I don't bother with looking nice.
Mysterious Fucker message me earlier today and told me to look nice for when Blake is scheduled to pick me up, but I'm never listening to that guy ever again. I don't care who he is anymore and if I stop listening to him, maybe bad luck will stop following me.
So, I throw on an over-sized sweater and vintage jeans. I don't bother even trying to get rid of the paint-stains that Blake is always glaring at.
It's Sunday. Not even a week has passed since I talked back to the gangs and already I'm in deeper shit than what would seem humanly possible. How did it all come down to this?
"I seriously don't find any of this fair," I say to Jessy when she walks into my room. "BD shot my wheel! I would've won if it wasn't for him!" I complain.
"Amber, I know Blake. You do not want to keep him waiting," Jessy replies.
What follows is a sound I can't even start to describe.
"Get your lazy butt out of here and make him regret ever making that bet," Jessy says before pulling me off of my bed.
"What is one think Blake absolutely hates about girls?" I ask Jessy, because she ought to know since she dated his friend. And I seriously want to be his worst nightmare.
"Well, depends... Do you know where he's taking you?" she asks.
"Don't know and don't care," I admit.
"Okay then, he hates absurd girls. He likes them quiet and respectful. I think he wants a girl to know her place," Jessy admits.
"I'm going to slurp and laugh and fart at every opportunity I get," I reply with a chuckle.
"You do that," Jessy chuckles as well before we head downstairs.
Uncle Anton is eating a sandwich at the kitchen island. Though, I think he forgot whatever should be in the sandwich, because it's really just two slices of bread. Also, I think he forgot the coffee in his coffee, because he's drinking milk out of a coffee cup.
"Where you off to, Amber?" he asks.
"She's going on a date," Jessy laughs. I send her a look that can kill, because none of this is out my of my own free-will really. It's just because Blake 'technically' won the race last night. Nobody seems bothered that I 'technically' would've won if my tyre didn't get shot.
The door bell rings before I can correct Jessy and my heart literally stops.
"I feel obliged to open the door," Uncle Anton says and gets up.
He has a button-up shirt and normal pants - which is fine, but he's still wearing his bunny slippers which gets a sigh out of me.
"Hello, young man," Uncle Anton says when he opens the door.
I rush to go intercept him.
"Good day," Blake says and smirks when he sees me. He's wearing a leather Jacket again. I wonder if he has seven identical leather Jackets to wear for every day of the week.
"What is your business with my niece?" Uncle Anton asks skeptically.
"Uncle, this is the boy I was going to tell you about," I interrupt, "He's a bit slow - if you know what I mean. Really 'special'. I have to take him for a walk, because his brain will decrease twice the speed it already is, if he doesn't get exercise," I explain.
"Uhh, I don't-" Blake starts, but I send him a look that says I'm only allowed to go if he plays along. Even though it's probably not the case at all. I just really want to see this scene unfold.
Blake hands me a scowl before looking back at Uncle Anton. An annoyed glaze covers his silver eyes. "Uhhh... I.... Huh... Hellooo, sir. I... Uhh... am Blake," Blake says.
It takes me all of my strength to not start laughing out loud.
Uncle Anton's expression suddenly turns into something a grandmother would have and even though Blake is pretty tall, Uncle Anton talks to him like he's small. "Heh-lowww, Blake. You are a really big boy, you know that? Can you take care of my niece?" Uncle Anton asks like he's talking to a toddler.
I can see Blake's getting frustrated, but he just hands Uncle Anton a 'I'm really stupid' smile to play along.
"Blake over here can count to ten if he concentrates!" I announce.
Blake over here sends me a look that promises a painful death, before he puts his dumb-look back on.
"Really, Blake? That is great! Let us see," Uncle Anton says.
Blake is going to explode any second, but he keeps the dumb look. "One... twooo.... three.... f-four... five... six... s-seven... eight-"
"Ten!" Uncle Anton finishes. I don't even bother reminding him about nine, because Blake will literally kill me if I keep this up.
"Say Bye-bye, Mister Marigold Brown," I tell Blake.
Oh, he's going to kill me alright.
"Bye-bye, Mister Marigold Brown," Blake says.
Jessy pulls Uncle Anton back into the house before he can spot the motorcycle that's parked at the side of the road. Two helmets are strapped to the back.
"Uhh... there's no way I'm getting onto that thing. I really prefer cars," I explain. I don't have a problem with motorcycles specifically. Just holding onto Blake while he's driving one.
"After the shit you pulled back there, you really don't have a choice, Darling," Blake growls. His death glare is even more intense than what it was with Uncle Anton around. Oh, he's very serious.
"Fine," I sigh.
Blake gets onto his bike and puts on his ebony helmet. I don't know much about the motorcycle other than it's a Harley Davidson and it's black and, well, actually really cool.
