Like my first book, this second story is full of learning. It's a lot better than MMM, but it's still got it's quirks in need of correction. Hopefully by my third I'll really have the swing of this writing thing. lol. Every chap that gets written, the little bit more I understand of how daunting writing truly is and can be.
This came through inspiration after reading some really messed up relationship stories, particularly in the teacher/student genre. Not really my cup of tea, but I thought it important to offer something kinder, softer, and more understanding to what a relationship should represent. Plus I hate the notion that trauma is romanticized, it's not. Helping someone heal, accepting that it takes time and patients, someone to stick by your side through your ugly phases and good stages; thats romantic to me.
This is nowhere near perfect, but it is something I tried to represent as well as I could with my developing storytelling skills.
With that said, I did try and tailor to what readers were wanting. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it.
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•
The difference between friendly and manipulative had never been a lesson she had had to learn.
There had never been a reason to not give people her blind trust, or to ever search for deceitful motives. Learn how to ignore rehearsed words and focus on the truth revealed in the way one person touches another.
She had never understood that playing games was a part of human nature.
Testing boundaries. Strength and will. Domination and submission.
The lesson that to some people you're just a thing to be squashed or a thing to be used.
•
It had all started with the idea of letting go of all that you've ever known and embracing something entirely different. Starting over from scratch on every human level you can think of.
New house, new city, new people, new you.
You are not the same person you are from old city to new because as much as you might think you'll be you wherever in the world you are, its just not true. What you surround yourself with says a lot about who you are and what has happened to you to have gotten there.
Charlotte was accepted, struggling in a new world outside of high school, a place where friends aren't the same people you met in ninth grade. But thats not the change that has disrupted her neatly trimmed world. Loved by her family even when it suffers with some strange dynamics. To her it was as good as it gets.
This timid girl trying to survive amongst her peers and become the person she strives her little sister to look up to, thought that this was her springboard, this is her about to embrace her maturing life.
She was enjoying summer and the beginning of fall after having just graduated from the place that had claimed to have educated her for the last few years, already anxiously looking into post secondary schooling. Parties on the beach, hanging with friends everyday, and cruising in crappy first purchased cars while screaming to her friend Dayna's favourite songs, blasting their ears deaf.
All was good. Great even. Her safe little world she had made for herself. Trying to keep hold of friends, and like ever person, she had been in search of companionship. Subsequently this all coincided with Charlottes mother coming home with a ''Killer job offer that couldn't and shouldn't be declined''.
Soon after commenced the departing ceremonies. An event that was to be a celebration of time well spent in Miami. So proceeded Charlottes parents inviting over their entire family and long rooted friends to the family's Miami house. Emotions running high all around, and although Charlotte wasn't the hugging type, she had gladly accepted embraces as they came. Partying like she's never done before, letting drinks be handed to her and downed like swallowing water after a run in the heat. Drowning her discontent and tears with the welcomed bottles He had handed to her willingly.
Soon the sun dipped beyond ocean waves, a welcoming pale grey moon replacing and high lighting foggy forests, and in the bird chirping mornings, strong yellow beams shined heat down once more, as if Charlottes world hadn't been flipped in the course of a night.
To wake that day regretting every sip of bourbon that met parched lips, every step and stumble she comfortably swayed into a manipulative embrace, and every trust she ever gave to that boy who used to mean the world to her.
The next day as she's being swept up and carried in her family's current across the country, securely buckled into her fathers truck beside her little sister. Drying the six year olds tear stained cheeks and swallowing her own down because she's fine, she's fine, she's fine. There aren't purple welts under the too hot layered clothing strangling her aching body because last night never happened, never did, because she's fine. Just like she was before, she's so fine and nothing ever happened to her.
Freshly nineteen and suddenly the world of adulthood seems so much scarier to breech than it had been not twelve hours earlier. In that time, she had been safe and secure in herself, and then all it took was one person for her to be terrified by even the touch of her parents (but strangely not her sister).
Sighing as her life transformed without her consent before her bright blue eyes.
