Status: I didn't want a sequel for this, so I took it down :( Maybe later...
Tonight We Drink To Youth
Eight.
Oli and Curtis arguing woke me up - ripped me out of a very pleasant dream starring my very own muse, Isa. Our relationship has grown into at least something since we had our movie night. The times where she would usually ignore me she would now at least smile, if not actually start a conversation. I don’t know where I went wrong in the beginning, or where I went right more recently, but I was now her go to guy. Even Kean didn’t speak with her as much as I was.
She told me things. She and Clare had a younger sister, Violet. She was only sixteen and still in school – the only reason that she wasn’t also joining them in Hungary. Her favorite color is blue, not the dark and depressing blue but the pretty blue inside the Crayola box, the one you can’t stop staring at. Normally I would find everything she said useless rambling, but just the fact that she was the one talking made me want to hear more and more.
Their mother was one step away from being in the nut house, although she “would probably demand a diamond encrusted straightjacket” and their father was “too busy with work to notice.” The only thing that both parents agreed on was that their daughters were destined for greatness, anything less is unacceptable. All three were named after colors, shoved into every dance and singing lesson available, and sent them to summer acting camps. In a way I felt bad for them, especially Violet just because she was still under her mother’s psychotic rule.
But if their mother, Charlene Roberts-Eastham, wasn’t such a psycho bitch then Isa wouldn’t be in Hungary trying to get a break. In a way I owe all my happiness to a woman in America who might belong in a padded room.
Isa and I were now borderline friends
“Will you both shut up?”
Lee was obviously unhappy with being awoken. The small clock to my right told me that it was barely even morning. Normally we wouldn’t even be awake until noon at least; being awake at seven in the morning is an act of God.
“Well if Curtis could shut his mouth once in a while we wouldn’t even have a problem in the first place.”
Curtis tried to defend himself but it was useless. As soon as his mouth opened in attempt to speak Oliver’s hand balled into a fist. I knew what was coming, Kean groaned – he knew what was coming too. The only one oblivious was Curtis himself who would soon be suffering, no doubt. When the first syllable rolled out of his mouth the fist was raised and shoved right into Curtis’ gut.
I saw all this from where I was lying, silently waiting for them to finish bitching at each other so I could get back to my dream.
Oli didn’t like to be messed with, and he especially didn’t like to be interrupted when he’s trying to prove a point. Whatever they were fighting about before was made worse by Curtis trying to throw his two cents in before it was time. Now he was bent at the middle, crying in pain, while Oliver smirked and continued on with his thought.
“As I was saying, if you didn’t tell Clare that I have a girlfriend then I wouldn’t have to punch you. You deserved that one for making her leave.”
Lee laughed at Oli’s explanation. Curtis didn’t think it was as humorous but at least he was regaining his posture and regular breathing. Oli wasn’t the strongest man in the world and his hits usually aren’t that powerful, but this time he meant it. He was legitimately pissed and wasn’t going to hold back on punishment.
“I thought that you and that girl back home were still together! I were drunk when I told her that anyway, it’s not my fault that she believed me and chose to leave early. You’re nothing special anyway.”
As Oli shoved Curtis into one of the poles supporting the bed closest to them the argument finally began making sense to me. When we were still in Sheffield only a few weeks before we left for Budapest Oliver had a small fling with some redhead. Curtis was sick at home that week and didn’t come out with us to the pub as we had our goodbye party with our closest friends. That was the night that Oli and the redhead, Katy, got into it.
She claimed that he was looking at another girl, which he was, and he slipped up and said that the blonde had nicer breasts than her. I guess we all forgot to mention this detail to Curtis and he somehow ended up telling Clare that Oliver was still with Katy.
But if one sister left, that meant that the other was gone too.
My heart dropped when I looked to the other side of the room. Their beds were empty. Usually they would be cluttered with clothes and hair products. Shoes were always peeking out from under the long sheets hanging off the mattress and Isa’s bunk was guaranteed to have a polka dot pillow and matching blanket scattered on the bed top.
The blanket was gone. The pillow was gone.
Hungary wouldn’t be the same now.
