a switch and the roller coaster of life took off before I was securely fastened in my seat. So, as the cart raced up the hill, I was forced to barely hang on and wonder if I should try to ride it out, or let go before my situation got any worse. I wish I had let go.
-Alex[/center]
This time I thought things might be different
But you have me wishing that we’d never met
The sun hit me square in the face before I was even coherent enough to understand the concept of light. I went with my initial reaction and dove under my covers. Deep within the dark, stuffy space under my blankets, I wondered what idiot had opened my curtains. After allowing myself a few minutes to fully enter the world of the conscious, I realized I was the idiot, or, more accurately, I was the idiot who hadn’t shut them the night before, leaving the act of opening them a non-issue.
I could hear the shower running and cringed at the thought. The Girlfriend had spent the night and I knew, though I could not see, steam was filling the bathroom, a result of her predilection for scalding hot showers. She wouldn’t leave the bathroom, I knew, until she’d managed to use all of my hot water and racked up a water bill higher than the Tower of Babel. Again I cringed as my thoughts turned to the puddle of water I envisioned forming on the floor.
“You have to close the curtain all the way,” I remember telling her too many times to count.
“Why?” She always asked.
“Because water leaks out otherwise.”
“Who has a shower curtain anyway? We have a sliding glass door.” Realizing the conversation was not going to change anything, I would sigh and walk away. Every time, I imagined the day I walked into the bathroom and fell through the floor, which was rotted due to the constant pool of standing water.
I heard the shower turn off and prayed for the floor to collapse under her, or at least that she would slip and knock herself unconscious on the toilet. ‘Please God,’ I thought. ‘If you have any sense of decency – ’
“Are you still in bed?” Shit. ‘You hate me because I’m gay – don’t you, God?’ Her high pitched voice cut through my thoughts as she sang, “Wake up, wake up, my sleepy head. Get up, get up, get out of bed.” My only response was a muffled grumble, which she ignored. For a few minutes I didn’t move as she bustled around the room. I hoped she would think I had died during the night and would flee from a potential murder charge. It seemed as though my prayers were answered when she left the room. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank – ’
A wet towel landed on my head. ‘Screw you God, we’re over.’
Realizing I wouldn’t get any more sleep until The Girlfriend left, I sat up. The sight that greeted me was one that would have shocked me a month previous, but had little effect on me on that particular morning. There she was, standing in front of an open window – a window that, I might add, looked out onto a semi-busy street – completely nude. My only thought was to wonder if it still constituted public indecency if the offender was visible from a private dwelling. “Well, I think she’s indecent, officer, so just call me the public and take her away,” I imagined myself saying. With a slight chuckle at the thought of the fuss she would make while being pushed into the back of a cruiser stark naked, I got up to go to the bathroom. I found myself in the middle of a small lake upon stepping in the bathroom and cursed as my socks became immediately soaked.
“Do you think I should dye my hair?” She yelled from the other room while I was in the process of relieving myself. Some people are completely comfortable talking while using the toilet; at that moment in time, I was not one of them.
“I think you should shave it off,” I responded and flushed the toilet in an attempt to drown out the “tsk” sound she always made when irritated.
I returned to my bedroom to find she had moved from the window to my full-length mirror and, still naked, was examining her hair. “I think blonde. What do you think?” Like I care.
“You are blonde,” I responded before flopping down on to the bed. Mentally and physically. She made that ‘tsk’ noise again.
“I’m dirty blonde,” she said, as if the distinction was an obvious one.
In my opinion there are four major colors hair naturally comes in: blonde, black, red, and grey. In addition to those are dyed colors, such as purple and green. The concept of “dirty blonde” or “strawberry blonde” was beyond me. Looking back, I will admit her hair was more a mixture of blonde and brown than any specific color. Still, I would call that dark blonde, not “dirty” blonde. I mean come on, what sadistic bastard decided to name a hair color “dirty.”
