Omens (wattys2016)

Eleven

     The ride to Jackson's house was full of awkward silences. Well, more me being awkward and silent. It was apparent from the dark blue Escalade that he arrived in that the boy had money, lots of it. He had flung the passengers side door open, waving me into the vehicle with the flick of his wrist.

     I spent most of the ride sneaking peeks at the odometer. He was driving 75 mph, weaving recklessly in and out of traffic while I gripped the seat hoping we wouldn't crash. I watched the city fly past the window as we made our way further into the suburbs that lay outside the ever bustling town. I was surprised he had managed to make it this far without being pulled over.

     I wouldn't have been able to make conversation even if I had wanted to. He kept the music on blast the whole trip, nodding his head to the beat, singingly loudly and off tone.

    "So keep the blood in your head. And keep your feet on the ground. If today's the day it gets tired, today's the day we drop out. Gave up my body and bed, all for an empty hotel. Wasting words on lower cases and capitals."

     We pulled into the half-moon driveway and I had instantly regretted not paying more attention to the house the night of the party. The place was huge, two stories tall, looking like it had been ripped from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. The yard, last seen covered in a combination of cars and empty red cups, was now freshly mowed. Rows of flowers lined the long pathway that lead to a wide wooden porch.

     Now I am just standing here, debating on whether or not I actually want to walk through these blue doors. As cliché as it sounds, I know the moment I enter this place, my life is not going to be the same. The thought is enough to send me running full speed back to my room.

     Jackson rests a comforting hand on my lower back, guiding me through the front door into a well furnished living room. We are bum-rushed by a small group of guys mere seconds after entering the cinnamon scented house. I stand frozen, the anxiety of this many people staring at me causes my feet to lock up and all I can do is stare.

     They are all ridiculously tall, standing at least a good few inches over six feet and covered in various tattoos. The first one stares at me with eerie blue eyes, his hair a shade of pale so blonde that I am not certain it is natural. The shaved head boy next to him regards me with the same amused look, his eyes the same ice blue. The third, the one making it a point not to get too close, gives me a once over followed by a look of disapproval. His eyes are damn near replicas of Jackson's, their green hue varying slightly different in shade. From the in-awe looks on their faces, I don't have to wonder if Jackson told them about what happened this morning.

     "Guys," Jackson greets, "This is Omera, the girl I told you about. Omera, these are the twins: Liam, the blonde over there, and Max. And that guy giving you the side eye, is my older brother Gabriel. Ignore him, he makes that face at everyone because apparently he lacks social skills."

     He gives my waist a reassuring squeeze and leads me past the group and into a kitchen that would put any other kitchen out there to shame. The inside of the house is more immaculate than the outside. Everything about it screams 'money.'

     Light floods into the large space, heating the room to an uncomfortable temperature. I debate on taking off my hoodie but remember I was in such a rush to leave that all I had managed to throw on was a thin cotton tank top. The guys are already staring at me like I am an science experiment, I don't need to add to it by showing off my array of mismatched scars.

     "Hungry?" Liam asks, jerking his head in the direction of a long glass kitchen table. It has been set up buffet style. Plates lay before me piled with a variety of pastries and fruit. I grab a donut, shoving half the thing in my mouth. Crumbles spill down the front of my hoodie and I swat them away quickly. Jackson chuckles softly, handing me a full glass of orange juice. I down the thing at record speed, helping the dry treat make its way down my throat.

     The boys group together by the stove, talking in low voices amongst themselves. Occasionally one will glance over at me. Well, this is super weird. I bring my finger to my mouth, chewing on the fingernail.

     "It's weird right?" Jackson declares excitedly. Max walks over to me, circling me as he inspects me from head to toe.

     "She looks so normal," Max states, "But, god lord, she's throwing off so much energy it is ridiculous. I can see why you wanted to bring her here, she is pretty much blocking out everything around her."

     "Exactly," Jackson mumbles through a mouth full of danish, "I figured I had had too much to drink the other night. That the speaker set up was throwing me off, like that time we went to that concert in Seattle and I spent the whole time thinking someone was trying to kill us. But it is definitely her!"

     "I don't like it," Gabriel announces, still doing his best to avoid being near me, "I don't like it at all. This was a bad idea Jackson. You shouldn't have brought her here, especially if what happened last night went down the way you say it did. What if she freaks out again? She could blow the whole damn house up! Did you even think about that? No! You did what you always do and jump head first into a situation without even stopping to think about the ramifications."

     "I am right here!" I yell, tired of being discussed like I am not even a person, "Stop talking about me like I am not in the same room as all of you. Jackson, you told me if I came here you would explain everything. I'm here, so start explaining or take me back home."

     "I like her," Liam says, popping a grape into his mouth. He throws a spare one at Jackson, nailing him in the cheek.

     "You're right," Jackson apologizes, "Come with me, let's go somewhere less...crowded.

He glares back at the Liam and Max, who are currently mocking Jackson's shocked face when I spoke out. Gabriel remains still, hands folded solemnly over his chest, looking more pissed than he did before I interrupted him.

(Song playing in Jackson's car: Brand New "The quiet things that no one ever knows.")