"Every night I try my best to dream
Tomorrow makes it better
Then I wake up to the cold reality
And not a thing has changed." - Last Hope
A week had passed. It felt like an eternity though. Have you ever noticed that when you can't wait for something to happen, the clock mocks you and takes far too long to turn, until another day had set down the horizon? Yet, when it's the exact opposite and you're dreading the next moment, you blink and it's right in front of you?
The past week had consisted of me anxiously tapping my foot through detention (from when I had so and so 'interrupted classes and disturbed school entry protocol') and classes, practicing for hours each day with the band, and staring at the second hand of the clock while willing it to move faster. Of course, the time never did move any faster and I was stuck in an endless cycle of waiting for the week to pass and my journey to begin.
But now. . .
The bell rang, freeing its students from the hold of the school. I quickly shoved notebooks and pencils in my backpack, ignoring the mess and pushing myself so hard off the seat that I nearly fell off. Ignoring the few chuckles that erupted, they were quickly silenced by a deadly glare. Adjusting my bag over a single shoulder, I was the first to leave the room.
I made sure to grab everything I needed from my locker in the earlier periods, simply so that I could head straight home and finish packing. Being packed at the start of the week, it took so many decisions about which articles of clothing to bring. So many decisions, that in fact I was still hesitant about which clothes I was going to bring, and that I was going to organize my suitcase again. Just in case.
It wasn't that I was materialistic or anything of the sort; I was just nervous. More so, that I only packed and repacked so much because it calmed me, reminding me that I would be leaving soon. Finally free. Well, temporarily.
"Good luck, Lacey." Olivia greeted me as we passed, a small smile on her rosy lips. I half-smiled back, giving her a wave. We had been on better terms since the café incident; she seemed much more ready to initiate contact with me, and the same with the Twins. Carter though, was not on the same page.
The redhead seemed frustrated that my band had made it, when she was quite certain we didn't. Shooting me glares in the hallway, I always responded with a smug smirk, a replica of the smirk she wore when she tried to bring me down. I guess I would never understand exactly why she hated me so much, but I had to admit, I was curious.
My combat boots slapping against the pavement, I jumped onto the metal bar and slid down the railing of the stairs, landing on the balls of my feet at the bottom.
"Perfect landing. Ten out of ten. Would recommend." Xander's sarcastic comment was followed by a few slow claps. I glanced up to find him in a Van Halen shirt and jeans, his usually spiked up hair a flat mess on his head. Smirking, I met him at the edge of the curb where he held up an invisible microphone. "Now tell me," Xander drawled in a thick voice. "What would you call that move?"
"'Slick as yo' mama.' Patent pending." I replied easily, shoving him to the side and heading towards Zac's truck. Footsteps behind me signalled Xander trailing after; I could imagine the frown on his face from my comment. As we reached the Chevy, I noticed that all the other members were already situated in their usual spots: Drake leaning against the passenger door, claiming shotgun, Gabriel glaring at his friend's victory, and Zac attempting to start up the vehicle.
Upon seeing Xander and I, Drake looked up and grinned, throwing his hands up into the air. "Guess what today is, bitches?"
I grinned a sharp smirk, throwing open the door of the back seat and throwing my backpack inside. "A day closer to victory."
"Atta girl." Drake beamed, ruffling my hair and dodging my punch aimed in his direction. We climbed into the truck, falling into the usual routine of messing around and calling the radio.
"So are we going to try for one more practice before the flight?" Zac asked, looking back at us through the rearview mirror.
"I actually have to head home." I shifted in my seat, beside Xander. "I haven't finished packing."
"Since when did you become a girl?" Gabriel snorted from his spot. I quickly hit the back of his head, reaching behind Xander's back.
"Nah, nah. It's cool. I mean, we finally get to see Lacey's house." Drake shooed off the vocalist, turning back to face me from the passenger seat. "What's your address, Lace?"
I blanched; I guess I forgot the crucial fact that they would have to drop me off, making me jittery. Without glancing at anyone, I eased my way out with a lie, "It's down by that one café downtown: The Cup. You can just drop me off there; I kind of want a latte anyway."
Luckily, no one seemed to be suspicious and Zac quickly changed course to the café that had become Mike and my unofficial meeting spot.The rest of the ride I remained silent. It was growing increasingly harder to lie to them, mostly because I've finally realized just how nonoblivious my friends really are. The fact that they notice reminded me constantly that they cared, but it was a little unnerving that they could be piecing together shards of the truth.
Either way, it wasn't technically lying about my home life, but more like easing away from the topic.
