Sequel: Midnight ›
Status: Moved from of my accounts on Q!Zilla
Take it Back, Jacob Black.
Fourteen
The weeks passed by and Jacob and I seemed to get closer...and, strangely, further apart. Ever since I told him about that strange Indian woman, he's been avoiding me. He probably thought I was crazy. Or, maybe I'm just being paranoid. I tend to do that a lot. Either way, in the past week, I've probably seen him a total of five hours. With Jacob's absence, I haven't been all that energetic. It was almost as if he was fueling my mood.
That was silly, though, so I summed it up to just being lonely and worrying if there was something wrong with me. Marcella and I don't talk all that much anymore either. She and Gabriel both have been acting...different lately. It's not just their personalities that have changed, it's also their appearances. Marcella went from being a 5'4” slim and soft girl with a baby face to 6'0” and athletic, but still curvy.
She had this air about her that screamed power and danger, even the way she looked around and observed people looked as if she were scoping the place out. She was lithe and, while her frame kept me from saying graceful, it was liquid.
Gabriel changed almost completely. He almost never wore a shirt and his once lanky build was now toned and tight, like John Cena's muscles. His skin was virtually unmarred with the occasional faded pink scar. He grew to 6'3” and had the aura of a predator. He was quiet while he walked and every move seemed to be thought of before hand, deliberate and liquid.
I was envious.
Gabriel reminded me oddly of Sam Uley and, once, I even mistook him for the Quileute man. He didn't look at me the same way he used to. Part of me was glad for that, because I had Jacob...but I still couldn't help but feel disheartened by that fact.
The letters came more frequently, and it wasn't only at school. They were in my car, in the mail, and the most disconcerting place of all...my room. My room was my sanctuary. It was the one place I had to just get away from the world and everyone. It was the only place I had the say. It was the only place that was solely mine and that was stolen from me too. Someone had came into my room without my knowledge. I had the key to my room with me wherever I went...there was no way they could have gotten there without it.
I slept with a baseball bat under my bed now, and a knife in my nightstand. I didn't dare tell Trace because he would have the CIA in here running some weird ass investigations and stuff. Skylar had been sick lately. I had gotten over the flu bug...it seemed Skylar was only getting worse. Trace had made him a doctor's appointment for tomorrow, Thursday, while I was at school.
I felt abandoned somehow. It felt like everyone was going about their lives and leaving me in the dust...which is why I planned to go to Seattle on Friday. I'd already gotten the okay from my brother so all I had to do now was wait. Part of me was nervous to go by myself. Especially with the creeping feeling of dread that I was developing. Of course, it could be me just going insane.
Discarding my jacket to the chair at my computer desk, I kicked off my shoes and pulled out my history book. Almost completely on autopilot, I completed my work while my mind swam to an underwater world that seemed real...but it was only my “happy place”.
You have one too, don't pretend you don't.
I even went so far with mine to give it a name. It wasn't original in the slightest. I called it New Atlantis, because it was almost exactly like the pictures online of Atlantis itself...except the one in my head was actually underwater. People breathed underwater through almost invisible gills on the sides of their necks. No one spoke because no one had to. It was like everyone knew exactly what everyone was thinking.
Even in imaginary worlds there has to be a level of awkwardness.
Boredom quickly set in once I came out of my reverie and I stood up, searching through my numerous stacks of CD's. An unfamiliar, black and gold disc stood out the most to me. Realizing I probably forgot about making it and popped it in the stereo. I recognize the voice as Loreena McKennitt, and the song as “Never Ending Road”. I sighed, turning it up just a little and danced back over to my bed.
Knocking my schoolwork and book to the floor, I pulled out a notebook and a pencil. I couldn't draw worth a crap, but I could write. I let the world inside my head fly through my fingers, into and out of the pencil, and onto the page. Furiously, I wrote every thing in detail so that I wouldn't forget it.
My cell phone buzzed on my nightstand and I leaned backwards to get it. It was Jacob. I paused, my fingertips twitching to open the phone. Torn between answering and ignoring, I sighed and clicked the button on the side to silence the phone. He had ignored me for his own time, and now it was my turn.
I closed the notebook, slipping it inside the second drawer of my nightstand. I sighed and was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to get something to eat. Or maybe it was the fact that my stomach growled so loud it nearly drowned out the music. I stood up, not really having the energy to do much moving, and trudged down the stairs.