•
Rain tapped steadily against her window, a constant reminder that she was not home, and wouldn't be going back. At least Miami had sunny skies all the time, with a warm ocean just a few feet from her front door. Now she was in the smoggy city of Seattle of all places. The rain seems like it hasn't stopped for days, surprised this new house, not her home, wasn't floating on eight feet of water by now.
Getting up with a groan, pulling the drapes to cover grey skies peering through a creaky window. Grabbing her iPod, immediately putting it on shuffle as she sinks back against the lush white comforter of this new bed.
Closing her still teary eyes, letting the lyrics drag her away from her thoughts. If she just pretends, it's like she's back in her old room, even though it had been smaller, it had still been hers. She could see the soft blue coloured walls with the many pictures of her and her friends littered all over every crevice that could handle either tape or push pins.
Reminiscing back to large windows welcoming sun beams into a semi organized room. Gleaming yellow rays highlighting the well lit space in the midst of a transition from adult to... Well. Honestly she's always been more grown up than the peers around her. Probably has something to do with being raised around adults rather than with kids. That and Charlotte basically raised her younger sister Molly, parenting the six year old each and everyday.
Maturity had always been a trait she had admired in others, and wanted for herself. Often being mistaken as in her twenties rather than recently graduated high school student. Not to say she's a stick in the mud, cause she's not (she is a bit now though).
She recalls humid days with markers covering a too white sheeted bed, and hands streaked with an assortment of colours from rapid paced sketching with her youngster sister, Molly. Wondering just how the little one deciphers Charlotte as either a sister or mom, or if the six year old really understands the difference. The one single person she can still not burn from contact with. Not flinch or raise an already heightened blood pressure. A strange and frightening pain she now shares with the rest of the world.
No longer is she free of stress, of having fun, and smiling.
Things that seem almost foreign now. Like a lot of her life right. Even her own self. She doesn't recognize herself, this crying creature who wakes up from nightmares most nights. Her confidence stripped and personality seemingly gone too.
Anyways.
Her old room had always allowed in the oceans scent and its warm breeze, but now as she opens her eyes once again, she now had one single square window which when opened led out onto the tiniest of decks. If it could even be called that.
Head tilting to the white long drapes used to desperately try and cover up or block the view to her new reality.
Sighing again for what was certainly the fifth time over too many. The last two weeks she had spent here had been filled with them. Much to her mothers annoyance (and Charlottes apologies). She sat up against her headboard, combing her fingers through her long, almost black, hair tiredly. She should shower b-but showers are another challenge. One she's not willing to talk about right now.
Glancing around this room claimed to be Charlottes, full of brown taped up boxes still sitting in the same places they had been dropped when they first set foot into this new place. New life.
These unfamiliar earthy red walls contrasting with the dark wood floors was not what she expected when she first set eyes on this new house. Its very pretty, no denying that. This room had her own master bathroom (with a daunting sized mirror), a suburban closet, and king sized bed. The place was massive and so... adult. Another nudge from Charlotte's parents to start maturing into the young lady she was supposed to be (because since recently she's been skittish and void of human touch besides Molly). But she is progressing--or had been. She had had a fair share of jobs throughout school, had been paying for her own clothes and phone bills for some time.
Is she sounding pretentious and whiny? She thinks she is. Not a very attractive feature. She just... She has a lot of thoughts. Sorry.
Turning up the volume on her iPod to end her thinking, having OneRepublic blast through her fizzling ear buds.
Glancing to her right where her side table stood with the few things that she had had in her bag. A book, a journal, and phone--although it's hard to call her apple product a phone at all with its severely cracked screen. Briefly Charlotte contemplates texting one of her friends, but she just isn't up for their questions right now. Or from the last two weeks where she's yet to contact anyone (and it's weird and so unlike her, but she just can't, she can't talk to them after what happened. She will though. She really will. Maybe.).