Once we arrived at the café, I hurled open the door, listening to it creak as my feet hit the concrete. Xander tossed me my backpack, which I caught easily. "Thanks for the ride, Zac." I grinned as the driver's window rolled down to reveal the bassist.
"Anytime. You got a ride to get to the airport?"
"Yeah," I lied. I was thinking of grabbing a cab to take me to the international airport, mostly because I didn't want the band insisting on picking me up at my residence. "Rendevous at the entrance?"
"Sounds like a plan." Zac grinned before shooting me a thumbs up. "Bye, Lace." I waved goodbye as they sped off into the distance, before sighing deeply and turning the opposite direction; towards home.
--
Very gently, with as much noise as a mouse would make, I strode across the floor of my room, sweeping up stray articles of clothing I had thrown onto the ground earlier. For nearly an hour, I packed and unpacked. Whether it was because I was nervous or for another reason, I wasn't sure.
Maybe it was a metaphor.
Everytime I packed, I felt confident. I felt like like I could take on the competition. I felt as if I were finally on my escape route and getting away from it all. But with each burst of confidence came a creeping feeling of dread, pulling me out of the clouds and into the harshness of reality. I would unpack, thinking that there would be no need since I'd end up back at Marco's no matter what.
Right now, I held a loose fitting Paramore shirt in one hand and a worn out Beatles shirt in the other. After unpacking and settling my thoughts, I deemed myself silly for the fourth time and began repacking for the fifth. The window was wide open, ready for my escapade, the soft breeze outside made the curtains billow and myself shiver from the autumn breeze.
My room looked like it always did; bare and ornate of any decorations minus the photograph of my mother on the desk table. I made my way over to where it sat, an image of Amelia Carson smiling as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. My younger self looked up at her adoringly; I could see the admiration in my eyes. Smiling just a little, I remembered it was Marco who had taken the picture; I remembered how he looked with the silver camera shining in the sun, his eyes alight with happiness and love.
Picking up the battered frame, with the glass holding the picture suffering from a crack towards the top, I examined the picture before placing it gently in the suitcase, right beside the picture of myself with the band. Zac insisted we take a family photo before the start of the tour, so that we could revel in the before and after. I could still recall the sound of laughter as we battled to take the center spot, waiting as the self-timer on the camera blinked rapidly until a flash erupted and our grins were captured permanently.
The two photographs sat side by side, tucked gently in between layers of shirts and jeans, the smiles still shining through the fabric. Picking up the final shirt off the floor, I folded it before putting it in in the case next to my mother's picture. Something inside my heart stirred, and I felt a sudden burst of determination. After a moment's pause, I didn't begin to unpack again.
This time I was ready.
"I took that picture, didn't I?" A gruff voice from the doorway made me jump and whirl around. There it was again; the feeling of fear seeping into my nerves just by running a glance at his tousled brown hair, sprinkled with hints of grey. His wrinkled shirt clung to his beer belly, creasing as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. Marco happened to be sober; I could tell from the awareness of his eyes as he roamed my bare room, settling only on the packed grey suitcase behind my body.
His question had been so out of character, so normal that it took a moment to formulate a reply. "You did. It was the year after you and Mom married."
The mere mention of my mother made a dangerous glint gleam in his expression, and for a second I was afraid I had said the wrong thing. Bracing myself for the first hit, I was surprised when it didn't come. I met his gaze; yes, there was inevitable pain, but something else I couldn't put a finger on.
"You going somewhere?" Marco gestured lightly to the luggage, still open to reveal the smile of my mother looking down at us both. His hand shook, showing he wasn't as easy-going as he seemed.
I thought about making a wise-ass comment, but this character shift had me hesitant, unsure why he seemed to be so mellow when I expected his reaction to be blindingly furious. "I have somewhere to be."
"Where?"
"Chicago." I dragged the reply out slowly. Peeling himself away from the doorway, Marco took slow steps towards my direction. I instantly took a rough step back, colliding with the bed and causing the thud to echo through the room. There was a slight pain from the impact but I didn't care.
That had his steps faltering until he stopped about a foot away. "Chicago." He echoed, his voice distant. "That's too far away, Lacey."
As my name rolled off his tongue, I suppressed a shudder and hugged my body defensively. I didn't reply and he took this chance to continue speaking. "Why? Why are you leaving?" Marco looked hurt, and it made me shrink back with guilt.
"It's none of your business." My reply came too fast, too strong. His calm aura seemed to shatter as the hint of that anger I was so used to seemed to appear out of nowhere. I could see him struggling to put it back in its place, forcing down the anger so that the conversation could remain civil. But I didn't understand why.
