Breaking Through
Chapter One
Heavy rain drops dropped, more pounded, against my dark haired head. Tears streamed from my pale complexion, staining as they cascaded from my azure eyes. I crossed my arms over their opposite shoulders, struggling to keep my gray cardigan from flowing openly behind me. Cold wind blew into my face in huge gusts, blowing my hair in all kinds of directions. The noise around me seemed never-ending. Continuous blasts of lightning crackled above, followed by roars of thunder. The dark clouds split when the blinding white bolt struck land miles from where I was. I hoped the deafening booms would soon turn into soft rumbles that soothed the rigged edge of my fear.
Familiar shutters calmed my terrified gaze. They were bright pink, standing out against the mildew-stained white that colored the rest of the house. I pushed myself to run faster and then quickly opened the depressing gray door. Suddenly it felt like everything was gone. The supreme weight on my shoulders, the welling tension in the world I was living in, it had all disappeared. I was home. I was safe. The smell of warm cinnamon wafted into my nose. I took a generous sniff, knowing that Ofelia was just burning a candle.
Footsteps paraded down the creaky wooden stairs, sounding more like an avalanche. I kicked off my tattered white Converse, ready to meet the person halfway up the second unit of the small house.
“You’re back! I was so worried. I mean, you being scared of storms and all.” Tanned arms wrapped around me in a loving hug. I returned the kind hug and then pulled back, balancing on the wooden staircase. “Thanks for the concern, Colette, but I’m okay.” Across my face, an embarrassing smile came to be. Being afraid of weather was childish, but the raging winds and thunderous bursts scared me as a kid. Eager to change the subject I asked, “Is Ofelia cooking? The smell of the candle is so -”
“- What do you mean ‘candle’? You mean the cinnamon. She is actually melting some right now. She claims she’s going to put it on toast for us.”
Something fluttered deep inside my chest, whether it be a pang of my lost childhood or a pang of hunger, I was not sure. “I’ll talk to her later. Where’s Dallas?”
Colette stifled a giggle, angling her pointer finger to the top right room next to the stairwell. “Thanks.” I replied quickly, running up the steps, two at a time. I followed her directions and paused at the red spray-painted door, debating whether to knock or leave him in peace. A muffled voice came from the room, “come on in, Tawne. I know you’re there.” I released my breath. Not to be known as a stranger in his eyes, I was relieved. My hand clasped around the brass knob of the door, absentmindedly twisting it.
The room was a mess.
Clothes were strewn over the stained carpet, also overflowing from the laundry baskets that were shoved in corners. A moldy, musty smell filled my nostrils, but that was nothing new. Dallas lied on the bed, his dark hair a messy mop on his head. Stray strands of hair proceeded to hang loosely over his content emerald gaze. “What’s up?” He asked, breaking the silence that filled the small bedroom. I took a seat next to him, cringing at the sound of another thunder-boom outside his water-spotted glass window. “Nothing‘s wrong. Why assume something’s wrong?”
Dallas aimed his glare straight at me, “you just admitted it. I asked what was up, not what was wrong. Is it ‘cause the storm? It will pass, Tawne. Do not worry ‘bout it. It ain’t anything dangerous.” His smooth, slick country accent reminded me of my southern home way back when. I had unfortunately lost the accent of my own, but having Dallas as a reminder was good enough. I breathed shakily, resting the back of my head on the huge pillow behind us. “I know it isn’t, but …”
He stopped me, “got it. I understand. Everyone has their own fears.”
Here he was again, going on his tangent of encouraging words. Next, he would tell me what his cousin, Ellis, was scared of, and then continue with silly things that actually made me feel okay.
“Y’know my cousin Ellis is afraid of bears. Even though he never saw one of them, they scared ‘em half to death.” There it was. Dallas told me everything. We were best friends, and nothing could separate us. The only thing he had not told me was what he feared. For the longest time I considered him fearless, but not anymore.
Deep in his grassy green eyes, I could see something. Something that frightened him more than being held at gunpoint, more than being dangled over a cliff, more than losing a friend, more than storms, but I just did not know what it was. I had made a mental note long ago, vowing to find out what it was. As of today, I still had no clue, and I was not going to ask him.
He wrapped a toned arm around my shoulder, holding me closer. “Yah see? The storm’s already clearing up.” As soon as he finished speaking a crash of lightning parted the sky, “oh,” he laughed, “guess not.” A sigh escaped my mouth as I laid a hand on his chest, “it’s alright. At least you tried to make me feel better.” Another flash of lightning lit the dimmed room white for less than a second, blinding me. Dallas did not even flinch. Instead, he breathed in coolly. “It’ll pass. Just close your eyes.”
I shook my head, clearing the hair that blocked my vision. “It’s not possible. Storms will keep me up as long as they go, regardless how tired I am.” Dallas looked at me, his calm green eyes shining, “then I’ll stay up with you.” Why was he such a great friend? All I could offer him was my pathetic existence, and he returned it with so much more. “If it makes you feel any better we can head on downstairs.” He reasoned, already getting of the bed.
