Please don't hate me for James's attitude :) OH and I'd loooooove to thank liliancarmine for her brilliant idea!! [The Gig] :D THANK YOU LILY!!
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.:Story Start:.
Sunday came, and I was cautious for Monday to arrive, eager because I wanted to see James again - why did he have that effect on me? - and worried in case he went back to his 'jerk' mode.
I was writing again. The flow of words wouldn't stop, but I was writing without thinking, so I had no idea what I had written. I eventually stopped. My hand ached from all the writing, so I flexed my fingers and rotated my wrist, while flicking back the pages to see what I had written. It only made sense for me to start from the beginning.
{Her eyes, a stunning blue colour, were reflected in his own mysterious dark ones. She was surprised by the intense beauty of the boy before her - strong arms, well defined face. Not completely flawless - she noticed a thin white line extending from just next to his right eyebrow halfway to his ear, a wavy, jagged edge. His nose was also slightly crooked, but these didn't matter to her - it was what was on the inside that counted, after all.
He was also rather tall, her head only reaching his shoulder. She had to look up to see his face properly. His hands clasped around her own, which hung by her side, and he brought them together up to his lips. They stayed pressed against her cool hands - not that she minded. When he released her hands, she grabbed one of his before he could drop them and dragged him over to a corner.
"Play me the song," she whispered, lifting the guitar that leaned against the brightly coloured wall, with books scattered all over the place. He smiled and took it from her, sitting on the bean bag and softly strumming.}
I swore loudly and closed the note book - I didn't want to read anymore. My frown had increased as I read, and now it was a fully fledged scowl. The description of him had been a perfect picture of James. I was writing about him now!!
Even the room was familiar, their basement, the books I supposed symbolizing the library, where we stood at close proximity, much like my description. What the hell? Why was I fantasizing about him? Was it the 'mysterious' angle that I knew a lot of girls craved that drew me to him?
The 'mysterious' angle had bugged me last night. I had barely slept. When Neil came over to check on me this morning, he said I looked a right state. I wasn't surprised. But the intensity of the emotions in his eyes had sort of scared me, but fascinated me at the same time - like a little kid in a storm.
I groaned in frustration, pushed my chair back and headed downstairs. I just wanted to know why I couldn't read him as easily as everyone else! Even his father, a man I wasn't sure I trusted, was easy to read. I could tell he had been hiding something from me on Wednesday. I was kind of hoping I would see him again tomorrow so I could grill him further on my father. How did he know him? Did he know what happened to make him an alcoholic?
So many questions. So few answers.
~*~*~
Neil continued to be frustrating the next morning. He arrived at twenty past eight again, when I was on the verge of walking to school, and he had obviously lacked sleep. But once he got in, and saw me, he was in uproar.
"What the hell did he do to you?" he said, staring at my face and forearms. I hurriedly rolled down my sleeves and pulled my hair from behind my ears to cover my face, but he wasn't fooled - he walked over to me and pulled them back up again, taking my wrists and turning them over, palm side up.
I suppose it did look rather painful. Six long scratches were marked on my arms - long, thin and shallow. Two were horizontal across my left wrist, one extending from the inside of my elbow almost to my wrist, crossing over the other two.
On my right arm, two curved diagonally from the base of my right thumb to diagonally left of the inside of my elbow, and the sixth and final one cut across it, a lot smaller but a little deeper than the others.
"He still had his bottle with him - it broke and he took it out on me..." I said, still hiding my face, but it was rather obvious that I was. He tucked my hair behind my ears again and lifted my chin up, exposing my face. He gasped, his eyes suddenly livid.
"How could anyone do this to their children?! Anyone!!" he said glaring at me, but not at me, if you get my meaning. I knew what was wrong.
My left black eye had been renewed and enlarged - it now formed a circle from the base of my eyebrow to my cheekbone, and the entire width of my eye to the bridge of my nose. A roughly hand-shaped bruise covered my right cheek, the surrounding area red. My lip was cut, although looking a lot better than it had yesterday - I had put some vinegar on it. It stung like hell but was very good for it.
This was all because my dad was furious that my mother's lamp was broken. When he was the one that broke it in the first place.
Neil sighed and shook his head.
"They're not being co-operative at rehab, I'm afraid. I've tried, I really have, but they're just not doing anything." I frowned and clenched my teeth together.