"I'm your father. I'm sure it is my business." said Marco, taking another step forward. There was no more space to back up; I found myself closer to him than I had ever been. It wasn't that he was invading my privacy so much that it could be called harassment - he was still considerate enough to give me some breathing room - but that I realized the only time he ever bothered to get this close was to relieve himself of his pain by causing me pain instead.
Marco's gaze switched to Rev, laying on the bed beside me right by the suitcase. He pointed to the drumsticks with a crooked thumb, hands still shaky. "Is it because of that? Your fucking music?"
Grinding my teeth together, I was too confused, too irritated to even muster up a lie. A sudden burst of confidence had me straightening up and jutting a stubborn chin out. "Yes."
His eyes narrowed, lowering his arms back to his sides. "Is that where you've been? Why you've been sneaking out? To play in a fucking band? And, and now you're going to fucking Chicago with this fucking band?"
"Yes." I said again, though this time the reply sounded a little weaker than before. I knew the signs before the strike. His lower lip would curl up in a sneer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, and his cheeks would burn scarlet.
But he didn't strike.
And I was at a loss for the second time.
All at once, his anger evaporated and his fists stopped shaking. Marco sunk to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Shoulders shaking, I watched as he fell apart, sobs wracking his body as the strong, dominant male figure broke away to reveal the fragile, broken man beneath. There had only been one other time I had seen him like this. And that had been when Mom died.
What could I do? I was still hesitant, afraid that if I tried to get close, he would just lash out at me like he always did. Afraid to let people in. But if I stood in front of him, doing nothing, I would be as good a person as Carter doing the same to me.
I remembered the night at Blake's apartment, how I helped the drummer recover. I remembered how much it hurt to stand in front of him and watch as he fell apart. I wouldn't do the same to Marco, no matter what he did.
Because even if he abused me physically, he was just as broken on the inside than on the outside. Just like I was.
"Marco." I tried, my voice hoarse and cracking. The man didn't hear, too immersed in his battle for composure, tears falling and staining the moldy carpet. "Marco. Damn it, Dad."
That sent both us plunging into silence. I let out an inaudible gasp, covering my mouth with a hand. Marco glanced up in confusion. His dark eyes red-rimmed, he gaped like a fish and looked up to meet my shocked expression. "Lacey-"
"Dad." I repeated mostly for my sake, testing out the word on my tongue. It sounded foreign, alien. It was like a language I had never spoken but immediately knew all the words to. "No." I shook my head, feeling my own tears rising and stinging my eyes. "I can't do this. I can't do this."
"Do what?" He choked out, rising from the floor and grabbing my shoulders. He shook them roughly but I was in so much of a numb trance that I said nothing. "Lacey, answer me."
"I can't call you that. Not yet." I whispered, letting him shake me. Maybe it would knock the feeling back into my body. "You're not my father. Not anymore."
"Damn it, Lacey!" Marco nearly yelled, releasing me so fast that I fell backwards onto my bed. The broken man from before was hidden once more by this angry beast. I stepped in the wrong direction; I had angered him once more. "I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to deal with the fact that you're leaving."
"And what's wrong with that?" I yelled back. "You never had a problem with leaving!"
"Don't talk back to me." Marco hissed through gritted teeth, wagging a shaky finger in my direction. "You're practically going to the other side of the country. I have no idea why and I have no idea with who. You can't just leave."
"Hypocrite." I accused in a voice filled with venom. "Why can you leave the house but I can't? I'm not some goddamn prisoner." I felt the tear soak my cheeks but I made no move to wipe them away as I finally began to let out all my emotion and feelings to my step-father. "You abuse me, Marco. Don't even try to deny it. You know the sick part? I let you. I let you beat me to bloody pul every fucking day and I don't even try to fight back. I have never called the cops, I never told anyone. What happens in this house stays in this fucking house, because I let it stay. You want to know why? Because I love you, okay? There, I said it. You're the closest I've ever had to a father figure but now you're a monster. Just like they all were."
"Lacey-"
"I let you hit me, kick me, punch me, because I know this is how you escape the pain. I understand. That's why I have my music. I need an escape too. You're not the only one who is hurting. But I've had enough, Marco. I can't deal with this anymore."
"What are you trying to say?" He looked defeated and betrayed, the pain washing over his already worn out features.
"I entered a contest, Marco. A battle of the bands so that I can get away from this hellhole. From you. My band and I have a chance of winning this, and then I'll never have to see you again. And vice versa. I can be free again."
"You never got my permission." Marco growled out.
"I didn't think I would need it." I matched his tone with my own. We stared each other down, glare against glare.
"You're just like your mother." He spat; I wiped the spit off my face with a dead expression. "When you can't handle it, you always go for the easy way out. You run. She couldn't take it, and now neither can you."