His regular white T-shirt with navy sleeves framed his strong arms. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, clearing the dust flecks. “C’mon. I smell something cookin’.” He opened the door, closing it behind me. Then he walked the few steps to the stairs, practically leaping down them four at a time. I could tell Ofelia’s cinnamon was getting to him, because he immediately skidded into the kitchen, taking a seat and pulling one out for me. Ofelia, the minimum wage housekeeper, walked over to us, ruffling a red-finger-nailed-hand through Dallas’s already messy hair. She turned to me, placing her soft-skinned hand on my cheek.
“You look gorgeous, my darling child, Tawne. Beautiful!” Her Hispanic accent flowed through the air like wind, careful and loving. Her light brown hands suddenly felt freezing as the blush and hot embarrassment flooded into my white cheeks. Dallas held in his laughter as he clicked his nails against the splintered oak table. “I smell something, Ofelia,” he took a deep breath, “Cinnamon.”
The housekeeper nodded, her bright lips plastered into a smile. Her long, deep brown hair was tied into a braid that ran like a snake down her short back. “Good, good, Dallas. You finally came down to have some!” She rushed over to the small thing our little family called a ‘kitchen’. Really, it was a tiled room with a homemade counter of bricks. It was amazing we were actually able to have a stove, regardless that three burners were knocked out. Nevertheless, we were still thankful. She wrapped a thick cloth around her fingers as she pulled a steel pan off the one and only burner. Inside was a boiling, frothy substance. Spicy scents wavered from the steamy pot as she poured a very small amount of stale bread. Careful not to spill the precious liquid on the red bricks, she spread the cinnamon with a plastic butter knife. She then came over to Dallas and placed the delicious snack before him.
His appetite taking over, he became the animal he was inside, devouring the toast and slurping the cinnamon as he ate. “It tastes like milk…with cinnamon.” He said through a mouthful of food. “It still tastes amazing though!” Ofelia nodded her thanks. Only she could make the best meals out of simple things like cinnamon, milk and bread. “Thank you, Dallas Darling!” She used her common nickname for the country boy. “I mixed the milk with the cinnamon. I hoped it would not show through much, but I’m delighted you enjoy it!”
Ofelia then took his paper plate; covered with toasted crumbs, and tossed it in the whicker bucket we called a trashcan. “Have any of you seen Frazer, Iris, Colette, Kodi, Tristan and Jase?” She asked, a worried expression taking over her almost ebony eyes. I shrugged, picking at my already short nails. “I saw Colette when I got back, but I’m not sure where she went after that. She’s probably out in the city with Frazer.” I put emphasis on the eighteen-year-old’s name, hinting that they may be out for a while. Though Colette was only fifteen, turning sixteen in November, she was convinced her and Frazer were meant to be. He felt the same way. “I have no clue where the others are.”
Dallas swallowed the last of his toast. “Jase said he was going out to the grocery store. Big Books for Less was generous to him this week. He told me he was going to bring back some more food.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as he thank. “I haven’t seen Iris, Kodi or Tristan all day. That being said, I woke up late.” Ofelia laughed, “That being said you were up very late, Dallas Darling.” The country boy was probably up thinking, as he always was. It was that or either that or listening to the sounds of the night. “They remind me of my home.” He claimed.
Dallas’ comment on Jase earning money reminded me. “I found some money this afternoon,” before Ofelia could give me a scolding glance I defended myself, “Don’t worry. I did not steal it! It’s only Iris that does that.” Ofelia, now calm, urged me on. “It wasn’t much, only fifteen bucks, but I figured out that the best places to look are near bars and clubs. The drunkards do not close their wallets and money flies out. It’s practically a giveaway.” Dallas clapped his hands. “That’s great! It’s more than nothing, and that’s what counts!”
From across the room the entrance door opened. Wind whistled and howled through the small crack, and rain pelted against the white bath rug that we wiped our feet on.
“Hey,” muttered a soaked Tristan as she walked into the kitchen. His old black Nike’s were kicked off next to my Converse, though his pitch-black socks still trailed dirty water into the house. What had he gotten into this time? Apparently a lot if water had seeped through to his socks. Ofelia gasped, her high voice almost breaking into a shriek. “Tristan Joshua!” She exclaimed, clutching his shoulders. Her nails looked like drops of blood against his midnight hoodie. “What happened to you?”
I raised an eyebrow. Tristan always acted that way. The young kid was always quiet and secretive. No matter that, he started living with us a year ago; we did not know much about him besides that he enjoyed being alone and that he preferred silence to noise. I did not understand why Ofelia was making such a big deal over it; his hoodie was always over his ebony-haired head. Tristan just stayed quiet, ignoring the shaky hands on his shoulder. Ofelia persisted on the truth of his matter. “Tristan,” tears formed at her eyes as she gingerly pulled the hood off his head, “what happened.”
Terror ran through me like a freight train. Scarlet blood dripped from the socket of his left eye, only pouring into another wound that curved upward at his lip. Bruises covered his jawbone and chin as he turned away, “I got in a fight.” Dallas met his hand with mine, squeezing it gently. He felt my fear. He knew what was running through my mind.
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I'm only twelve, and I'm aware I'm not a very good writer. I have problems when it comes to grammar, puncuation and quotations. I'm sorry. :)