Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Gilman’s was nothing like Wren had expected it to be: it had turned out to be ten times better. The room was overly crowded with people of all ages, ranging from thirteen to over twenty years old. The black walls were littered and tagged with graffiti and there was a large stage at the front, with a band of three guys playing their instruments to their breaking point. It was loud, and everyone was being thrown all over the place while they danced and just enjoyed themselves. Some people clustered in groups nearer to the back of the room, conversing with each other. Some couples clung to each other, others in a lip lock.

Wren had never had a drink in her life, nor had she ever put a cigarette to her lips. She had never been into drugs and had never been to a single party. She liked to think of herself as a socially awkward being; a loner. She seemed to feel right at home as soon as she stepped foot into Gilman, as if she actually fit in and was accepted.

Sara pulled Wren toward the back of the dank room, body heat making her break a slight sweat. She felt thankful that she had only put on a tee shirt and some jeans. Unsure of where she would end up in the room, she kept looking back to where the entrance was, attempting to memorize each step she took. Her long hair flew in all directions as she tried to dodge the jumping beings scattered amongst them. Soon, she was standing face to face with the three guys she had met hours earlier in a small corner nearer to the back. She immediately caught the eye of Billie Joe, hesitated, and looked away. John and Mike were both sitting beside each other on the floor, talking quietly until they noticed that Sara and Wren had arrived.

“So, who’s playing right now?” Sara asked, her voice booming as she attempted to speak over the blaring music. The music, rather, seemed to be an unfamiliar genre to Wren. The singer was fairly decent, yet the words he was singing were terribly hard to understand, as though he was slurring them. The guitar was sloppy and consisted of three chords or less, and the drumming was moderately simple.

It was Billie who spoke up, to Wren’s surprise.

“I think it’s the Paper Tulips.” He told her. “But I can’t be sure.” Sara nodded her foot tapping to the beat of the song they were playing. Billie Joe was dressed the same way as he was back at school, with the exception of an old, beaten up leather jacket. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans and he was leaning up against the wall. Wren fought the urge to look at him again and won, figuring she’d be rewarded with a death glare if she caved.

Soon, John and Mike had stood up and had joined in the little-to-nothing conversation they had going. John would occasionally throw Wren a soft smile or a wink. Wren’s cheeks would flush a shade of pink and she’d look away shyly.

“So,” Sara had said eventually, after another band had taken the stage and begun filling the room with their music. “When are you three playing a gig here?” She asked them. Wren perked up slightly and suddenly had a million and one questions to ask them.

“You’re all in a band together?” She began, her sapphire eyes wide with awe. John nodded eagerly and walked over and stood beside her. “That’s wicked.” She told him, looking up into his eyes, and her heart pounding in and out of her chest. Butterflies filled her stomach, tickling her insides and making her giddy. She started twirling a strand of chestnut hair around her index finger. She heard Billie Joe make gagging noises and then threw her a sharp look. Wren bit her lip, confused of what she was even doing to deserve this sort of treatment from him. She looked down at her feet and sighed heavily, yet it was inaudible over the roaring music.

“Ignore him,” John whispered in her ear, making her jump slightly and looked up again at him. A smile crept to his lips. She couldn’t help but smile back. Wren nodded, agreeing to disregard his friend.

“What kind of music do you three play, then?” She asked John, sending him into a small fit of hysterics. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“The same sort of music you’re hearing right this very moment,” He told her, as if she should know, and then spoke up again with the answer she was looking for. “Punk. Our name’s Sweet Children.”Wren choked back a laugh, giving Billie Joe a reason to give her a hard time.

“Have you got a problem with that?” He asked her furiously, raising an eyebrow, his lips pursed. Wren was speechless. There were so many things that she wanted to say to him at that moment, yet the words would not come out. Instead she clenched her teeth and balled her fists and trembled, her eyes glued to his. Sara shook her head and rolled her dark eyes.

Wren wasn’t sure of the time nor did she care. In a way she wanted to leave Gilman’s and go home to her tiny bedroom, curl up in bed and fall into a deep sleep so she could be taken away in a dream she couldn’t control. She felt like she was in the wrong. She could stand up to Billie Joe; it was her gut that was stopping her. Yet, she was having the most fun she’d had since she had moved from Delaware, and she was not going to let a certain boy get in the way because of his rapid crazy mood swings that always seemed to be because of her speaking with John. It didn’t seem fair.

The evening rolled on, and she continued to make small talk with John. Each time she’d ask him or tell him something, he’d retort with some clever comment that made her heart melt. And Every time he would do so to her, Billie Joe would come out with something that would dampen her mood even more.