"Don't," I screamed. "say that about my mother!"
"You're just going to leave me, like she did. You both are exactly the same: appearance, personality, and weakness. The only difference between you and her, Lacey? I loved her." My breath caught in my throat, making me choke and wheeze. He couldn't... he couldn't be that cruel. "So go. Fine. Run away and leave me. But when you come crawling back to me, I will make you regret it. I swear it on my life."
Marco reached out; I quickly followed my instincts and covered my face with my arms, but he still didn't swing. When I released my hold and glanced back in Marco's direction, he had my drumsticks in his hands, with the same expression he always wore right before he hit me.
"Don't touch my drumsticks!" I screamed, feeling more tears flow down my face. It felt so strange to cry; I hadn't wept in such a long time. I had only cried when my mother died and I hadn't shed a tear since. Not until now.
Without another word, Marco grabbed the ends of the sticks and pushed. I could hear the splintering of the wood cracking, drowned out only by my sobs. With a loud crack, Rev was demolished in his hands, torn apart in the middle so that the four separate, broken pieces came crashing to the floor.
This... this was worse than having him hurt me. I flung myself off my bed, scampering to my broken sticks on the floor, weeping at the feet of my step-father as I clutched the splinters in my hands.
I always had a knack for symbolism. I knew that this -Marco breaking Rev- was a sign. It would only be the beginning. And as Marco departed my room silently, leaving me to cry over unwanted memories and broken shards of my music dreams, I knew that the road ahead would only be rougher.
I picked myself off the floor, setting down the remnants of Rev onto the bed beside my luggage. Packing, unpacking: a constant reminder of the decision I had yet to make. Would I leave or would I stay?
I reached out and closed the top of the case, covering my mother's mocking smile from inside.
Anywhere was better than here.
--
"Coming, Lacey?" Xander chirped, his tone filled with excitment and wonder. I continued staring out the large scale windows of the airport, gaze locked on the white airplane that would eventually take me away from the cursed city of Seattle and into a new place. Some part of me was a little scared; I had never left the city much less go to a completely different state. A soft hand on my side made me look over to my right where Xander was gently tugging on my sleeve. "Lace?"
"Yeah, I'm coming." I answered him, prying his hand away and ignoring his hurt puppy dog expression. Gliding past him, I simply began walking ahead into the terminal where the rest of the band had already disappeared into. His footsteps matched my pace as we made our way past the linoleum carpet and into the waiting area where planes were already being called for boarding.
"I still can't believe it," said Xander from my side, attempting to make small talk in the tense atmosphere. I rolled my suitcase along, feeling the broken wheel catch onto the bumps in the carpet. "We're actually going to Chicago. We're going on a tour."
"Better believe, Xander, 'cause that's where we'll be for the next month or two." I gave him a half-hearted reply. Growing increasingly annoyed at my suitcase, I just picked it up and carried it in a hand.
"I know, I know. It's just... so weird to comprehend." He mused by my side, rolling along his own suitcase (lime green, by the way) by his side. I nodded distractedly, still thinking about Marco's breakdown, about why he broke down in the first place.
Making our way down the aisles to the row of seats where the rest of Chasing Avenues were located, I got ready to sit down just as our seats were announced for boarding.
"I wish they could've at least put us in first class." Drake pouted; he had the most luggage out of the five of us, a suitcase and a duffel bag probably filled with hair products. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulders with a grunt and added sullenly, "I've always wanted to sit first class."
"The company's already spending so much money on this competition as it is. We're not rock stars yet." Zac reasoned.
"I bet Tilted got first class tickets." Drake pouted, before he and Zac went off to board the plane. Gabriel followed suit, motioning for me and Xander to hurry behind so we wouldn't get caught up in the stampede.
"Hey." Xander's voice pulled me to a stop. I watched Gabriel's retreating figure head into the chute that led to the plane before bringing my focus to my friend. He looked concerned; though Xander always looked worried about me, he looked just a tad bit more concerned than usual. "Are you okay?"
"Peachy." I ground out, my tone basically saying don't talk to me right now.
"Did something happen at home? Your dad's not back from his business trip yet, right?" Xander asked. I almost forgot that I had lied about Marco to even him.
Shrugging, I just gave a half-assed reply, "I just feel weird about leaving, that's all."
"Oh." Xander seemed to deflate, relieved that there was no gigantic problem. "Well, you don't have to say goodbye to this place yet. You can always come back, even after we win the battle of the bands."
"Trust me," I started walking ahead, dragging my luggage along and getting out my ticket to show the attendent. "I don't ever want to come back." I whispered.