After debating hair color for a few minutes, an activity that secured my title as the “biggest geek ever,” I turned my attention to the body with which I had become all too familiar. Her hair was long, falling a few inches below her shoulders. Her body was slender, but still curved in all the right places. Her legs were cleanly shaven – God forbid they be any other way. Her breasts were small, but full, and exactly what one would expect on a woman of her age. Her stomach was flat, without any hint of excess fat. Around her neck was a small silver cross on a chain: a reminder of her devotion to God and her boyfriend. What a load of—
“I have to meet Karl in an hour.” Speak of the devil.
“You should probably get dressed then,” I said. “He’s dumb, but not that dumb.” She made the ‘tsk’ noise again and turned to face me.
“What’s wrong?” She asked, finally catching on to my bad mood. “You don’t want to see me naked?” She approached the bed, a certain glint in her eyes. “That’s not what you said last night.” She crawled onto the bed towards me. I leaned back as she straddled me, her hands traveling. Suddenly, as quickly as she came on, she turned off and moved to collect her clothes that were still strewn about the room, where they had been tossed the night before. I rolled over and tried to focus on puppy dogs and baseball in order to slow my breathing.
“There’s a party tonight,” she said, switching topics so fast I could barely keep up.
“And?” I responded. I rolled back onto my side in an attempt to fall back to sleep.
“And I’m going,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Have a good time,” I said with little caring in my voice. She ‘tsk’ed so loud I was certain my dead grandmother heard it. She stormed out of my bedroom, having collected all of her clothes, and locked herself in the bathroom. Finally quiet. I fell asleep.
Sleep didn’t last long. The Girlfriend woke me up by saying “I’m leaving” in the most irritated voice I can imagine.
“Bye,” I muttered.
“Aren’t you going to walk me to my car?” Realizing she wasn’t going to leave if I didn’t walk her to her car. I resigned myself to do so quickly. The sooner she left, the sooner I got to go back to sleep. I sighed then rose from my bed and slipped on my shoes. Outside, the air was much too warm for my tastes. Apparently my neighbor’s children thought so as well. Tyler and Justin were already splashing about in their small inflatable poor while their mother hung up wet laundry to dry.
“Good morning, Mrs. Camden,” I called, entirely aware I was still dressed in my Curious George pj’s and had a mop for hair. She didn’t even bother responding, but instead made a noise of disgust of which The Girlfriend should be jealous. Like most aspects of my life, I was not fazed by the greeting. She never really liked me. “Sup?” I nodded at Tyler and Justin as we passed and was answered with a chorus of boyish giggles.
Having reached the driveway and, therefore, the car, I leaned back against the porch and watched her as she watched me, her hip stuck out slightly and an angelic look on her face. She wanted something.
“Come to the party tonight.” The sun was bright and I couldn’t help but squint at her. It was too early to be awake anyway.
“I’m sick of parties.” That was the truth. Besides, I needed to catch up on my sleep.
“I’ll be there,’ she moved closer, trying the line that had already failed once that morning. She started touching me – caressing my cheek, playing with my hair – trying to get me to give in.
“You’ll be there with dick-face.” She stopped touching me. That was the easiest way to piss her off: insult her dumbass boyfriend.
“Whatever. If you don’t want to spend time with me, I don’t need you. I can get along just fine without you.” She rifled through her purse looking for her keys. I knew it would be a dramatic exit on her part.
“You mean you can get off without me.” Ouch, feeling a little extra pissy this morning, are we? She found her keys and got into her brand new car; a car that was, no doubt, compliments of her way too rich daddy.
“If you manage to get your head out of your ass in time,” she said through her open window, “Karl and I will be there at nine.” Karl. Honestly, what kind of name is Karl? She slammed her car into reverse, backed into some trashcans, and peeled out before speeding down the road. Yup, that car wouldn’t make it to three months old. That’s okay; it would have plenty of company with the two other cars she’d totaled.
With her dramatic show of estrogen just another slight annoyance to add to my list that morning, I turned and started back up the stairs. I paused near the boys and whispered, “Girls are crazy.” I was rewarded with another chorus of giggles and a death glare. I went back to sleep, planning on spending every minute of the hour I had before work unconcious.
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