"Let's go," I said in a monotone.
I was furious with the rehab. I was a sixteen year old girl, with an alcoholic father who had abused me since I was eleven. And they were doing nothing about it. I simmered all the way to school, unaware of the guilty expression on Neil's face, until we were there.
"It's not your fault," I said quietly, my hand on the door handle. "I'm not blaming you," he looked rather relieved at this.
"I'm angry too," he said, clenching the steering wheel. "I don't understand what's taking them so long," I sighed, and looked at the playground, wondering if I was ever meant to have a normal teenage life.
I stepped out of his car, said goodbye, and walked towards my usual spot by the railings. I pretty much forgot about all these problems, somehow, as I spotted James. I felt an uncomfortable knot in my stomach - how would he act around me now? Nice? Jerk? Surely not, after all, the first time I fell over in front of him he laughed, and on Saturday he stopped me hitting the floor.
The bell rang, and I bit my lip, wincing as I forgot about the cut, the knot in my stomach tightening as I thought about his piercing stare, which I had not managed to unravel the mystery of over the weekend. I walked into form, sat at my desk and unconsciously played with my fingers, my nervous habit, staring at the cuts on my arms. Oh god, people are probably going to think I'm an emo, now...
A minute later, I heard Tom's familiar voice outside in the corridor, heard over everyone else's. He walked in first, his head turned slightly, talking to James no doubt. Sure enough, James walked through, his gorgeous figure a few inches taller than Tom, his dark eyes holding amusement, flicking over to me for a second.
He commented on Tom's speech, and Tom roared with laughter, but I hadn't heard what he said. I was staring again, but made no effort to hide it - any excuse to see if I could work out his unfathomable stares, even though he had noticed me staring a second ago.
As if he had read my thoughts, his dark eyes flicked straight towards where I was sitting. He smirked slightly in amusement - no doubt at my unbroken gaze - and then frowned. I could see his eyes tracing the bruises on my face, before meeting my eyes, the same, confusing emotions raging within. Then he turned away, distracted by Tom.
I exhaled, slumping back in my chair. Did he wonder where all the injuries came from? I wouldn't be surprised. I perked up as the bell rang - music now. I once again followed James and Tom into the classroom and sat near James while Tom had a conversation with the teacher.
James didn't acknowledge I was there.
Slightly hurt that he didn't even say hi, and, as usual, mystified by his change of behavior, I folded my arms almost childishly, wondering what the hell his problem was.
We got started a little later, when the rest of the class arrived. Kyle and James started up a conversation, and Landon focused on his drum beat, leaving me to do the work on my own for a bit. I sighed, pulling our music forward, and pulled out a pencil, my brow furrowing in concentration.
Landon stopped drumming for a minute and walked over to the guys, and they continued talking, then I heard their footsteps go out of the room.
"Great," I muttered sourly. "I've been abandoned,"
"Talking to yourself is a good sign, it means you're rearranging your thoughts. Although, considering you think I would abandon you after saving you from concussion on Saturday I'd say that was very rude..."
I whipped round, startled. I thought James had gone with them.
"What's even ruder is that you choose not to say hello," I said, then mentally swore. Why did the lack of that simple greeting bother me so much? He looked taken aback for a moment, then said,
"What was I supposed to say? Hi, sorry about Saturday, how are you doing?"
"What's wrong with that? Even a simple 'Hi' would have done!" I heard Kyle and Landon coming back, their voices echoing down the corridor.
"I don't get you," he said, shaking his head. "All these people saying, truthfully, that you're a loser, and you choose to take it out on me?!" I would have replied, asking why he bothered stopping me cracking my head open if he thought I was a loser, but Kyle and Landon came back in, and they instantly started talking to him.
I hadn't even noticed that the pencil in my hand was close to snapping, I was that angry. What. Is. His. Problem?!! I blinked back the tears in my eyes and wrote down more music furiously, with the feeling that I wanted to punch the living daylights out of James.
~*~*~
Two days later
~*~*~
There was something seriously wrong with Neil.
I thought he had been bad before, but now he looked awful. His face was deathly pale, he barely spoke, he clearly hadn't slept much and he slouched around in a somber mood. I was worried, really worried. But there was nothing I could do. Every time I tried to ask him about it he would tense up, clench his fists, and he wouldn't respond.
