Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Wren’s arms were folded and clutched against her chest as she ventured back the way she had originally came, attempting to find the house she was to live in. Light had been diminished completely allowing darkness to take over. Stars dotted the sky, each twinkling and shining like diamonds. The moon was sliced in half, and casted a luminous glow around the surrounding clouds. Wren kicked a stone with the tip of her grey Chuck and sighed as it was thrown halfway down the street. Billie hadn’t stuck around for a long time. It was as though he had left right after he had introduced himself to her, leaving her without the slightest clue of which direction to begin her walk home.

Sounds of rustling leaves could be heard in the distance as Wren continued to walk, her tired blue eyes looking toward the ground. An inaudible yawn escaped from her lips and she shook her head, yearning for the warmth of home. Of her life back in Delaware, a life she’d never get back. As she turned a corner, she spotted what looked like a path as her heart fluttered, skipping a beat. She had managed to find her new house without a search party finding her first. Her feet dragged along the gravel as she slowly made her way up the long driveway, beginning to become nervous, anxious of what her mother might do to her.

She stepped up to the dark green door before hearing an unnecessarily loud cackle, and spun her body around to find a large black bird the size of a small chicken sitting in the patchy yard, staring at her with its dark beady eyes. Her breathing got heavier as her heart sped up slightly, pounding inside her chest. It was a raven, a sign of evil. A warning, perhaps, she thought to herself. She knew nothing good was going to come from stepping foot into the house she was now standing in front of. A heavy sigh pushed its way through her lips as she faced the door, wrapped her fingers around the cool, brass knob and twisted it.

An icy chill ran down her spine as she pushed open the door, hoping and praying that she wasn’t about to set off any alarms or make a large amount of noise. She wanted to be as careful and as stealth as possible. She held the door open for a moment, her feet glued to the ground, before stepping inside and slowly shutting it. Her legs quivered slightly. Her blue eyes guided themselves around the entry way; the long hallway was floored in mahogany wood and covered in thick coats of varnish, while the walls surrounding her were painted a pale grey. Beneath her feet laid a navy tufted carpet, scuffed and browning from dirty shoes. She peeled off her converse and placed them neatly beside her. She continued walking down the narrow hallway.

There was a large archway in the center of the hall, a doorway to what looked like a sitting room. She peered around the wall slowly, hoping not to encounter someone, especially her mother. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, and to say the very least, she was nervous for the coming wrath from her mother.

Her heart sunk into her stomach and her knees weakened when she managed to look around the corner. Sitting in a moss green arm chair, reading what had to be the thickest novel Wren had ever seen, was a man. He wasn’t ancient, but looked old enough to be considered a senior. She quickly pulled back and wondered how he hadn’t heard her enter the house. Well, he is ‘ill’ she thought to herself. maybe he’s hard of hearing too.

Wren took a deep breath, determined to get to the other side of the hallway without being spotted. She stepped softly on the tips of her toes and crept across the floor, careful not to breathe out of her mouth. She got about halfway across when she heard the man grunt, and her body froze and eyelids squeezed shut.

“You’ve been gone for quite some time.” She heard him say. She opened her eyes and turned her head in his direction. He hadn’t glanced up from his book.

“Only three hours.” Wren stated as-a-matter-of-factly. She folded her arms across her chest and bit her lip. The man lowered his book, and stared her in the eye. He raised a hand and waved her over. Apprehensively, she slowly made her way back into the sitting room and over beside the man. His hair was of bronze and sprinkled with silver and white. His eyes resembled sapphires and they drooped and held puffy plum bags underneath. His nose was long and narrow, and the bridge was dotted with the occasional freckle. The man was thin and pale and he wore a simple pair of jeans paired with a black long sleeved tee shirt.

Wren broke the growing awkward silence. “Where is my mother?” She asked him, almost spitting out the words. His lips formed into a sort of creepy smile as he reached out a long boney hand, his eyes still glued to her own and he touched her arm.

“She is upstairs in her bedroom settling in. I told her I’d await your arrival. My name is Charlie, Brenna.” His voice was silky smooth and sent a chill running down her spine. She nodded with a false smile plastered on her lips and took a step backward nervously. “Your bedroom is down the stairs at the end of the main hall,” he told her. She nodded once again and spun around on her heels. She began walking out of the room as quickly as she could.

“And Brenna,” She heard his voice once more. She looked around her shoulder slowly to see his piercing blue eyes on her. She swallowed the lump in her throat uneasily, her hands and knees trembling.

“Yes?” She whispered, inaudible.