I could hear Chowder on television in the living room and the sound of my little brother snoring softly from the couch. Trace was in the kitchen cooking something that resembled cannelloni. I could smell blue cheese melting though. Self consciously, I wiped at my mouth to remove in possible drool. Trace turned and held up a spoon with some sort of green sauce. “Taste it.” He said.
I hesitantly tasted the sauce and stepped back, shocked. “It's good!” I said.
He smiled, clearly satisfied with himself. “It's a recipe Leah taught me.”
Leah...Clearwater? Had they been on another date? Probably. “Oh.” was all I knew to say.
He nodded, “Yeah, she taught me a lot. Actually...she convinced me to go to school to become a chef. I mean, I like cooking and figure what better way to learn more?” He paused, “But I won't until you turn get ready to go off to college.”
College...I hadn't even thought much about that subject, and next year was my senior year of high school. Oh, well...Yeah. “You should do it,” I said, looking in the fridge, “if it makes you happy, I mean.” I added.
“It does.” His tone sounded like he was going to say more, but a sudden and very loud knock at the door made him halt.
My heart quickened. Was it Chief Swan come to take me away for beating the snot out of his precious whore of a daughter? I stood on my tippy toes to see into the little peep hole. I squeaked upon seeing the last person I'd expect standing there. “Who is it, Ry?!” Trace called from the kitchen.
I thought quickly, “Um,” I whispered and then answered back, “Nobody. Just another of those door-to-door salesmen. I get them out of here. Finish my food, woman!” I called, grinning.
I opened the door and shut it behind me as I stepped onto the cold concrete porch. I turned around, exhaling, and looked at the woman. She looked almost exactly like me now that my hair had grown out to my shoulders. We both shared the same pale, milky complexion. We both had the same eyes the color green tourmaline with flecks of gray around the pupils. “Mom,” I said finally.
The woman's eyes glistened with tears as she fiddled with her necklace. “Christina.” She said.
I averted my eyes to the floor. “I go by Ryder now,” I said awkwardly, opening the door. She came inside and I heard Trace come out of the kitchen. He cursed under his breath and came forward. I left them to go up to my room. I sighed, locking my door and turning back to head toward my bed...
And there it was.
Neatly folded into the shape of a lotus flower, the letter was nestled in front of something wrapped in blue wrapping paper. I unfolded the letter carefully, half expecting it to explode in my face..or maybe have some kind of white powder and I'd contract anthrax. Either way, I really didn't want to open it..but I wanted to know what it said so...when the paper was straightened out, I blinked...somewhat happy it was in English this time.
Online translators were never that reliable.
I noticed you write a lot. About what, I have yet to understand...or why...but your kind is never easy to understand. So frail and weak, you should be glad I watch over you. Why is it you fear me, mon chére?
It was signed the same as it usually was: votre tutrice ange, your guardian angel. I sighed and unwrapped the gift. It was a powder blue suede journal with my initials outlined in silver on the front. The sides of the pages were silver as well. I frowned, setting them in the box with the other notes and gifts.
Why wouldn't this psychopath just come out and tell me who they were?
My phone rang again and I, without looking at the caller ID, answered it. “Hello?” My voice was surprisingly thick, as if I'd just woken up from a very long nap.
“Ryder? Are you okay?” The voice was Marcella's, but I could have sworn I heard Seth in the background, along with a few others.
Am I okay? I thought acerbically, My friends and boyfriend have abandoned me, my little brother's sick , my mom just came in after abandoning us all since I was eleven and my dad, who incidentally left on the same day when I turned fifteen, didn't come with her. Oh, did I mention there's this creepy stalker guy leaving me notes, gifts, and trinkets every where I go? Or maybe how I feel like I'm going insane because I swear I feel like something's about to go down, but nothing ever does. “Yeah, I'm fine.” I said, sounding a little harsher than I attended.
It didn't go unnoticed, Marcella sighed, “I'm sorry we don't hang anymo-”
“It's not about you, Marcella,” I snapped, “There's something happening that-” I stopped. Should I tell her about the stalking? About mom? About Skylar? About my 'feeling'? “I'm just busy. I'll...I'll call you later. Bye.” I clicked the phone shut without waiting for a reply.
Groaning in frustration and just plain hopelessness at the world, I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“If you have any remorse at all, you will let me get a good-” I looked at the clock to see it was only six in the afternoon, - “Thirteen and a half hours of sleep.” I said to the ceiling, but imagining a bunch of flowing, formless figures in the sky staring down at me, “And, sure, why not throw in some helpful stuff in there.” I paused, “Like answers, maybe.” I rolled my eyes and closed them, breathing through my nose.