When I tried asking about what was happening with my father, he would just say "They're being slow, there's nothing I can do, stop pestering me". He was impatient, almost rude. He never stayed for long anymore.
On Wednesday morning, 8:25, I left the house, alone. I had to walk - Neil wasn't here. I wondered if he'd arrive after I left, if at all. When I arrived at school, at 8:40, the bell rang, leaving me no time to stand in the playground. I was at the back of the normal crush of people, and as a result, I was late for form. The teacher - and James - were already there. Luckily I don't think the teacher had done the register yet.
As I walked past James's seat, he, as usual, looked at me, but this time his sad look reflected my own. He was concerned, again. Why?! I really don't need to think about him now, not when Neil was so bad and nothing was happening with my father.
I went through the whole of form in a bad mood. I glared at the table with my arms crossed, ignoring the pain that the cuts sent down my arms. In music, first lesson, the teacher made an announcement.
"I think that, for preparation of showing your pieces to the class at Christmas, you should each perform a song that has already been written, on your own, to get you used to the nerves. You have three weeks to learn it and practice, and then you will show it in front of the class. If you want, you can do more than one,"
I was not happy with this piece of news. I didn't do well performing in front of people - I got nervous and flustered and panicked and I would do really badly. However, I knew I couldn't back out. In my head, I had already picked four songs. They just came to me like that, and I wasn't sure which one to do.
After that he let us go, and I gloomily followed Landon, Kyle and James to MU2. I picked up a guitar, the music sheet and a chair and joined James and Kyle in the middle of the room, where we were seated round a table - myself and James on one side, Kyle opposite. James had a second piece of paper, with writing on it - I realized they were the lyrics.
"I got some words, I think they fit, I haven't finished them yet, mind you," he said, placing it over the music sheet, facing Kyle. I couldn't read upside down, so I gave up after a few words, even though his handwriting was surprisingly neat. Kyle's eyes scanned through it and he nodded appreciatively.
"That's well good! I thought it was Tom who had the lyric-thing but you're a really good songwriter! I think this could be changed to something else though, it doesn't quite fit..." I let them continue with their conversation as I picked up a pencil and the music sheet, continuing on my own.
After a little while, the sheet was pulled out from under my grasp and replaced with a bunch of notes, scribbles and words. I looked up in surprise - I had been so caught up in my music writing that I hadn't heard their conversation stop.
"Have a look at that, tell us if you think it's OK," said Kyle, gesturing at the sheet. "And we'll look at your music."
I was more than slightly surprised by their decision - normally they thought I was useless and went along with whatever they had because my ideas would be crap, etc, etc. But I just shrugged and looked at the piece of paper.
{I look into your eyes
I see sadness, pain, regret,
As if something bad always happens
The closer I seem to get,
I thought I could read you,
Like an open book,
But I cannot see you,
However hard I look,
The real you,
Hiding from me,
Something has happened,
I can see,
Is it me?
Or someone else?
Causing you pain
And restlessness,
I want to know,
I want to see,
Want you to
Hear my silent pleas,}
That was all that was written on the piece of paper. But it was like a massive weight had crushed me, leaving me gasping for air.
What James had written was almost exactly how I was feeling about him.
My head was a blur of emotions. I was stuck staring at the word 'pleas', my mind in turmoil, as I fought to get a grip. I inhaled and exhaled deeply and raised my eyes to look at James.
"It's...brilliant. I can't think of any suggestions," I said quietly, and as he turned our eyes met.
I was blasted by a thick of emotions. Again with the ones I had been accustomed to over the last week, and the ones I saw in the Library...but also new ones. Did I detect a hint of happiness? Relief? Why was he so goddamn confusing?!!
I swallowed and tore my eyes away from his, just as Kyle looked up. He, for once, agreed with me.
"See, I told you, James, it's fine," he said, "and this is good too," he added a little hesitantly, pointing at my music, as though disgusted with what he was saying. "Obviously there were some improvements, but you've done...reasonably well," it sounded like he was trying to insult me and compliment me at the same time. Was that even possible?
"I - uh - thanks," I said hastily.
"And thank you," said James, emphasizing the 'you' as he raised his lyrics, "for the positive feedback." I thought his use of formal language was quite funny, but as usual, I didn't even crack a smile.