Blake hands me the other helmet, a silver one, and reluctantly, I put it on before climbing onto the motorcycle as well. My body is as far away from Blake as humanly possible and I wrap my arms around him like I might get infected.
"Darling, you're going to have to hold on a lot tighter than that," Blake laughs before starting the motorcycle and speeding away.
The sheer force almost lets me fall off so I , in fact, inch closer to Blake and hold on with dear life. I might be holding on tighter than necessary, because maybe, just maybe, I can squeeze Blake to death.
We go way past the legal speed limit and even though I don't have a problem with speeding myself, I don't think it serves a purpose in this situation, other than to fail at impressing me. We zig-zag through cars and it feels like we'll fall at some of the turns, but by some miracle, we don't. Blake is a lot better with a motorcycle than a car.
We pass the docks at one point and make our way deep into the West-side of town. I kind of expected to be speeding past shady places, since Blake's business is drugs, but the people here are either rich or average. Here isn't really any poor people.
Tygerwell is a front, my voice of reason reminds me. This town is hiding all the money it's making with illegal businesses.
I wonder if people like Aunt Tessa and Uncle Anton know the truth about Tygerwell. Does everyone know or are there some that are oblivious?
Another thing I notice is the lack or very few police. Here in this town, the gangs are the law.
Blake speeds past a couple of gates like they were anticipating him before pulling up at a mansion. I've seen bigger, but there's definitely age with this place. Old money.
We stop at the wide front-steps of the house and I get off as quickly as possible. The black Bugatti is standing proud to the side, but with it there's a red Mercedes.
Blake doesn't look like the red car type...
"You're taking me to your house?" I ask. I almost asked him why he's taking me to his parent's house, but then I remembered that he doesn't have a dad anymore... As awful as Blake was that night at the party, it still kind of struck me that he also lost two people he loved...
"Did you think this was a date, Darling?" Blake laughs.
I send him a scowl. "No, I just assumed you would want to impress me or something," I admit.
"Why? You just made me act like a retard in front of your uncle. Besides, isn't the house impressive enough?" Blake laughs.
[A/N: Yo Holly from 2022 here. I understand today that I've used a slur in the paragraph above. I wrote this over 4 years ago and didn't know it was a bad word to use. I sincerely apologise for some of the stuff I joke about. I've changed this in the rewritten version of the book that will be publishing soon. I addressed this quite a while ago but thank you to everyone that reminded me to just make a more clear note over here. I've kept the word here solely because I don't want to pretend I didn't say it and I keep tgaagg as unedited as I can to look back and see how I've grown. Again thank you and I apologise for offending the people this hurts.]
I blush a deep red. "I've seen better," I answer.
Blake shakes his head and opens the door for me to walk in.
I don't move.
"Go," Blake says when he realizes I'm not walking in.
"No. You're just going to look at my butt or something. Where's your butler?" I ask him.
"None of the staff work on a Sunday, Darling. And I've seen enough of your butt from all the times I've had to carry you," Blake laughs.
I blush again.
"Whatever," I grumble before walking in and Blake follows me.
"Here's no color in here," I observe when we walk inside. The house is all grey and black and white. Not even a hint of blue or red or anything else. Please, don't start with the Fifty Shades of Grey jokes, my voice of reason pleads.
"I prefer it that way," Blake says and his silver eyes dull for a second.
Something about that gets my heart feel a tiny pang. I know when people are faking it and Blake really didn't just now. This bleak boy really prefers not to see any color...
"It must be lonely on your silver throne," I say.
Blake is about to respond, but Lynch suddenly comes running in. "AMBERRRRRRR!" he yells and nearly tackles me.
"LYNCHHHHH," I reply in a fit of giggles.
"Look, look at my hair," he says and lowers his head for me to see.
It looks exactly like it's brown, curly self.
"Uhh..." I'm about to ask him what about it, but Blake sends me desperate signals behind Lynch. He's making circular movements around his hair.
"Is it... a little curlier?" I ask Lynch.
Blake let's out a sigh of relief.
"YES!" Lynch exclaims, "I had to spend an hour trying to explain to Blake how my hair changed with this new shampoo I found!"
I chuckle at that. Blake deserves it though.
"So, you live here?" I ask Lynch.
"Yup, although, I'm scheduled to stay at Calvin's for the night because someone doesn't want me here while you're here," Lynch says with an eye-roll.
"You better get going," Blake warns and Lynch quickly runs off to get his bags. I smile after his curly hair bouncing with each stride before I look back at Blake.
"Why does he live here?" I ask.
Blake's smirk surprisingly turn sad. A sincere kind. "He lived with his mother, but... she's in rehab now... She's a drug addict..." Blake explains. Guilt is carved into his face for a second before disappearing again.
"I didn't really plan much for tonight to be honest, but my mother wants to meet the girl who I won for a night," Blake admits.