I liked things to be wild and crazy...but damn, I didn't mean it to be like this.
That was silly, though, so I summed it up to just being lonely and worrying if there was something wrong with me. Marcella and I don't talk all that much anymore either. She and Gabriel both have been acting...different lately. It's not just their personalities that have changed, it's also their appearances. Marcella went from being a 5'4” slim and soft girl with a baby face to 6'0” and athletic, but still curvy.
She had this air about her that screamed power and danger, even the way she looked around and observed people looked as if she were scoping the place out. She was lithe and, while her frame kept me from saying graceful, it was liquid.
Gabriel changed almost completely. He almost never wore a shirt and his once lanky build was now toned and tight, like John Cena's muscles. His skin was virtually unmarred with the occasional faded pink scar. He grew to 6'3” and had the aura of a predator. He was quiet while he walked and every move seemed to be thought of before hand, deliberate and liquid.
I was envious.
Gabriel reminded me oddly of Sam Uley and, once, I even mistook him for the Quileute man. He didn't look at me the same way he used to. Part of me was glad for that, because I had Jacob...but I still couldn't help but feel disheartened by that fact.
The letters came more frequently, and it wasn't only at school. They were in my car, in the mail, and the most disconcerting place of all...my room. My room was my sanctuary. It was the one place I had to just get away from the world and everyone. It was the only place I had the say. It was the only place that was solely mine and that was stolen from me too. Someone had came into my room without my knowledge. I had the key to my room with me wherever I went...there was no way they could have gotten there without it.
I slept with a baseball bat under my bed now, and a knife in my nightstand. I didn't dare tell Trace because he would have the CIA in here running some weird ass investigations and stuff. Skylar had been sick lately. I had gotten over the flu bug...it seemed Skylar was only getting worse. Trace had made him a doctor's appointment for tomorrow, Thursday, while I was at school.
I felt abandoned somehow. It felt like everyone was going about their lives and leaving me in the dust...which is why I planned to go to Seattle on Friday. I'd already gotten the okay from my brother so all I had to do now was wait. Part of me was nervous to go by myself. Especially with the creeping feeling of dread that I was developing. Of course, it could be me just going insane.
Discarding my jacket to the chair at my computer desk, I kicked off my shoes and pulled out my history book. Almost completely on autopilot, I completed my work while my mind swam to an underwater world that seemed real...but it was only my “happy place”.
You have one too, don't pretend you don't.
I even went so far with mine to give it a name. It wasn't original in the slightest. I called it New Atlantis, because it was almost exactly like the pictures online of Atlantis itself...except the one in my head was actually underwater. People breathed underwater through almost invisible gills on the sides of their necks. No one spoke because no one had to. It was like everyone knew exactly what everyone was thinking.
Even in imaginary worlds there has to be a level of awkwardness.
Boredom quickly set in once I came out of my reverie and I stood up, searching through my numerous stacks of CD's. An unfamiliar, black and gold disc stood out the most to me. Realizing I probably forgot about making it and popped it in the stereo. I recognize the voice as Loreena McKennitt, and the song as “Never Ending Road”. I sighed, turning it up just a little and danced back over to my bed.
Knocking my schoolwork and book to the floor, I pulled out a notebook and a pencil. I couldn't draw worth a crap, but I could write. I let the world inside my head fly through my fingers, into and out of the pencil, and onto the page. Furiously, I wrote every thing in detail so that I wouldn't forget it.
My cell phone buzzed on my nightstand and I leaned backwards to get it. It was Jacob. I paused, my fingertips twitching to open the phone. Torn between answering and ignoring, I sighed and clicked the button on the side to silence the phone. He had ignored me for his own time, and now it was my turn.
I closed the notebook, slipping it inside the second drawer of my nightstand. I sighed and was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to get something to eat. Or maybe it was the fact that my stomach growled so loud it nearly drowned out the music. I stood up, not really having the energy to do much moving, and trudged down the stairs.
I could hear Chowder on television in the living room and the sound of my little brother snoring softly from the couch. Trace was in the kitchen cooking something that resembled cannelloni. I could smell blue cheese melting though. Self consciously, I wiped at my mouth to remove in possible drool. Trace turned and held up a spoon with some sort of green sauce. “Taste it.” He said.