Her gaze shifts to the book, a book mark shoved about one quarter of the way in through the many pages. She's a notorious book worm, although a very slow reader which generally doesn't coincide with how many books shes read in her life time. Reaching over and grasping the freshly printed cover in her palms. Heavily exhaling as her invested heart spoke the title, My Mysterious Man.
Maybe just a quick read, that wouldn't hurt. Although she's hesitant over the fact she's sorta anxious to read the oncoming chapter after the cliff hangar it had left off at. Damn Author.
She heard a impossibly high pitch screech. Her peripheral just barely catching the streak of a purple dress running towards her just in time to soften the blow of her under sized six year old sister barreling into her side.
The little blue eyed copy of herself with pig tails, pulls one of Charlottes ear buds from her ear before announcing proudly, "Dinner time sissy." All love and adoration in the tiny voice.
"Hey Moll." Shifting to hold her sister as the little one clambered further onto her lap.
Little Molly suddenly stilled, taking in her sisters face in intense detail. "Are you sad, Lottie?"
"Of course not." Charlotte tries to assure with an unsteady grin. "I like your dress, sis." Diversion always the best tactic, again solicited with a strained smile.
Molly half bought it, more intuitive than Charlotte likes to admit. But the little takes the compliment with a giggle. "Dad said it was yours when you were my age."
"Ah, great. Looks great. Better than on you than me. I'm all old and wrinkly now, aren't I?"
A six year old should not look like she's putting up with a nineteen year old, Charlotte thinks.
Then it's just memories of that night and-and. She can't. She shoves it all down and away because she refuses to think of it. Has been refusing it from showing itself or acknowledging it. Even though it's building up, she can feel it building up and she feels insane, it's just easier this way.
Ignore it. Cry (alone). Not sleep (or have nightmares), and hope for the best.
Two oval blue eyes that mirror her own, with tilted brows and pinched lips come breaks Charlottes reverie. "See, you look sad."
Swiping the look of longing for home off her face, wiping at her eyes to clear her red rimmed eyes into awakening. "Did you say dinner was ready, Molly Monster?" Gently ignoring the comment about her frowning face.
Molly seems to again let it go, "Oh yeah. Yes, Sissy. I've come to bring you to the kitchen, and Daddy says for me to get it done however will make you smile, so." Tugging at her big sisters hand to get up with a playful glint in her eyes.
"Okay, alright. Take it easy, Moll." The book long abandoned on the sheets of the bed, trying her best to getting back into sister mode, and away from the sticky sadness inside her head. Gripping lightly back on the tugging hand and the bright young face eager to have her sister around again.
"Come on Char Bar!" She squeals giddily as she pulls again.
Forgetting her iPod all together, she's quick to scoop up her young sibling into her arms, earning a parade of laughter from the little one.
"Lottie!" Molly sang out, hugging onto her sister tight, placing a gentle kiss to Charlotte's cheek before wrapping both arms around her older sisters neck.
Charlotte carefully twists and turns through the room full of boxes, swiftly making her way down stairs.
The giggling stops, the tiny grip still tight yet so breed. "Why don't you play with me no more Char Bar?" Molly question almost inaudible. Obviously upset over her big sisters absence as of lately.
"Oh, Moll. I've just been... Busy with stuff." I'll be there more though, she wants to add.
Molly sighs heavily, much like Charlotte does, "You're always in your room now--and I miss you."
The guilt of neglecting her younger sister isn't a realization. No, she knows she's done it. Feels horrible about it. B-but her body, it won't, it won't move. She can't do anything but feel tired, like there's stones in her muscles. She doesn't understand it and she's sad all the time (and feelings are building up ready to burst).
"I'm sorry Molly. I'll try and do better, okay?"
Molly just hid her face in her older siblings long dark locks, nodding in reply. "Love you, Char."
"Love you too." Shifting the young one onto her hip as they entered the kitchen to the smell of fried meat and salsa. Both the girls perked up, interested.
Molly pulls her face away from being buried in Charlottes neck, sniffing the air like as if she were a pup. "Smells yummy Daddy." She grins a toothy smile.