Somewhere outside, a car honks. "BYE, AMBER!" Lynch greets as he runs back outside with a backpack.
"Bye," I laugh right back.
I return my gaze to Blake. "Don't you think it's a bit soon to meet your mother? We're still at the I-kinda-hate-you-with-my-life stage in this relationship," I point out.
Blake chuckles and gestures for me to follow him. "My mother is a nice lady, don't worry," he says. He doesn't think I notice the slight sneer while he said it.
"Trust me, it's you that needs to worry," I point out.
We walk to the massive kitchen and there, a woman - who undoubtedly is Blake's mother, is cooking. She looks up - a piece of raven black hair falls to her face and she quickly blows it away. Her silver-grey eyes meet mine and a smile jumps to her blood-red lips.
"You must be Amber!" Blake's mother says and rushes over to me.
She's wearing a apron that's covered in flour - even though nothing she's cooking seems to involve flour.
"Yes, I am," I say as the lady engulfs me in a tight hug.
She lets go and looks me up and down. "You're prettier than Blake said!" she muses before smiling back at me. "I'm Eliza Bowmen, but you can just call me Lizzy," she says.
"Hello, Lizzy, I'm Amber Marigold as you know, but you can just call me Amber," I greet back.
"That's just wonderful! The last time I got to meet a nice girl was when-" Lizzy stops herself mid-sentence. "Well, I'm not going to depress you with that conversation," she says before turning and heading back to the stove.
There's still a tag on her apron.
"Come, let's leave my mother with the cooking," Blake says.
I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people, but Blake and his mother has me so confused. There's definitely a level of dishonestly, but this house... the bleak, colorless walls tell me another story. This house is sad and lonely and deprived of anything colorful, because maybe it feels like it doesn't deserve color. Then again, maybe it's not the house that's thinking that...
Blake said he lost the two people he believed in... Even though he was rude as hell towards the death of my own parents, I can't deny the fact that I know what it feels like to lose the people who bring color to your life...
You can't feel sorry for him, my voice of reason says. This is all part of his plan.
"Can I use the bathroom?" I ask, because I really just need to get away from Blake's colorless eyes in this colorless house.
"Sure, it's down the hall, to your left," Blake directs.
I nod a thanks before heading down the hallway. Before I can actually get to the bathroom, I stop mid-walk at a room that immediately draws my attention.
On the door is marked: 'Kyle' in a green pen. The only color in the whole house. Slowly, I open the door and sure enough this is without a doubt Blake's brother's old room.
There's graffiti sprayed on the walls and paints and cans and brushes litter the floor. The bed is still unmade - like nobody has even gone back in here after the guy died. It's a huge room and yet every single inch is covered in color.
I pick up a red can of paint and crack the lid open.
There's a reason I don't paint in red anymore...
"He was a painter as well," I hear someone say behind me.
I turn and it's Blake with his arms crossed. He's not mad like I expect, but rather sad. A real kind. And his silver-grey eyes has suddenly turned into tinfoil again.
I take a few steps closer to him - the red can of paint still in my hands.
That's why he was so bothered with the paint on my clothes. That's why he always scowled or glared when he saw it...
"I don't know you Blake, but what I do know is that you're arrogant and selfish and egotistical and vain. And you're one hell of a showmen when it comes to acting," I say as I slowly walk over to him.
I hate him so much, but...
"But I think the acting isn't pretending to be nice with me. It's pretending to not care. You think that the wrong brother died," I admit, because trust me I feel like that as well.
My parents were nothing, but good and kind and brave and they died while the coward got to live.
I stop right in front of Blake. His face has turned cold again and I can't help, but feel sad for the bleak boy that thinks the wrong brother died.
I dip my finger into the red paint.
"Don't try fooling the girl that already has everyone fooled," I say and gently smear a mustache above his lips.
There's a moment where our eyes connect and I can't believe I actually painted in red.
But then Blake walks away.
There's a sad smile that makes it's way to my lips.
Maybe it isn't about getting these guys to stay away. Maybe it's about pulling them in so deep that they'd want to run away themselves.
I get a buzz from my phone and open the message without a second thought.
Oh Lord... Mysterious Fucker is rooting for these guys... But the question is: why?
Hey, my GOLDIES!
You guys have no idea how tired I am right now. It's SO late, but I just had to push through and update. You goldies make me so happy! I answer basically like every comment, because each one of them makes my day. Please don't forget to vote and comment! I really do appreciate it!
Thanks again for reading and getting me at #133 in Teen Fiction and over 17k views! My birthday is the 15th of May so it would be the best present ever if you guys can get me into the top 100 by then!!!!
Love you my goldies! (The next chapter will be up in 24 hours as usual)
PS PS: Challenge of the week: Support new writers like y'all are supporting me. astorytodiefor has been especially supportive ;)
~ Holly Shmit