I hesitantly tasted the sauce and stepped back, shocked. “It's good!” I said.
He smiled, clearly satisfied with himself. “It's a recipe Leah taught me.”
Leah...Clearwater? Had they been on another date? Probably. “Oh.” was all I knew to say.
He nodded, “Yeah, she taught me a lot. Actually...she convinced me to go to school to become a chef. I mean, I like cooking and figure what better way to learn more?” He paused, “But I won't until you turn get ready to go off to college.”
College...I hadn't even thought much about that subject, and next year was my senior year of high school. Oh, well...Yeah. “You should do it,” I said, looking in the fridge, “if it makes you happy, I mean.” I added.
“It does.” His tone sounded like he was going to say more, but a sudden and very loud knock at the door made him halt.
My heart quickened. Was it Chief Swan come to take me away for beating the snot out of his precious whore of a daughter? I stood on my tippy toes to see into the little peep hole. I squeaked upon seeing the last person I'd expect standing there. “Who is it, Ry?!” Trace called from the kitchen.
I thought quickly, “Um,” I whispered and then answered back, “Nobody. Just another of those door-to-door salesmen. I get them out of here. Finish my food, woman!” I called, grinning.
I opened the door and shut it behind me as I stepped onto the cold concrete porch. I turned around, exhaling, and looked at the woman. She looked almost exactly like me now that my hair had grown out to my shoulders. We both shared the same pale, milky complexion. We both had the same eyes the color green tourmaline with flecks of gray around the pupils. “Mom,” I said finally.
The woman's eyes glistened with tears as she fiddled with her necklace. “Christina.” She said.
I averted my eyes to the floor. “I go by Ryder now,” I said awkwardly, opening the door. She came inside and I heard Trace come out of the kitchen. He cursed under his breath and came forward. I left them to go up to my room. I sighed, locking my door and turning back to head toward my bed...
And there it was.
Neatly folded into the shape of a lotus flower, the letter was nestled in front of something wrapped in blue wrapping paper. I unfolded the letter carefully, half expecting it to explode in my face..or maybe have some kind of white powder and I'd contract anthrax. Either way, I really didn't want to open it..but I wanted to know what it said so...when the paper was straightened out, I blinked...somewhat happy it was in English this time.
Online translators were never that reliable.
I noticed you write a lot. About what, I have yet to understand...or why...but your kind is never easy to understand. So frail and weak, you should be glad I watch over you. Why is it you fear me, mon chére?
It was signed the same as it usually was: votre tutrice ange, your guardian angel. I sighed and unwrapped the gift. It was a powder blue suede journal with my initials outlined in silver on the front. The sides of the pages were silver as well. I frowned, setting them in the box with the other notes and gifts.
Why wouldn't this psychopath just come out and tell me who they were?
My phone rang again and I, without looking at the caller ID, answered it. “Hello?” My voice was surprisingly thick, as if I'd just woken up from a very long nap.
“Ryder? Are you okay?” The voice was Marcella's, but I could have sworn I heard Seth in the background, along with a few others.
Am I okay? I thought acerbically, My friends and boyfriend have abandoned me, my little brother's sick , my mom just came in after abandoning us all since I was eleven and my dad, who incidentally left on the same day when I turned fifteen, didn't come with her. Oh, did I mention there's this creepy stalker guy leaving me notes, gifts, and trinkets every where I go? Or maybe how I feel like I'm going insane because I swear I feel like something's about to go down, but nothing ever does. “Yeah, I'm fine.” I said, sounding a little harsher than I attended.
It didn't go unnoticed, Marcella sighed, “I'm sorry we don't hang anymo-”
“It's not about you, Marcella,” I snapped, “There's something happening that-” I stopped. Should I tell her about the stalking? About mom? About Skylar? About my 'feeling'? “I'm just busy. I'll...I'll call you later. Bye.” I clicked the phone shut without waiting for a reply.
Groaning in frustration and just plain hopelessness at the world, I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“If you have any remorse at all, you will let me get a good-” I looked at the clock to see it was only six in the afternoon, - “Thirteen and a half hours of sleep.” I said to the ceiling, but imagining a bunch of flowing, formless figures in the sky staring down at me, “And, sure, why not throw in some helpful stuff in there.” I paused, “Like answers, maybe.” I rolled my eyes and closed them, breathing through my nose.
I liked things to be wild and crazy...but damn, I didn't mean it to be like this.