“He’s not usually like that,” Sara told her as they walked out of Gilman’s hours later. The sky was dark and stars clustered together creating bright bundles. They walked slowly side-by-side in the direction of her beat-up pickup. “Don’t get me wrong-- he has his moments. But the way he looks at you when your head is turned is so different from the way he talks to you and looks at you directly.” Wren stopped walking. Sara looked at her confusedly.

“What exactly do you mean?” Wren asked her briskly. Sara crooked her head and put a hand on her hips.

“You know, he was the one who asked me to bring you out with us tonight.” Sara told her as-a-matter-of-factly. Wren shook her head in disbelief, but Sara wouldn’t have it. “He actually seemed rather excited, if I remember correctly.”It did not make any sense to Wren. The way he acted around her, the way he treated her—it just hurt her brain to think about it. She was not sure if Sara was telling her the truth or what she thought Wren wanted to hear.

Once the two girls were settled in the car, Wren got the nervous feeling she had earlier that day while driving home from school. She absolutely did not want to encounter Charlie again. She decided against her own will the push the thought to the back of her mind, convincing herself that he was a harmless old coot that most likely would not hurt even a fly. Plus, she thought, her mother was there. He was sick. They were living in California for the solid purpose of having to take care of him.

The drive seemed longer than it had before. Wren’s eyes were drooping and she yawned. It had been a long day and she was more than ready to curl up in bed and go to sleep. Sara finally pulled into her driveway, bid her good night, and left her to walk up to her door for the second time that day. Once inside the house, she pulled off her sneakers and slogged to her room, unaware of the watchful eyes gleaming at her from the sitting room.

++

Wren snuggled herself into bed, and as soon as her head hit her pillow and her comforter was pulled up over her body, she fell into a well deserved deep sleep. She was finally calm, as all of her stress and thoughts were behind her and a new day was on the horizon.

Wren had been asleep for a couple of hours and was completely unconscious when her door was slowly creaked open and a dark figure stood in the door frame. It crept into the room and closed the door behind it, causing Wren to abruptly awaken. Her eyelids opened slowly and realized right away that it was indeed not the normal awakening hour in which her mother would have stormed in. She suddenly froze with fear as she felt the being creep closer to her bed.

Her pulse vibrated within her ears. Her body was incapable of moving. She was too afraid to look over her should with the fear of seeing something or someone she didn’t want to. Then all of a sudden, she felt her comforter be lifted at its corner, and she snapped up to see none other than the man with the corked nose and greying hair. “Charlie—,” She choked, too afraid to say anything else. He did not have anything with him; no blades or guns or any weapon of any sort. Charlie nodded, a sinister smile curling at his lips. Wren’s breathing began to pick up as he moved closer to her at a steady pace.

“Oh, Brenna,” He said to her in a quiet, hoarse voice. Wren still was not sure what was going on, but she was freaked. He sat down beside her and touched her arm, sending chills down Wren’s spine and making her jump. He put a hand on her head and began caressing her hair gently. By this point, Wren was shaking, trembling with fear. “You are so beautiful, Brenna.” He told her, his eyes glued to hers.

“W-what are you doing in here...” she asked him, putting her head down so she didn’t have to look at him. She couldn’t stand the sight of him; his face disgusted her. He reached over to her, placing one of his boney hands on her thigh. Wren took a deep breath and looked up again, but over at her door. Her eyes rolled back over to Charlie, who was still staring intently at her. She mentally counted to three, and jumped up, attempting to escape his grasp, only to be caught by the ankle and dragged back down onto her bed. He pulled off a sock from his foot and balled it up and stuffed it into her mouth, prohibiting her from speaking or screaming. His face was now ominous, threatening; his breathing deep and heavy. Tears were now streaming down her flushed cheeks as Charlie pinned her down. She was trembling with fear and unable to move, kick or fight him off in any way. She felt useless.

It wasn’t until he began unbuttoning his plaid collared shirt that what was actually about to happen sunk in. She shook her head in disbelief, trying not to choke on the spit-soaked balled sock inside her mouth. Charlie’s skin glimmered with sweat. Wren knew she was in for a long night.

The wrath she endured carried on for no more than thirty minutes. Charlie finally left her room, satisfied. He left her feeling dirty, used and guilty for some strange reason. Her clothes were thrown all over the floor of her tiny bedroom, her sleep shirt ripped from being torn off of her. Wren was in pain, and she had a black and purple bruise beginning to show on her right upper arm. The sock had finally been freed from her mouth, causing her to go into a fit of coughing. She curled into a ball and threw her sheets over her head, anxious for the coming morning, anxious to go to school to escape the cruel household.