Dad matches the grin, gaze sliding from the ball of fluffy enthusiasm in Charlottes grasp to Charlotte herself. A bit warily but happy to see her. "Yeah well. We can hope it will be, hey Charlotte?"
Molly found her footing on the ground, slipping from Charlottes hold easily, before bounding away with new found energy. "Dad! Charlotte and I are gonna play tomorrow!" Swinging around with whooshing pig-tails to their father who stood behind the island counter of the kitchen cutting up lettuce.
"I told you she would, Lil'M." He was basically the cook of the family, actually being a retired chef helped him solidify that role in the house. Jerry, her dad, was almost always home, having cut back from work to help raise Molly when she was first born, and allowing Charlotte's mom, Teresa, to become the strong career woman she's meant to be.
She tries a convincing smile at her dad but it flops, "Dinner?" Settling on a stool with a huff, watching Molly make her way around the space comfortably.
"Tacos." Dad replies promptly with a grin because he knew.
Again trying for a grin, like a thank you, but its the heavy burden sitting on her chest trapping her that halts said emotion from properly appearing.
One of the few things in the world to lift Charlottes spirits was tacos. A thing that usually lifts her mood, turns her frowns upside down, or is a cushion to whatever not-so-pleasant thing her parents have to say. But that's the Charlotte who had been unaffected by--no. No. Nothing. She can't think of that. Not now at least, because Molly's here, and Molly doesn't deserve to see Charlotte resort to a sniffling mess. Because nothing happened to her to-to--nothing.
The tightening in her chest reminding her that if she doesn't loosen the lid, it'll blow clean off.
But she ignores just as she does every other day.
Her Dad, the man who raised her while her Mom finished University, only nods to her with a smirk in his very certain way if trying to lift her spirits, "Needed something to coax you down here, Charlie."
Breath catches in her throat like-like choking on nothing but your own delusions. The name--her name...but it's not. It's not, the, god, she's fucking, fuck.
She's having a few issues. That's all. She's tired and that's why her thoughts are kinda clumped up. That's why she shouldn't and can't think about things, because it'll get her all caught up in half words and stuff. She knows lately she's been getting stumped on words, vowels, and such. Like a stutter (but it's not a stutter. It's not). It's like the more she maybe realizes that what (might've) happened, really did happen, the more this stutter is coming on. Like she's not only blistering at the seams, but the bomb is ticking down in panicked coming of.
That's why she stays quiet. Why she prefers to not talk (but again it's weird because she can talk and touch Molly just fine). But that nickname--her nickname, she can't hear it without flinching or feeling like she should be bracing against a sturdy object.
Molly breaks through Charlottes reverie with a soft tone. All too innocent. "Whens Mommy gonna be home?" Molly asks, having reappeared and settled herself to be back by her sister on the neighboring stool, reaching out for a handful of cheese in one of many prepared bowls of taco add ons.
Charlotte concentrates hard on both staying quiet (keeping herself together) and not seeming like a complete wreck. To keep a watchful eye on Molly, and or make sure she doesn't get into trouble.
"Uhhh," Her dad twists to see the microwaves clock behind him, "She should be home right about now." He smiles, setting the knife he had been using to cut and taking off his 'manly chef manly apron manly' as its been dubbed, throwing it over his shoulder.
Molly reaches for the bowl of cheese once more only to hear her dads soft voice, never really angry (even when he was he wasn't).
"Hey hey hey, that's enough young lady. Get your tacos then continue harrassing the cheese."
Molly was quick to hop off her stool and begin the process with a happy squeal. "Yay!"
Swallowing it all deep, deep down, Charlotte follows suit.
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I was so crazy nervous uploading this, as I am with all my stories. Guess that'll never change. Thank you for supporting this book! Feel free to answer the random questions throughout the book! I do love reading what you have to say even (especially) since this book is completed :)
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As per tradition, random questions will be asked for your commenting pleasure.
RQ: Where do you hope this story to go?
Thanks for reading, and please tell me what you think cause I'm seriously freaking out about this :(
Thanks for reading and giving it a try.