Stevie Marie Kravitz is an 18 year old girl who has been quiet all her life. She spent her school life taking the blows from bullies and doing her work hiding inside the school library, graduating two years early. Now, fresh out of an Ivy League art...
I turn around, and beeline for the music room, quickly locking myself in there after letting the three kids in. I don't want them to sit through that. "Evie, are you okay?" Clara calls warily, as I angrily plug in the amps and the speakers. "You guys should go in the recording room so you don't hurt your ears. I've only got one pair of plugs." I don't mean to be so harsh with them, but my heart pretty much just broke. I told him I'm falling in love with him, and he said he was falling in love with me too. But obviously he was lying.
He probably was pitying me.
They silently walk into the recording room and close the door behind them, and I start to play Color Your World by Before Today.
As I play the calming notes, I find my way to the hammock seat on the corner by the window, and I find myself just swinging while staring out the window, playing the song in repeat. The kids come out of the recording room and all sit on the love seat, eventually dozing off. I just continue to play, until the sun starts to set, and my injured hand begins to sting. I figure that it's safe to say that both Remington and that girl have left my house, so I quietly set my guitar down with a grimace of pain, realizing I should probably get some pain meds. I quietly make my way slowly down stairs, my heart dropping when I hear the same annoying giggle I'd heard earlier. Panicking, I quickly pull out a pair of earbuds and stuff then in my ears, pressing shuffle and turning the volume up loudly. The Phantom of the Opera's All I Ask Of You (Reprise) floods my ears, making me snicker. I may be sad, but come on, the irony. I compose myself, quickly throwing my newly dyed hair up in a ponytail. This makes my hand hurt terribly, and tears well up in my eyes. Remind me why I thought punching a mirror would be a good idea? Cradling my injured hand, I walk out into the open, my eyes trained on the kitchen. No doubt about it, their eyes are in me, but I ignore it, continuing my swift march to the kitchen, where I'd be safe from sight. When I enter the kitchen, I sigh in relief, the anxiety I'd been feeling while crossing my own home fading into nothingness. I skip over to the fridge and grab myself a cool glass of water for my suddenly parched throat, deciding to drink it with the pain meds. When I turn to get it, my smile drops. There's the Advil, sitting at the top of the highest cupboard, almost in a taunting manner. I mentally groan. I start to hoist myself onto the counter, but the pain in my hand grows, and I'm forced to take a break. The pain is almost unbearable, but it only fuels my want for Advil more. After about a minute, I resume my climbing, letting out a whimper at the pain. But I finally climb onto the counter. I know I can reach the Advil now. As my fingers graze the top of the bottle, my hand slips on something wet, and I start to tumble off the counter.
•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•
Remington
Tawnie and I have been waiting for Stevie to get back for hours, and I'm starting to worry. That Greyson kid who was here left when we got here, saying Stevie went to go get stitches. The fact that she hurt herself so bad that she needed stitches is gnawing at me from the inside, but to spare myself from another one of Tawnie's tantrums, I'm managing to hold it in. Suddenly, a blonde beauty walks in, her walk slightly speeded, and her eyes hold determination, set on the kitchen. My own eyes widen in surprise. Stevie?! I quickly tell Tawnie to stay out while I get her a glass of water, and I rush after her, wishing for an explanation. When I enter the kitchen, my eyes nearly pop out of my skull. What the hell is she doing?! Stevie is struggling to reach for a small bottle of Advil, her face crunched up with pain, her hand slipping on her own blood. With a yelp, Stevie slips off the counter, and I manage to scramble over and catch her in time, though I unfortunately couldn't save her from the small vile of Advil that came tumbling down after her, smacking her right in the forehead. "Ow, Curses!" She howls, her injured hand slapping her forehead, making her screech again. She cradles her hand, her forehead--now dripping with blood from her hand--forgotten. I can't help it. I laugh. Stevie stared at me incredulously, almost with a twinge of hurt as I laugh at her clumsiness. I nearly double over with her in my arms, so I've got to be careful. She huffs, and tries to climb out of my arms, but puts pressure on her injured hand and yelps, making me sober up real quick. "Are you okay?" I ask her, and she ignores me. "I got blood on your sleeve." I glance at my black sleeve, to see that she's in fact right, except for one thing.
My sleeve is drenched in her blood.
"Oh my god, Stevie!" I shout, and sit her on the counter, immediately putting her hand under the faucet of the sink that sits next to her. She watches, paling as her blood continues to fall a little too freely, mixing with the water. While her attention is in that, I grab a towel and wipe away the blood on her face. She flinches away from me at first, however. My brows furrow in confusion, but I continue to try and wipe away the blood she'd gotten on her face, lacing my free hand into her hair, and successfully get it off of her. She shoves me away after. "What the hell?!" I cuss, stumbling from her action, which caught me off guard. She won't meet my gaze. I step a bit closer, trying to catch her eyes. "Stevie?" "You should go back out to your girlfriend," she says, grabbing herself a small towel and wrapping her hand up with it. A piece of her wavy platinum blonde hair falls into her face, and she blows it away. "Why'd you dye it?" I ask her, ignoring her earlier statement. Her eyes quickly flash to my own, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she's cut off to someone stomping into the kitchen, heels clacking on the floor annoyingly. Stevie tenses. "Rem, why are you taking so long??" Tawnie screeches, and I clench my jaw. She's really starting to piss me off. The faux redhead clings to my arm, her hand resting on my bicep, fingers brushing my sleeve. "Oh my GOD! Is this blood?!" Tawnie screeches, and I smirk, unable to hold it in. "Sorry, that's my bad," Stevie says sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. My eyebrows furrow again at this. What's up with her? "Who's this little mouse?" Tawnie sniffs, her voice clipping at Stevie, who shrinks away. Suddenly, Tawnie gasps, before bursting out laughing, and Stevie seems to grow even more uncomfortable. But I'm beyond annoyed. "The f*ck is your problem?" I snap at Tawnie, who finishes laughing before pouting at me. "Why're you being mean, baby? And why are you talking to Freaky Stevie?"
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