I was startled as the bell went - I didn't realize so much time had passed. I shoved my stuff in my bag and slung it over my shoulder, deep in thought about James. As I was walking to next lesson, I heard the normal jeering shouts aimed at me by Nicola and her gang. I grimaced - a lesson with people being reasonably nice to me was basically luring me into a false sense of security. I had, in all honesty, forgotten about them. Big mistake.
~*~*~
I waited at the school gates, as usual, for Neil, and, as usual, he was late. His gaunt, ghostly face didn't even glance at me as I climbed into his car.
"Um...hi," I said a little nervously, as he drove off.
"Hello," he said rather formally. His voice was raspy, through lack of use. I wondered if he talked to his family at all. I made a few attempts at starting a conversation, but it was useless, like talking to a machine on auto-reply. I felt kind of bad - for comparing him to a machine, and for forgetting him throughout the day.
We arrived at my house and I stepped out awkwardly, sighing inwardly as he didn't cut the engine. He wasn't staying.
"Bye," I said, hesitating before walking up to the front door. I didn't get a response.
I did my usual business - clean up the house a bit, have a snack, unpack my bag, look at the list of homework - and then I stopped on the landing upstairs, staring at the trapdoor above my head that led to the attic.
I opened the small cupboard to my left and took out a longish metal bar which was round, flat at one end and had a hook on the other. I twisted it so the flat end was pointing upwards and then lightly pressed the middle of one of the sides of the trapdoor with it, hearing a click as I did so. The door swung open to reveal complete darkness above.
I turned the bar around so the hook was pointing upwards, and I reached up with it and hooked the hook onto a small gap in the end of the ladder that appeared over the edge of the trapdoor hinges. I pulled the ladder across on its runners until it was almost at the other end of the trapdoor then pulled it down, so it was diagonally pointing downwards, halfway to the floor. I extended the ladder so it rested on the floor then leaned the pole against the wall.
I took a deep breath and slowly climbed the ladder.
When I reached the top, I shivered - it was rather cold up here. I felt around in front of me in the darkness and found the large portable light-bulb which clipped onto the rafters of the attic. I unwound the cable from it and plugged it into the socket which I also found through feeling. Then I flicked the switch.
The bright light illuminated the whole attic, and floods of memories came back to me. Sitting on that sofa when I was five years old, reading a kids story book to my dad, who would correct me. Drawing aimless scribbles when I was seven, on that small red plastic table, which still had a few crayons scattered on it. Playing on that stretch of floor between the bookshelf and the chimney, laughing, when I was ten. And, most recently (five years ago), writing the beginnings of a poorly grammatical but creative story on that writing desk in the corner.
I stepped into the attic, clipped the light to the rafter, and walked over to the sofa, knowing what was next to it. My guitar. I lifted it up off its stand, unzipped the case and took it out, running my finger along its shiny, unblemished edge. I lifted my foot up onto the stool, like I was so accustomed to doing, and began to play softly, my fingers playing music I had learned six, seven years ago.
And then I started to practice my songs for music.
I struggled to find the right notes for my first song. But they came to me eventually, and soon I was playing the backing tune for one of my favourite songs. I took a deep breath, and began to sing.
At first, it was a bit rusty. I hadn't sung in so long that I had almost forgotten how. But it came back. The lyrics, the passion. I closed my eyes throughout, overcome by emotion. But it was there. My old, musical talent.
~*~*~
Singing and playing took a lot out of me - in a good way. What I had sought out in writing stories and diary entries, I found in music. It took away my stress, my worries, my anxiety for a while, all I thought of was the music.
Needless to say, it didn't last long. Old me was back, close-to-depressed me was still there. But I had a refuge, when I needed peace, I knew exactly what to do. And I was relieved.
____________________________________________________
:) I liked writing this chapter, for some reason. It made me happy.
Right. Onto business. The songs in question, which she can't make up her mind which she's going to sing, are as follows:
Run - Leona Lewis
Fix you - Coldplay
Hallelujah - Alexandra Burke
Pretty Amazing Grace - Neil Diamond
I'd like you to choose one, JUST ONE song you'd like her to sing. Of course, if you have any suggestions I'll listen to them and add them to the list if I like them. Hope you liked the chapter! And votes, comments and fans are always appreciated. *wink wink*