Status: I really shouldn't have made another story. It's going to be slow updates after the first chapter...
Loathing
He's an Outcast
The apartment around him was cold and dreary, devoid of live save for he and he alone. The Miller estates just did not have the aura he needed to live happily, so he had moved to an apartment; yet even Eric’s family name didn’t let him live happily either. It was his name, his lineage, that kept him from telling Riley Stone. Kept him from finding her when she was alone, away from prying eyes, and taking her into his arms and telling her that he loved her.
And he did love her.
Oh, how his family would loathe to hear that. But it's not like they held much respect for him anyway. At least not since he'd moved out, became best friends with a gay guy (though he was, of course, straight as a nail - for Riley Stone), and decided he liked playing bass guitar for his gay friend's garage band. No, he didn't suppose his family liked his recent decisions very much at all, but he didn't really care about that. What was it to him if he was an outcast in his family? It didn't change his last name.
It couldn't get him closer to her.
He dropped his math book to the floor with a huff, irritated at his weaknesses, frustrated that his family name could have such a hold on him. It held him so strongly that he didn’t even feel courage enough to confess to his enemy that he loved her.
Or was it just his family name…?
Could it be, he wondered, shading his eyes with a hand as he lay spread-eagle across his sofa, that he himself didn’t want to tell Riley that he was in love with her, just as he could tell she was with him? Could it be that, subconsciously, Eric was too afraid of another feud for his family to take that step? Or perhaps it was that he didn’t want to cause any more trouble for her. He didn’t want her to suffer; didn’t want her to know that he loved her, too, so that she wouldn’t be hurt when she was bribed or tricked into marrying someone of her father’s choosing.
Eric groaned, turning over on his couch, his back to the window.
He would never admit it aloud to his friends, but it hurt. All the conflicting emotions roiling in the pit of his stomach hurt worse than if he had been punched there, and all over a girl. Whereas some of the guys he hung with would treat a girl like trash and she would hang onto him like a lost puppy and then ditch her for others just like her, Eric was mooning over one girl. The one girl he couldn’t have.
The light of the TV played across the parts of his apartment he could see. Slowly, Eric sat up and looked at the screen, a commercial for Yaz flickering upon it. Reaching into the couch, he found the remote that he knew had fallen there and changed the channel. There was nothing. He flipped it again - nothing.
Sighing, he dropped the remote onto the coffee table, frowning and dropping his face into his hands.
“What have I done?” he murmured to the empty room, the voices from the TV seeming disembodied.
Shaking his head, he stood from the sofa in a rush. He had to go, to get out. Go somewhere other than here.
Eric went to his bedroom in a rush, digging through his haphazard clothing piles - they were clean, just not organized - in order to throw on a pair of faded jeans, one of his typical band t-shirts that his parents had always hated, and grabbed a black and grey striped zipper hoodie. He rushed back out to his door, putting on his slightly worn high-top Converse and grabbing his wallet and apartment keys.
First, in his frenzied walk just to get out, he went to a record store, where he went ahead and bought the only Linkin Park CD he didn’t yet have - Hybrid Theory - and then left. He walked down the street, the bag swinging off his arm, until he came to the other music store. As the door opened and a mother and a young girl came out, he heard the piano sounding out.
“Can’t we go listen some more, Momma?” the little girl asked. “That lady playing the piano is really, really good!”
“Maybe she’ll be in there some other time. We’ve gotta meet your Daddy for supper!”
Curiosity peaked, Eric stepped inside, listening to the music that pervaded the air. He got the next shelf over from the pianos, and then decided to just listen without looking at the person playing. Whoever it was - the ‘lady’, as the little girl had said - was good. Her hands graced the shop with the light, clear notes that rang from the ivory keys she pressed, and Eric recognized things such as famous minuets, and Ode to Joy, and Greensleeves.
As the current song came to an end, a voice sounded.
“Excuse me, Miss?” came the sound that Eric recognized - his gay best friend’s boyfriend, the manager of the store. “That sad song you played earlier - could you play it again? If you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t recognize it, but it was beautiful.”
“I-ah, sure. I guess,” a voice came, and it sounded teasingly familiar, but I didn’t even speculate. And then began a bittersweet tune, and instantly he became attached to it. It attached to his roiling emotions concerning the Stone heiress, and seemed to be the same feeling. It was melancholic, and it was such an enticing tune. It could bring a tear to one’s eye.
Eric listened, enraptured, until the very end.
“I don’t recognize it,” Don, the manager, said with curiosity, “and I play piano myself. The book on the stand isn’t even open. Where’d you learn it?”
“I - ah, I wrote it,” she said sheepishly. Eric picked up the bass book he’d been looking at before she started playing that song and stepped form the aisle, finally deciding to look over toward the pianos. And there, who would he see, sitting at one of the grander pianos, but Riley Stone herself?
It pained him to notice that her eyes were filled with the pain of the song, but she was still just as beautiful to him as ever.
“Did you really?!” Don gushed, “It’s beautiful! It’s so sad, but lovely! You should come more often, you know?”
“I - I don’t know,” Riley told him sheepishly. Eric cleared his throat a bit.
“You really should, Riley,” he said, shifting his bass book in his arm. “You’re amazing.”