“You are very beautiful, Brenna.” He said with the same disturbing grin. “Very beautiful.” Wren shivered and sped down the hall and to the stairs faster than she could even move her legs.

Wren wasn’t expecting something absolutely extravagant, something high end or expensive. She wasn’t expecting her room to be a large size, and she preferred it that way. All of her assumptions were correct, she noticed, as she stumbled through the door, quickly shutting it and pushing the brass knob to lock it. She let out a sigh of relief and glanced around the room, which she had supposed was about the size of her old bedroom; big enough to hold a bed, which was placed in the far right corner from where she was standing. The only other pieces of furniture that were in the room were a bureaux and an old trunk that held a tarnished padlock. To her dismay, the walls were painted a pale pink. There was a tiny window above the single bed, which had been made up with a white down comforter and white sheets. Her suitcases and boxes were piled on top of each other at the foot of the bed, waiting to be unpacked.

She decided that it would have to do as she started on one of her suit cases, distributing her clothes into the ebony stained dresser. Hours passed and Wren’s eyelids began to droop. She let out a enormous yawn and stretched out her back. She stood, and looked at her bureau, satisfied with the job she’d done. She changed into a pair of light grey sweat pants and a lilac tank top and crawled into her new bed, inhaled its new scent and slowly dozed off into a deep sleep.

+.+

A loud knock abruptly awoke Wren, startled. She got to her feet, sleep still evident in her eyes, and made her way across the small room to the door. She then opened it, only to find a furious Ingrid glaring at her and burning holes into Wren’s forehead with her dagger-like eyes. Her hair was already done in its neat spiral bun, yet her outfit was slightly more undone than usual, with a pair of cream coloured slacks and a matching quarter sleeved blazer. A scarlet v-neck poked through, adding some color to her usual boring outfit. She pursed her lips and took a deep breath.

“One,” She began, “What were you thinking? Walking off like that in an unfamiliar place. Do you ever use your brain?” She spat coldly. Wren yawned again, her eyes half open, her mind still in bed where she should be. Ingrid clapped her boney hands in front of her daughter’s face, startling her. “Are you listening to me?”

Wren nodded, but couldn’t care less about what her mother had to say to her. She felt that Ingrid’s rants were irrelevant.

“Two,” She started again, “Get dressed. You’ve over slept. I’ll be waiting in the car and leaving in fifteen minutes.” Wren didn’t say a word. She just continued nodding, hoping Ingrid would leave her alone. Her mother stuck her nose into the air and stomped up the stairs, granting Wren her wish.

Wren dug through her clothes, attempting to decide what to wear. Soon, she had picked out a grey racerback tank top, embroidered with a faded Union Jack, along with a pair of straight legged light wash jeans. She threw her long chestnut hair into a messy bun, allowing stray pieces to fall into her face and applied two coats of black mascara to her already thick lashes. Pleased, she left the room, unsure of where she was even going.

Not even bothering to put something in her stomach or even say ‘hello’ to Charlie, Wren quickly laced up her sacred Chuck Taylors and met her mother, who had already started the engine and was waiting for her in the car, tapping her fingers anxiously against the steering wheel. Wren climbed into the vehicle and Ingrid started down the road. The ride seemed long, drawn-out and boring, as the two were silent as usual. Wren, still clueless to where she was being taken, predictably stared out the window at the early morning sky.

“I packed a bag for you,” Ingrid spoke unexpectedly, and Wren’s head immediately shot around and looked at her.

“A bag? For what?” She questioned. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

“You really are dense, aren’t you?” Her face was neutral, her small lips forming a thin, straight line as she pursed them. “School. You are going to school, to get an education.” Wren sat quietly for the rest of the ride. She had nothing to say to her, as she knew where her speech was going—the same way it always went: “You have so many more opportunities that I was never given,” She would say, “You’re going to make the best of them.”

The Ford came to a sudden stop in front of a building. It looked slightly worn down, and a cerulean blue sign attached to yellow poles was standing out front and read “Pinole Valley High School” in white block letters.

“Now get on with you, you’ll be late if you don’t.” Her mother said in a gentler tone. Wren grabbed the bag she had packed from the back seat and opened the car door, surprisingly anxious to see what the school was like. The building was almost completely a white-tan color, half made of what looked like bricks or stone. A separate part of the building had a red flat topped roof, and a bright blue bench sat in front of the school’s sign. She took a deep breath as she came across the front entrance, and soon found her way into the main hall, about to start on a new adventure all together. Still hating everything about the move, yet considerably keyed up to start over new, she approached the office with her heart fluttering and head held high.