I waited for him inside the chute, and together we made our way to the plane. The flight attendent showed us the way to where the economy class seats were located. Putting our luggage overhead in the apartments, Xander claimed window seat while Drake claimed the aisle seat, and I found myself smushed in the middle of the two guitarists. Sighing, I ignored their promises of behaving knowing fully well that it was a load of bullshit.
"Oh, well look who it is." Drake cackled from my left. I glanced over out of curiosity, where Drake was motioning to the aisle. I leaned over him, seeing what he was so amused about.
Blake.
The drummer was headed in our direction, looking sheepish as he accidentally elbowed other passengers due to his bulky frame. The sight was too adorable, and I found myself half-smiling. Blake managed to get to where the three of us were seated unscathed, though a little flushed.
"Hey, man." Drake greeted, doing that handshake all men seemed to know.
"For fuck's sake." Xander groaned softly from my right side; the comment was under his breath, one that I wasn't supposed to hear.
"Hey." Blake greeted before switching his gaze to me. A grin blossomed on his lips and my answering smile seemed less than the equivalent of it. "Hi, Sturm."
"Harnage." I greeted him. It was amazing how his sheer presence brought me out of my sullen mood. I blamed it on his cheerful personality that seemed to effect everyone around him.
"Uhm, so Drake. I was wondering." Blake trailed off, running a hand through his hair. Drake quirked an eyebrow and waited for the drummer to continue. "If you know, you'd maybe want to.. want to switch seats with me."
"No." Xander exclaimed, making me jump. All eyes glanced to him where he quickly stammered out an excuse, "Well, I mean, the band has to stick together, right?"
"Ignore him." Drake shooed a hand, casting Xander a confused look. "I don't know, man. Where's your seat?"
"I was kind of forced to sit in first class-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. First class?" Drake's grin was huge and he looked as excited as a baby getting a lollipop.
"Yeah?"
"Deal." Drake made a move to stand up but Xander jumped up from his spot and pushed his friend back into his seat.
"Xander, what the hell?!"
"Sorry, I slipped." He lied, though he didn't seem sorry at all.
"Okay..." Drake didn't look convinced, making a move to stand up again when Xander quickly put his legs up, the length of them sitting on Drake and my laps. "Xander."
"What is your problem?" I hissed out to him, just as annoyed as Drake was.
"I don't want him sitting here!" Xander hissed back, crossing his arms defiantly.
"And why not?"
"... I don't like him."
"You're such an ass."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am-"
"Hey, guys?" Blake's voice made us both look over in annoyance. Only to find that Drake was nowhere to be found and that Blake was situated comfortably in his place. "Drake's gone?"
"I can see that." Xander grumbled in defeat, turning his gaze back to the window and ignoring us both.
"What's his problem?" Blake whispered to me curiously, a little hurt.
"I have no idea. Man period, maybe?"
"Men don't get periods." He smirked, rolling his eyes. I chuckled softly, shrugging.
"I don't want to sound rude, but.., why did you want to switch seats with Drake? You're giving up first class."
"Doesn't matter." Blake smiled. "I get to sit with you."
And with that single comment that made my heart blossom with a feeling I couldn't understand, I began to second guess the idea of thinking everything turning out wrong. Maybe it would all be alright.
--
This chapter was hella bipolar. It was angsty and then playful, and then the rest of the story will be angsty again. Wow, fantastic. I hoped you guys liked it though. I don't understand how I keep pumping out these long-ass chapters, but I hope it sticks.
Anyway, LOOK AT THE MULTIMEDIA SECTION ON THE SIDE. DO YOU SEE THAT? IT IS BLAKE AND LACEY, EXACTLY HOW I PICTURE THEM, AND IT WAS DRAWN BY A SUPER TALENTED FUCKING AWESOME BEST FRIEND, WHO IS LIKE ONE OF THE BEST ARTISTS I KNOW. <3 This chapter is dedicated to her.
Also, guys. Please, if you're thinking about doing the one-shot competition, please do it! I would love if you guys entered. I only have three submissions. I wasn't planning on extending the deadline, but if I have to, I guess I will. Remember, the prompt is to write an event (anything) in the POV of any character of your choosing, OR write an alternate ending. Page length does not matter and the only requirement is to dedicate the chapter to me so I can get the notif and read it. c: Deadline is January 30, 2014.
Also, you should all check out Requiem by Panem_Deae (my other best friend. She, L'oreal, and I make up Las Mayonnaise. xo) It's so beautiful and perfect and you'd all love it so much. I'll put the link in the external,
Comment, vote, promote! x
Stay lovely,
Isabelle