She told me things. She and Clare had a younger sister, Violet. She was only sixteen and still in school – the only reason that she wasn’t also joining them in Hungary. Her favorite color is blue, not the dark and depressing blue but the pretty blue inside the Crayola box, the one you can’t stop staring at. Normally I would find everything she said useless rambling, but just the fact that she was the one talking made me want to hear more and more.
Their mother was one step away from being in the nut house, although she “would probably demand a diamond encrusted straightjacket” and their father was “too busy with work to notice.” The only thing that both parents agreed on was that their daughters were destined for greatness, anything less is unacceptable. All three were named after colors, shoved into every dance and singing lesson available, and sent them to summer acting camps. In a way I felt bad for them, especially Violet just because she was still under her mother’s psychotic rule.
But if their mother, Charlene Roberts-Eastham, wasn’t such a psycho bitch then Isa wouldn’t be in Hungary trying to get a break. In a way I owe all my happiness to a woman in America who might belong in a padded room.
Isa and I were now borderline friends
“Will you both shut up?”
Lee was obviously unhappy with being awoken. The small clock to my right told me that it was barely even morning. Normally we wouldn’t even be awake until noon at least; being awake at seven in the morning is an act of God.
“Well if Curtis could shut his mouth once in a while we wouldn’t even have a problem in the first place.”
Curtis tried to defend himself but it was useless. As soon as his mouth opened in attempt to speak Oliver’s hand balled into a fist. I knew what was coming, Kean groaned – he knew what was coming too. The only one oblivious was Curtis himself who would soon be suffering, no doubt. When the first syllable rolled out of his mouth the fist was raised and shoved right into Curtis’ gut.
I saw all this from where I was lying, silently waiting for them to finish bitching at each other so I could get back to my dream.
Oli didn’t like to be messed with, and he especially didn’t like to be interrupted when he’s trying to prove a point. Whatever they were fighting about before was made worse by Curtis trying to throw his two cents in before it was time. Now he was bent at the middle, crying in pain, while Oliver smirked and continued on with his thought.
“As I was saying, if you didn’t tell Clare that I have a girlfriend then I wouldn’t have to punch you. You deserved that one for making her leave.”
Lee laughed at Oli’s explanation. Curtis didn’t think it was as humorous but at least he was regaining his posture and regular breathing. Oli wasn’t the strongest man in the world and his hits usually aren’t that powerful, but this time he meant it. He was legitimately pissed and wasn’t going to hold back on punishment.
“I thought that you and that girl back home were still together! I were drunk when I told her that anyway, it’s not my fault that she believed me and chose to leave early. You’re nothing special anyway.”
As Oli shoved Curtis into one of the poles supporting the bed closest to them the argument finally began making sense to me. When we were still in Sheffield only a few weeks before we left for Budapest Oliver had a small fling with some redhead. Curtis was sick at home that week and didn’t come out with us to the pub as we had our goodbye party with our closest friends. That was the night that Oli and the redhead, Katy, got into it.
She claimed that he was looking at another girl, which he was, and he slipped up and said that the blonde had nicer breasts than her. I guess we all forgot to mention this detail to Curtis and he somehow ended up telling Clare that Oliver was still with Katy.
But if one sister left, that meant that the other was gone too.
My heart dropped when I looked to the other side of the room. Their beds were empty. Usually they would be cluttered with clothes and hair products. Shoes were always peeking out from under the long sheets hanging off the mattress and Isa’s bunk was guaranteed to have a polka dot pillow and matching blanket scattered on the bed top.
The blanket was gone. The pillow was gone.
Hungary wouldn’t be the same now.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sierra touched on this subject in her newest update, but I'm going to also.Subscribers, although we all love you, aren't commenting nearly as much as they should. It really motivates writers to update and try to make what we're writing as good as possible if we knew everybody else's thoughts on it.
I have my usuals, of course, and I love them dearly. But honestly my most frequent commenters already know what's happening in the next update, if I wanted only them to give me feedback I would message them updates instead of post them publicly.
I don't want to come off as bitchy, I'm just stating a concern that has been appearing among alot of people, not just me.
Oh, and another thing. College is kicking my ass, seriously. I'm thinking that a few stories of mine are going to be deleted soon - they're becoming too hard to keep up with. This one is not one of those on the chopping block though, so don't worry about that. I'm just curious to those that read my other stories which you would want me to keep around and which you wouldn't care if you never saw them again.