Not just your piano playing, either.
And he did love her.
Oh, how his family would loathe to hear that. But it's not like they held much respect for him anyway. At least not since he'd moved out, became best friends with a gay guy (though he was, of course, straight as a nail - for Riley Stone), and decided he liked playing bass guitar for his gay friend's garage band. No, he didn't suppose his family liked his recent decisions very much at all, but he didn't really care about that. What was it to him if he was an outcast in his family? It didn't change his last name.
It couldn't get him closer to her.
He dropped his math book to the floor with a huff, irritated at his weaknesses, frustrated that his family name could have such a hold on him. It held him so strongly that he didn’t even feel courage enough to confess to his enemy that he loved her.
Or was it just his family name…?
Could it be, he wondered, shading his eyes with a hand as he lay spread-eagle across his sofa, that he himself didn’t want to tell Riley that he was in love with her, just as he could tell she was with him? Could it be that, subconsciously, Eric was too afraid of another feud for his family to take that step? Or perhaps it was that he didn’t want to cause any more trouble for her. He didn’t want her to suffer; didn’t want her to know that he loved her, too, so that she wouldn’t be hurt when she was bribed or tricked into marrying someone of her father’s choosing.
Eric groaned, turning over on his couch, his back to the window.
He would never admit it aloud to his friends, but it hurt. All the conflicting emotions roiling in the pit of his stomach hurt worse than if he had been punched there, and all over a girl. Whereas some of the guys he hung with would treat a girl like trash and she would hang onto him like a lost puppy and then ditch her for others just like her, Eric was mooning over one girl. The one girl he couldn’t have.
The light of the TV played across the parts of his apartment he could see. Slowly, Eric sat up and looked at the screen, a commercial for Yaz flickering upon it. Reaching into the couch, he found the remote that he knew had fallen there and changed the channel. There was nothing. He flipped it again - nothing.
Sighing, he dropped the remote onto the coffee table, frowning and dropping his face into his hands.
“What have I done?” he murmured to the empty room, the voices from the TV seeming disembodied.
Shaking his head, he stood from the sofa in a rush. He had to go, to get out. Go somewhere other than here.
Eric went to his bedroom in a rush, digging through his haphazard clothing piles - they were clean, just not organized - in order to throw on a pair of faded jeans, one of his typical band t-shirts that his parents had always hated, and grabbed a black and grey striped zipper hoodie. He rushed back out to his door, putting on his slightly worn high-top Converse and grabbing his wallet and apartment keys.
First, in his frenzied walk just to get out, he went to a record store, where he went ahead and bought the only Linkin Park CD he didn’t yet have - Hybrid Theory - and then left. He walked down the street, the bag swinging off his arm, until he came to the other music store. As the door opened and a mother and a young girl came out, he heard the piano sounding out.
“Can’t we go listen some more, Momma?” the little girl asked. “That lady playing the piano is really, really good!”
“Maybe she’ll be in there some other time. We’ve gotta meet your Daddy for supper!”
Curiosity peaked, Eric stepped inside, listening to the music that pervaded the air. He got the next shelf over from the pianos, and then decided to just listen without looking at the person playing. Whoever it was - the ‘lady’, as the little girl had said - was good. Her hands graced the shop with the light, clear notes that rang from the ivory keys she pressed, and Eric recognized things such as famous minuets, and Ode to Joy, and Greensleeves.
As the current song came to an end, a voice sounded.
“Excuse me, Miss?” came the sound that Eric recognized - his gay best friend’s boyfriend, the manager of the store. “That sad song you played earlier - could you play it again? If you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t recognize it, but it was beautiful.”
“I-ah, sure. I guess,” a voice came, and it sounded teasingly familiar, but I didn’t even speculate. And then began a bittersweet tune, and instantly he became attached to it. It attached to his roiling emotions concerning the Stone heiress, and seemed to be the same feeling. It was melancholic, and it was such an enticing tune. It could bring a tear to one’s eye.
Eric listened, enraptured, until the very end.
“I don’t recognize it,” Don, the manager, said with curiosity, “and I play piano myself. The book on the stand isn’t even open. Where’d you learn it?”
“I - ah, I wrote it,” she said sheepishly. Eric picked up the bass book he’d been looking at before she started playing that song and stepped form the aisle, finally deciding to look over toward the pianos. And there, who would he see, sitting at one of the grander pianos, but Riley Stone herself?
It pained him to notice that her eyes were filled with the pain of the song, but she was still just as beautiful to him as ever.
“Did you really?!” Don gushed, “It’s beautiful! It’s so sad, but lovely! You should come more often, you know?”
“I - I don’t know,” Riley told him sheepishly. Eric cleared his throat a bit.
“You really should, Riley,” he said, shifting his bass book in his arm. “You’re amazing.”
Not just your piano playing, either.
♠ ♠ ♠
Here's an update.Remember, this is an on-the-side story. I just felt like getting Eric's chapter up to establish a bit more about him.
NOTICE: I don't know if I'll be able to update any of my stories for a while. IT IS NOT DECIDED YET, but we might cancel internet 'cause my parents are getting laid off. I thought I would warn you of thisjust in case it came to pass, you know?
Anywho, thanks so much for reading!!!
<333 Amanda